Chris Carter - The Executioner

A short and bulky man in a white Tyvek coverall noticed the two detectives as they stepped into the house.

‘Detective Hunter?’ he asked, approaching them.

‘Yes.’ Hunter turned around.

‘I’m Detective Martin, Thomas Martin, from the LASD Malibu/Lost Hills station.’

They shook hands firmly.

Malibu is actually an incorporated city in Western Los Angeles County. Any homicides committed in that city initially fall under the Los Angeles Sheriff Department jurisdiction.

‘What do we have?’ Hunter asked, looking around.

‘A fucking mess, that’s what we have. It started as a missing person’s call to the West Hollywood station.’

‘West Hollywood?’ Garcia enquired, surprised.

Martin nodded. ‘I suggest you guys suit up while I fill you in.’ He pointed to two coveralls on a table together with surgical masks and latex gloves.

‘A realtor called Reilly, Amanda Reilly,’ Detective Martin continued after Hunter and Garcia stood ready. ‘She owned her own estate agency called, funny enough, Reilly’s, in West Hollywood. This morning she didn’t turn up for work. Her work colleague…’ Martin snapped his fingers a couple of times as he tried to remember her name. ‘Aw damn. It’s on the report, I’ll check it later. Anyway, her colleague got worried. She said she’s never known Miss Reilly to come in late in over ten years they’d worked together, never mind not turning up.’

A tall and skinny black man, also wearing a Tyvek coverall, entered the reception area from the door at the far end of it.

‘Hey, CJ,’ Martin called, gesturing for him to join them.

‘What’s up, Tom?’ CJ said, freeing his nose and mouth from the surgical mask he had on. ‘Are these the Homicide Special guys?’

Martin nodded before turning towards Hunter and Garcia. ‘This is my partner, Detective CJ Simmons.’

‘Call me CJ, everyone does.’

They all shook hands.

‘CJ, what’s the name of the lady who reported Miss Reilly as missing. I can’t remember it for the life of me.’

‘Mrs. Riggs, Tania Riggs. The report’s in the car. I’ll go and get it before we hand the case over to you guys.’

Hunter noticed a look of relief on CJ’s face.

‘Miss Reilly’s car is parked back in West Hollywood,’ Martin continued. ‘It’s been in the same spot for two days.’

CJ took over. ‘The last Mrs. Riggs knew about Miss Reilly was that she was supposed to show this house to a prospective buyer on Saturday – early evening.’

‘So this house is for sale? No one lives here at the moment?’ Hunter asked, zipping up his overall.

‘That’s right.’ CJ nodded. ‘You know the protocol. So in the middle of the afternoon, a request was sent to our station asking us to dispatch a black and white unit down here to check it out. And then…’ CJ shook his head slowly without finishing the sentence.

‘And then all fucking hell broke loose,’ Martin picked up. ‘What’s in there’s just fucking insane. Someone had a lot of hate for this Miss Reilly.’

‘How do we come into all this?’ Hunter asked curiously.

‘That’s what I was wondering,’ Garcia added.

‘Forensics,’ CJ replied. ‘When they got here and had a good look at the body, the lead agent said that we needed to contact Homicide Special and ask for the two of you. Apparently, this case’s linked to one that you’re already investigating.’

‘Mike Brindle the lead forensic agent?’ Hunter asked.

‘That’s him,’ Martin agreed with a nod.

‘And the victim’s this Amanda Reilly?’ Hunter pressed on.

Martin and CJ exchanged a nervous look.

‘We can’t tell.’

‘OK, let’s go have a look.’ Hunter knew he wouldn’t get any more answers out in the reception area.

CJ smiled as he noticed that Hunter and Garcia were all suited up, but neither of them had a surgical mask. ‘I strongly recommend you wear the mask.’ He pointed to the one hanging from his neck. ‘And I hope you really enjoyed what you had for dinner today. ’Cos you’ll probably have it all back in your mouth as soon as you get in there.’

‘He’s right.’ Martin nodded sarcastically. ‘Have you noticed a terribly unpleasant bouquet in the air that sort of tickles your stomach?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Well, in there it’s fully matured.’

‘And if the smell doesn’t do it,’ CJ cut in. ‘Wait until you have a look at the victim.’

Frowning, Hunter and Garcia took the LASD detectives’ advice and grabbed a surgical mask each.

‘Through that door.’ Martin pointed to the door CJ had come through earlier. ‘There’s a round foyer. Take the door to the right of the stairwell and follow the corridor to the end. You can’t miss it; there are forensic agents everywhere.’

CJ and Martin were right. With every step, the smell got stronger and more sickening. They reached the last door and stepped into a nightmare.

The room was massive, furnished with delicate sofas and modern units. Mike Brindle and three other forensic agents were busy at work.

Hunter felt a sting in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it’d been caused by the nauseating and repulsive smell, or by what lay before him.

Garcia’s body convulsed as he tried to keep himself from being sick, but the combination of the stench together with the ferocity of the scene became too much for him. He quickly stumbled back out of the room and Hunter heard him empty his stomach by the door.

‘My God!’ Hunter closed his eyes.

At first Monica didn’t know why she’d said those words to Hunter. They simply came out, as if she had no control over what she was saying. But just a minute after Hunter and Garcia had rushed out of the interrogation room, she had her answer.

The same sickening feeling she’d experienced just a few days ago inside Los Angeles Union Station came back, and it came back stronger.

A hurricane seemed to have started in her stomach as her vision blurred. The large mirrored window in front of her was substituted by grainy, flickering images. She blinked several times, trying desperately to get rid of them. She didn’t want to see them. She didn’t want to be part of any of it. But she had no choice. Again, they lasted only a few seconds, but a few seconds was all that was needed.

As the images faded, she sat shivering and crying. Her breathing came in short, fast bursts and catatonically she repeated the words ‘please, no’ over and over again.

It took her two minutes to get her breathing back to normal and another two to stop shivering. On unsteady legs she stood up and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked dreadful. Her hair was a mess. Her skin looked dry and badly cared for and her lack of recent sleep showed in her tired-looking eyes. She was wearing no lipstick, which made the scar on her lips more noticeable. Her coat looked dirty and old with tiny tears on the sleeves. No wonder both detectives looked at her as if she was a drug addict on a bad trip looking for some attention.

‘What am I doing here?’ she whispered to herself as if waking up from a strange dream in an unknown place. ‘I must be insane thinking someone would’ve believed me.’

She checked her watch and wondered what to do next. The detective had said that he’d send an officer to take her details, but no one had showed up yet. Maybe that was a sign. Maybe telling others about the appalling things she saw wouldn’t help them. It wouldn’t help her.

Deep down she had hopes that if she could help any of the people she saw suffering, then, maybe, the images would go away and she could go back to having a normal life. But standing there, alone, in a police interrogation room, all she had were doubts.