Chris Carter - Gallery of the Dead

‘Screw you,’ she replied. ‘He didn’t play me.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Garcia said. ‘Even if we don’t give him anything, the rabbit is out of the hole now. There’s no way we’ll be able to keep a lid on this story anymore. So, before he or any other reporter comes up with a bullshit article about a brand-new serial killer who has claimed victims in four different states, I would suggest calling a press conference in the next day or two and feeding the press the story we want them to publicize. That’s the only way we’ll have any control over this now.’

Agent Fisher exchanged a new look with her FBI partner. They both knew Garcia was right.

‘I’ll give Director Kennedy a call in the morning,’ Agent Williams said.

‘Do you mind if I go back in there to talk to him?’ Hunter asked.

‘Since you were the one who offered him the bogus deal,’ Agent Williams replied, ‘it’s only logical that you do the talking.’

They all looked at Agent Fisher.

‘Fine,’ she said bitterly. ‘Someone else would have to do it anyway, because if I go back in there, I will slap that silly smirk off his idiot face.’

‘OK,’ Hunter said. ‘I’ll be right back.’

Before Hunter got to the door, it was pushed open by Special Agent Mike Brandon. He brought with him a tray with five steaming cups of coffee.

‘I thought these would come in handy,’ he said, placing the tray on the table.

‘Damn straight,’ Garcia said, reaching for a cup. Special Agents Williams and Fisher followed.

‘We’ll have the photographs from his camera in about half an hour,’ Agent Brandon announced, as he dropped four cubes of white sugar into his cup. ‘I also just got a call from Dr. Morgan,’ he continued, stirring the sugar into the coffee. ‘He’s done with the autopsy, but he needs to know if we’ll be dropping by the morgue tonight still, or in the morning.’

Hunter checked his watch. ‘This won’t take long. Ten minutes, max.’

‘Call him back,’ Agent Williams told Agent Brandon. ‘Tell him to please wait. We’ll be there in a tick or two.’

Owen Henderson was sitting forward on his chair, staring at his cuffed hands, when Hunter reentered the interrogation room.

‘Coffee?’ Hunter offered, nodding at the cup he held in his right hand.

Owen’s eyes burned a little brighter. ‘I’d love some.’

Hunter closed the door behind him, placed the cup on the metal table and used the keys he had picked up from the officer outside to finally free Owen from his restraints.

‘Thanks for that,’ Owen said, rubbing his wrists vigorously. ‘These were really very uncomfortable.’

‘They weren’t designed with comfort in mind,’ Hunter replied calmly.

Owen gave Hunter a humorless smile before reaching for the coffee.

‘It’s black,’ Hunter said. ‘No sugar, no cream.’

‘That’s just fine.’

As Owen had his first sip, his eyes closed and his face softened as if inside that cup was the best-tasting liquid in the world.

‘Sorry to interrupt your moment with the coffee,’ Hunter said. He had also decided to stand instead of taking the seat across the table from Owen. ‘But we have zero time to waste here. You’ve already done a great job in that department.’

Owen sipped his coffee again and sat back on his chair.

‘So how about we start from the very beginning,’ Hunter continued. ‘How did you hear about Timothy Davis? How did you get his address?’

‘Through a phone call.’

Hunter waited, but Owen went quiet again.

‘I said no more time-wasting, Owen.’

The odd gravel in Hunter’s voice made Owen pause halfway through his next sip. His stare gravitated toward Hunter.

‘No more games.’

‘All right. I was having some food at Kaleidoscope Juice — it’s a... coffee shop, juice and salad bar, and restaurant.’

‘And where’s that?’

‘Downtown Phoenix. Not that far from where I live.’

‘So you were having some food when you got the call?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Were you by yourself?’

Owen chuckled. ‘Story of my life.’

Hunter’s expression remained blank.

‘Yes,’ Owen rephrased. ‘I was by myself.’

‘And at what time was that?’

‘The call came in at around...’ He looked down at his coffee cup as his memory went back. ‘Two fifteen... Two twenty in the afternoon.’ Owen’s voice showed no excitement. No trepidation.

‘Is the cellphone on which you received the call registered in your name?’

Owen frowned at the question. ‘Of course.’

Hunter didn’t look at the two-way mirror, but he knew that since Agent Williams and the FBI were already compiling a file on Owen Henderson, they would no doubt also already have any cellphone numbers registered to his name. With that, they could contact the cellphone provider and possibly retrieve a copy of the conversation.

‘So what was said?’ Hunter asked, but at the same time signaled Owen to wait just a moment. ‘With as much detail as you can remember.’

Owen breathed out and placed his cup on the table. ‘It wasn’t a very long conversation,’ he began. ‘The phone rang, I answered it and the first thing he asked was if I would be interested in the biggest story of my life.’

‘Hold on,’ Hunter said, lifting a hand. ‘Was that really the first thing the caller asked? Didn’t he first ask who was speaking?’

‘Well,’ Owen replied with a half shrug. ‘Not in so many words.’ He decided to explain before Hunter had a chance to push him. ‘I always answer my phone by announcing who I am.’ He demonstrated by bringing his right hand closer to his face. His thumb became the earpiece and his pinky the mouthpiece. “Owen Henderson speaking”.’

Hunter nodded. He always answered his phone in a very similar manner.

‘But you’re right,’ Owen admitted. ‘Once I told him my name, his first words were — “the investigative reporter, Owen Henderson?”.’

‘Did you ask him how he got hold of your cellphone number?’

‘No, because that wouldn’t be too hard. I’m listed, plus I have a website, a Facebook account and a LinkedIn account. Several newspapers have me on file as well. Getting hold of my cellphone number wouldn’t be a problem to anyone.’

‘All right, how about his voice? Did you notice if there was anything odd about it — too much bass...? Husky...? Deep...? Soft...? Could you tell if it was being put through a pitch shifter? A voice modifier?’

Once again, Owen took his time as he thought back.

‘No, not at all. To be honest, it sounded as normal as normal voices go, and by normal I mean there was nothing about his voice, or even his tone, that I would call memorable. Nothing that would stick out. And I really don’t think that he was using any sort of voice effect.’ He shrugged. ‘It just sounded normal.’

Hunter kept his disappointment completely hidden.

‘OK, so tell me about the rest of the conversation, and as I’ve said, in as much detail as you can remember.’

Owen finished his coffee before picking up from where he’d left off. ‘So he asked me if I was indeed the investigative reporter. I replied that I was and then, like I’ve said, he asked me if I would be interested in the biggest story of my life. Well, that was just too generic, so I asked him what sort of story he was talking about.’ Owen paused to readjust his seating position.

‘And his reply?’

‘It was a peculiar one,’ Owen recounted it. ‘Because he said that initially , what would grab the public’s attention would be the murders — a series of them.’

‘Initially?’ Hunter asked.