Chris Carter - The Caller

At the house’s front lawn, a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties was frantically fighting being dragged away by two police officers. Her long and straight dark hair was bunched up into a messy bun above her head. Her dark-brown eyes were overflowing with tears, and her small, upturned nose had gone a light shade of pink from all the crying. In hearing her name, the distraught woman hastily jerked her arm away from one of the officer’s grip and looked back at Hunter. The expression on her face was a combination of desperation and anguish.

‘Let me go,’ she screamed at the officers, trying to free her other arm. ‘She’s my sister.’ Her voice was full of pain.

Hunter got to them in no time.

‘Sorry, Detective,’ Sergeant Prado said, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t know how she managed to get through the tape.’

‘It’s OK, Sergeant.’ Hunter placed a hand on his shoulder and firmly but tactfully pushed him away from the fragile woman. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

Sergeant Prado let go of Erica. The officer with him followed suit.

‘Are you sure, Detective?’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Hunter had never sounded so confident.

‘My sister... where’s my sister?’ Erica cried out, trying to look past Hunter.

He placed a hand on each of Erica’s arms, delicately holding her in place. ‘Erica, I’m Detective Robert Hunter of the LAPD.’ He kept his voice calm and quiet.

Erica wiggled her body away from Hunter’s hold. ‘Gwen... where’s Gwen?’ She tried to push past him in the direction of the house.

Hunter stepped with her, blocking her path. Their eyes met and all Hunter could do was give her a subtle, but very meaningful shake of the head. ‘I’m so sorry, Erica.’

She kept her eyes on his.

‘No... no... no... no...’

With each new word, Erica punched Hunter’s chest with a closed fist. He kept his arms down, offering no defense, allowing all of her emotions to be taken out on him. As her arms finally lost the strength in them, Hunter gently hugged her, bringing her head to his shoulder and turning her around, so she wouldn’t be facing the house. She fought him for all of two seconds, before giving in to his embrace.

‘It can’t be true. It can’t.’ She exploded into a brand new barrage of tears.

Hunter held her in his arms for a full minute. ‘Erica,’ he finally said. ‘Do you mind if I call you by your first name?’

Erica moved back from his grip and brought a hand to her face, wiping her runny nose with her palm.

Hunter unzipped his coverall and reached inside his pocket for a paper tissue. He always carried them with him.

‘Here,’ he said.

She hesitated for an instant before finally taking the tissue and blowing her nose. ‘Thank you.’

Hunter handed her the whole packet. ‘Why don’t you keep these? I have more in the car.’

Erica looked lost, her eyes unable to focus on anything.

‘How about we go have a seat somewhere?’ Hunter said, his head tilting in the direction of the road.

Erica allowed Hunter to guide her towards his car. As he walked past a uniformed officer, he asked him to get them a large glass of sugary water.

They sat inside Hunter’s Buick for several long minutes in complete silence. Erica couldn’t stop shaking or crying. Hunter gave her all the time she needed. He knew that nothing he could say would lessen the pain she was going through at that moment. Sometimes silence was the best conversation.

The officer finally returned with the glass of sugary water.

‘Here, Erica, drink this,’ Hunter said. ‘It will make you feel a little better. I promise you.’

Erica drank almost the entire glass of water in just a few large gulps.

‘I don’t understand,’ she finally said, looking back at Hunter. Her voice was still unsteady, but not as much as minutes earlier. ‘How can that phone call be true? How can that monster be real?’

‘Would you like to tell me about what happened? About the monster?’

Erica finished the rest of the water. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure what is real and what isn’t anymore.’

Hunter waited, allowing Erica to dictate the pace.

‘I was home alone,’ she began, ‘just making some popcorn...’

For the next twenty minutes, Erica proceeded to tell Hunter everything her memory threw back at her. When she told him about the questions she was asked and about her phobia of cemeteries, panic took hold of her one more time.

Hunter asked the officer for a new glass of sugary water.

It took Erica another five minutes to recompose herself.

Then she told Hunter what she had done.

As Hunter left the crime scene and exited the house, Detective Webb was finally able to focus his stare back on to Dr. Gwen Barnes’ body on the dining table. He knew it was her, but her facial disfiguration had been so severe, he just couldn’t recognize her.

‘This can’t be true,’ he said again.

‘Detective?’ This time the imposing call came from Dr. Slater. She walked over to meet him.

Webb blinked once before meeting her stern gaze.

‘I can’t have you contaminating my crime scene, do you understand me?’ She paused and took a breath. Her voice softened a little. ‘I am terribly sorry for your loss. I really am. No one should find out about the death of a loved one, or a friend, or anyone this way, but you are an LAPD detective, you should know better than to enter an unprocessed crime scene unprepared and unsuited. I can’t have you here. You are compromising not only this crime scene, but this entire investigation.’

‘Detective Webb,’ Garcia took over, approaching him. ‘Why don’t we talk outside, and allow forensics to process the scene?’ He gestured towards the door. ‘They have a lot to do in here. Maybe you can give me a little more insight on Dr. Barnes. We need all the information we can get on her. You can also tell me about the note and the bracelet you’ve mentioned.’

Webb’s professional side finally took over.

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said at last. ‘I’m sorry I’ve acted so impulsively.’

‘You were just being human, Detective,’ Garcia said, his tone friendly and understanding. ‘That’s what we all are.’

Webb allowed his eyes to rest upon the body on the table one last time, before exiting the house. As they stepped outside, Garcia unzipped his coverall and freed his arms, allowing the top half of the white jumpsuit to hang loosely from his waist. Once they reached the edge of the house’s front lawn, Webb reached inside his jacket pocket for his notepad, scribbled something down, tore off the page and handed it to Garcia.

‘What’s this?’ Garcia asked as he read the note.

‘My partner’s name and badge number. He’s the person who I went to meet after I dropped Gwen back here.’ Webb reached inside his pocket again, this time for a pack of cigarettes. He tapped one out and brought it to his lips before offering Garcia one.

He declined.

Webb lit his up and took a long drag. ‘There’s no reason for bullshitting here, Detective...?’

‘Garcia, but you can call me Carlos.’

‘There’s no reason for bullshitting here, Detective Garcia. I know how this works. I was the last person to see the victim alive. I was out with her on the night she was murdered and I was the one who drove her home. In short, right now, I am the suspect list.’ Webb had another drag of his cigarette.

Garcia regarded the man in front of him for a second. Webb did fit the basic description they had of the masked killer — tall, with broad shoulders — but then again, half of the male population of Los Angeles fitted that description.