Chris Carter - The Executioner

‘Oh my God!’

‘Do you know this guy?’ Patricia asked, hitting the PRINT button on her keyboard.

Hunter nodded and she watched as his eyes suddenly widened in realization. ‘Damn, the book,’ he said, bringing both hands to his forehead.

‘What book?’ she asked.

‘The Compton High yearbook.’

‘It’s downstairs,’ Garcia confirmed.

Hunter faced Patricia. ‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.’

Patricia glanced at her watch. ‘You gonna owe me big time for this, Robert.’ But he was already racing out of the door and down the steps.

He was back in forty-five seconds flat.

‘Wow, that was fast,’ Patricia said and frowned. ‘How come you’re not even out of breath?’

Hunter didn’t reply. His attention was on the Compton High yearbook pages as he flipped through them, scrutinizing every photo.

‘Who are you after now?’ Garcia asked, taking a step closer and peeking at the book.

Hunter finally stopped turning the pages and rushed over to Patricia’s desk. His face set in concentration. ‘Can you scan this picture?’ He pointed to a photo in the middle of the page. ‘And do the same that we did to that one?’ He nodded towards the printout on her desk.

‘No problem.’

They watched as Patricia Phelps took her time airbrushing and retouching, once again transforming the student on the picture into a completely different one. As she completed the ageing process, Garcia felt his body shiver.

‘You’ve gotta be shitting me.’

Garcia made the trip from the SID to Holmby Hills in less than twenty minutes. They weren’t sure what they were hoping to find, but they needed to talk to him again. Just like James Reed, he’d also lied about his previous knowledge of the victims.

They had no problem finding the house, a white-fronted, two-story, movie-star-style mansion in Beverly Glen Boulevard. The house was in total darkness, but the lights in the beautifully kept suspended front yard were on, and so were the Christmas decorations on the perfectly triangular evergreen trees that flanked the front door.

They took the long left-bending stone steps that led to the house two at a time. The doorbell wasn’t working, and after a minute of constant knocking Hunter skipped over the small hedge to the left of the door and checked both large windows – they were locked and the closed curtains kept him from seeing inside.

‘Let’s give the garage a try,’ Hunter said, running back down the steps to the two-car garage to the right of the house. Again, it was locked and so was the wooden side door to the right of the garage that no doubt led to the house’s backyard. Its padlock looked flimsy, though.

‘What’re you doing?’ Garcia asked, surprised, as Hunter took a step back and shoved his right shoulder hard against the door.

‘Having a better look,’ he said matter-of-factly as he stepped through the door frame. ‘You coming?’

‘Are you nuts?’ Garcia called as he doubled his step to catch up with Hunter.

The house’s backyard was impressive. The centerpiece was a grand teardrop-shaped pool illuminated by underwater spotlights. To its left, a spacious beechwood, off-ground sun deck, and at the back of it a large barbecue area. All of it surrounded by high Raywood ash trees and sculptured hedges. The perfectly mown lawn sloped down several yards to a tennis court. No houselights were on. Hunter tried the glass sliding double doors that led into what looked to be a party room – locked. He cupped his hands over the glass and tried to see inside. It all looked lifeless. Taking off his jacket, Hunter rolled it around his right elbow

‘Woah,’ Garcia said, lifting his hands in a ‘stop’ gesture. ‘What are we doing here, Robert?’

‘I have to have a look inside.’

‘Why? This may not be our guy. We have as much reason to doubt James Reed as we have to doubt him.’

‘You saw the transformation on both pictures,’ Hunter shot back calmly. ‘That was no coincidence. This story goes way deeper. And I think it goes murder deep.’

‘Fair enough, but breaking and entering isn’t the solution.’

‘We have a reason to knock on his door, Carlos.’

‘This ain’t knocking. This is kicking the damn door down, and it isn’t legal.’ He looked at Hunter as if he didn’t recognize him. ‘Even if he’s our guy, any lawyer could get this case blown out of the water because we fucked up and didn’t follow procedure, Robert. Is that what you want? We do this and we might be handing this guy a free out-of-jail card.’

Hunter glanced at his watch. ‘I understand, Carlos. And usually I’d be the one giving that speech, but I’m running out of time here. Mollie’s missing, the killer’s after her and she believes he’s gonna get to her tonight. That doesn’t give me a lot of time.’ He stared deep into his partner’s eyes. ‘I promised her nothing would happen to her. This is a good lead. I don’t have time to go through the right channels and do background research. If I do, she dies. There’s no way the DA’s office will give us a warrant to even search his trash can.’ He paused and breathed in deeply. ‘Go back to Parker Center, Carlos. I’ll deny you had any knowledge of my actions.’

‘What?’

‘You said so yourself: this could all be a mistake. I’m not gonna drag you into this. You’ve got a wife to think about, Carlos. You can’t fuck up. I can.’

Garcia could barely believe what he was hearing. It was because of Hunter’s stubborn attitude that he was alive today. If Hunter thought Garcia would simply turn and walk away, he had another think coming.

‘Well, knowing that you can’t properly fuck up if I’m not with you,’ he joked, ‘I’m coming with, partner .’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Who knows? Traffic duty might be a blast. Let’s fucking do this.’

Hunter smiled and handed Garcia a pair of latex gloves before elbowing the door. There was a muffled crash and shards of broken glass hit the floor. They both looked around instinctively.

Hunter slipped his hand through the glass, unlocked the door and pulled his pen flashlight from his gun holster.

Garcia did the same and gingerly followed him inside.

The first room was a spacious rectangular structure with black marble floors, a few seats and a bar against the east wall. Definitely a party room , Hunter thought. Opposite the bar, a new set of double doors. These ones were hand carved in dark wood. Hunter carefully tried the handle – unlocked. They stepped through into a large and rich foyer decorated with antiques, fine porcelain, silver objects and a few paintings, no photographs. An imposing crystal chandelier hung above the split-level staircase that led up to the next floor.

‘This place’s too big. We’d better split up,’ Hunter whispered, leaning towards Garcia. ‘You stay down here, I’ll check upstairs.’

Garcia nodded. As Hunter cautiously took the steps to the next level, he took the door directly in front of him.

The main sitting room was as ostentatious as the rich foyer he’d just come from, filled with expensive furniture, oil paintings and sculptures. Garcia crossed the room silently and made his way through the French doors at the far end of it. They led him into a sprawling den, warmed by a black marble fireplace on the east wall. The white carpet was lush and spotless. The north wall was framed entirely in full-length windows. On the opposite side of the room Garcia noticed a strange wooden door, not as high as a regular house door. Faint spots of light were coming from underneath it. Tentatively, he walked over, put his right ear against it and listened for a moment – some sort of distant hum. He looked back at the den’s entrance as if debating whether he should go back and get Hunter. He decided to check it out by himself first.