Chris Carter - Gallery of the Dead

‘I’ll be damned,’ Agent Fisher said, her eyes, just like everyone else’s, slowly running the length of the live fence in front of them. The thick bushes would have provided anyone with a perfect hiding place, while allowing them a clear view of the house’s front door.

‘I’ll get them to start on it straight away,’ Agent Brandon said.

Once they entered the house, they lost no time exploring any of the rooms, moving straight down into the basement and the crime scene. They’d been correct in the impression they’d had from the photographs Owen Henderson had taken — the entire space had indeed been transformed into a shrine to Timothy Davis’s late wife, Ronda. What no one could’ve guessed from the photos was that the nauseating smell of death that inevitably accompanied most crime scenes didn’t linger in that room. Instead, a light lavender scent graced the air, as if every object in that basement had been infused with Ronda Davis’s favorite perfume — a fact that somehow seemed to add an extra layer of sadness to an already heartbreaking scene.

‘I hate to admit it,’ Garcia said, coming up to Hunter, who had spent the last ten minutes studying the photograph-covered wall to the right of the entrance door. ‘But Agent Fisher was right. This room slowly swallows you into this choking combination of love and sadness, as if both feelings really did reside side by side on these walls. It elates you and rips you apart at the same time.’ Garcia looked around, as if he were searching for something. ‘It’s like some strange soul-draining quicksand. The longer you stay in here, the more divided you get.’

‘And do you think that was done on purpose?’ Hunter asked. ‘I mean, do you think that the killer knew about this room beforehand? This... love and sadness sanctuary?’

Garcia pondered the thought for a minute. ‘If we’re correct about this whole “crime scene as a canvas” theory, if the meaning behind the killer’s Latin phrase used here — “beauty lives on the inside” — really refers to the beauty that lived inside Timothy Davis, maybe even inside this room, like Agent Fisher suggested, then he had to have known about it. No way this could’ve happened by chance, Robert.’

‘That’s the problem, Carlos,’ Hunter said, his eyes still on the photographs that hung from the wall. ‘How could he have known?’

Agents Fisher and Williams had just joined Hunter and Garcia by the photograph-covered wall when Agent Brandon, who had stayed upstairs giving the forensics team a whole new set of instructions, walked into the room.

‘You were right,’ he said, his voice animated, his stare moving straight to Hunter. ‘It was worth checking with blood-donation centers around town. Timothy Davis did donate blood recently. In fact, he did it yesterday at a Red Cross blood bank in central Tucson at around eleven in the morning. After his donation, he was seen talking to a tall man in the snacks room at the blood center. The information we got is that they were seen leaving together, and that was the last time Mr. Davis was seen alive.’

Agent Fisher first looked at Hunter as if asking, ‘When did you instruct anyone to check with blood-donation centers?’ before her gaze moved over to Agent Brandon with a new unspoken question: ‘And why wasn’t I informed about this before?’ But the agent managed to swallow her pride and the question she finally asked wasn’t a bickering one.

‘Please tell me that this blood bank downtown has a CCTV system in place?’

‘They do,’ Agent Brandon replied, but didn’t give anyone a chance to rejoice. ‘But unfortunately, it isn’t working.’

‘What? Are you joking?’ Agent Fisher looked like she was about to punch someone. ‘How convenient.’

‘No,’ Agent Brandon clarified. ‘The system hasn’t worked for months. It didn’t just all of a sudden stop working yesterday.’

‘Months?’ Agent Fisher queried, her voice moving up the irritation scale at least a couple of notches. ‘And they never cared to fix it?’

‘We’re talking about the Red Cross here, Erica.’ Hunter tried to calm her down. ‘A volunteer-based movement where the budget is tight at the best of times. Fixing a CCTV system in a blood bank in Tucson probably isn’t very high on their priority list.’

‘Fine,’ she said, throwing her hands up in the air. ‘CCTV or no CCTV, we still need the names of everyone on duty at the blood bank yesterday morning, together with whoever else was inside that snacks room at that particular time. We need to talk to all of them, and we need to do that now.’

From his pocket, Agent Brandon produced a notepad.

‘There were three volunteer nurses on duty at the center yesterday. A fourth volunteer took care of the snacks room. According to their records, there could’ve been as many as three other people in the snacks room at that time, but that hasn’t been confirmed yet. The only other person we’re sure was in the snacks room with Mr. Davis is the tall stranger, whom the blood center seems to have no record of.’

‘No record?’ Agent Fisher again.

Agent Brandon shook his head. ‘Despite him being in the snacks room, which in theory you can only gain access to once you donate blood, no one can find him in yesterday’s donor’s list. This tall stranger doesn’t seem to be in their system.’

‘OK, so how the hell did he get into the snacks room?’

‘Maybe the retina scan and the voice-signature security systems were also down,’ Garcia joked, though his voice sounded serious. ‘It’s a Red Cross blood bank, Agent Fisher, not Fort Knox. The room was full of cookies and juice, not gold bars. He probably strolled in through the front door. Nobody would really scrutinize his presence there, would they?’

Before the agent could reply, Garcia turned and addressed Agent Brandon. ‘What else have you got?’

‘Well, all four volunteers who were on duty yesterday are back on duty today. All we need to do to talk to them is drop by the blood bank. And,’ Agent Brandon informed everyone, but his nod once again went Hunter’s way, ‘forensics has already started going through the live fence outside. If you’re right, with a bit of luck, we might get something.’

‘Is the blood bank open?’ Agent Williams asked.

Agent Brandon checked his watch. ‘Yes, they opened a little while ago.’

‘OK, so let’s go,’ Agent Fisher said, motioning toward the door.

Hunter would have liked to spend a lot more time inside that basement room, but preferably undisturbed and alone. Under the circumstances, there was nothing else he could do there.

Garcia didn’t have to be asked twice. He, for one, was glad to get out.

Once the group was outside, Agent Fisher’s cellphone rang inside her pocket. As she reached for it, Garcia, who was directly behind her, caught a glimpse of the caller’s photo on the display screen. The image showed the smiling face of a teenage girl with Down syndrome.

‘Oh!’ Agent Fisher said, doing her best to hide the concern in her eyes as she addressed the group. ‘You all go right ahead. I’ll catch up with everyone in just a minute. OK?’

She brought the phone to her ear and though she kept her voice as quiet as she could, as she moved away from everyone, Garcia overheard her first few words to the caller.

‘Hi, darling, is everything all right?’

Those words were flooding with worry.

As the remaining four rounded the house, moving back toward the driveway, Garcia looked at Agent Williams.

‘Cruella DeVille has a daughter?’ he asked, sincerely surprised.

The agent nodded. ‘She does, yes. Heather. She’s fourteen years old and as sweet as sweet can be. Funny, too. You’d fall in love with her if you met her.’