Chris Carter - The Caller

Captain Blake made her way to the door. ‘That’s up to a judge and a jury, Carlos, you know that. It’s not our concern. Our job was to catch him and stop him from killing again and we did exactly that, so congratulations on a job well done.’ She paused as she pulled the door open. ‘Once all that paperwork is done I want the both of you to take a break, do you understand? Take the next couple of days off. That’s an order. I see any of your faces in this building in the next two days and you’ll be issuing parking tickets in Compton.’

‘That’s an order that I won’t contest,’ Garcia said as the captain exited their office.

‘Neither will I,’ Hunter agreed.

‘Since we have a couple of days off, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight, Robert? Anna would love to see you.’ Garcia followed those words with a cheeky smile. ‘You can even bring your date, if you like.’

Hunter locked eyes with his partner.

‘You know, the one whose lipstick you were wearing last night.’

Hunter smiled back.

‘Who knows, maybe I will.’

One month later

A psychiatric facility in California

The corridor was long and wide, brightly lit by a single row of fluorescent lights that ran down the center of the ceiling. The scent that lingered in the air was... complicated. It started with a heavy antiseptic smell, as if the entire place had just been deep-cleaned by someone with a severe phobia of germs, but with every couple of steps, he would get hints of different odors — sometimes vomit, sometimes blood, sometimes something he just couldn’t identify. The smell seemed to emanate from the squeaky-clean floor and bounce against the insanely white walls before hitting his nose. Despite how repugnant it was, the smell didn’t really bother him.

He walked calmly, with neutral steps. He hadn’t been there long, but he already hated the place. The good news for him was — he would be leaving soon.

He turned the corner and pushed through a heavy set of double doors. There it was again, the smell of vomit, as if it’d been hiding behind the door, waiting for him to come through before slapping him in the face. He ignored it, turned another corner and finally stopped before a thick metal door with a small window at eye level. He didn’t look through the window. He didn’t need to. He simply unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Nicholas Holden, who was lying on his bed, flipping through a magazine, looked up.

The man placed the square box he had with him on the floor and the two of them regarded each other in silence for a moment.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Holden asked.

‘I’m the one you called,’ the man replied, closing the door behind him.

‘Wrong cell, buddy. I didn’t call anyone.’

From his pocket, Mr. J retrieved a picture of Cassandra and showed it to Holden.

‘Are you sure about that?’

The next day, 8:24 a.m.

The small, nondescript café was located in Chatsworth Street, sandwiched between an auto brokers and a Chinese restaurant. It wasn’t a large place, but the coffee was decent, the service was good and their blueberry pancakes were literally something to write home about. Mr. J had just finished the last of his three pancakes, which had been covered in maple syrup, when he sensed someone approaching from behind and pausing about two paces from his table. He twisted his neck and looked up to find Hunter standing there.

‘Detective?’ he said with a quizzical look.

‘Mr. Jenkinson,’ Hunter said in reply. ‘I’m sorry for interrupting your breakfast.’

‘Oh no, not at all. I’m all done here.’ Mr. J pushed his plate away from him. ‘Please have a seat.’ He indicated the empty chair across the table from him.

‘Thank you.’ Hunter accepted it, taking the seat.

They locked eyes for several silent seconds.

‘Could I get you a cup of coffee, Detective? The coffee here is excellent.’

‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’

Mr. J searched Hunter’s expression but the detective was giving nothing away.

‘Is something the matter?’ he asked.

Hunter paused before nodding. ‘I’m actually here on official business.’

‘OK.’ Once again, Mr. J’s acting was impeccable. The concern he inflected into his voice was perfectly balanced. ‘What... sort of official business?’

‘I’m here to inform you of a new development in your wife’s murder investigation.’

Mr. J frowned. ‘A new development? How so?’ His concern intensified.

‘As you know,’ Hunter began, ‘Nicholas Holden has been confined to a psychiatric hospital while awaiting trial.’

‘Yeah.’ Mr. J placed his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. ‘Please tell me you’re not here to say that that sack o’ shit has escaped.’

‘No, he hasn’t.’

Mr. J breathed out.

‘But he also won’t be facing trial anymore.’

‘What? What the fuck do you mean, Detective — he won’t be facing trial anymore?’ The anger, the voice intonation, the wide eyes, all of it was delivered flawlessly.

Hunter was still studying Mr. J’s face. ‘He won’t be facing trial anymore because he was murdered in his cell late last night.’

‘Murdered?’

‘That’s correct.’

Mr. J pretended to take a moment to think about it. ‘How can you be sure, Detective? How can you be sure that that scumbag didn’t take the easy way out himself? That fucking coward.’

‘It wasn’t suicide,’ Hunter assured him.

‘And how could you know that?’

‘Because the skin was ripped from his face and his heart was cut out from his chest and left on the floor,’ Hunter explained. ‘Rats were feasting on it when they found him in the early hours of this morning.’

‘Rats?’

Hunter nodded. ‘No one has any idea where they came from or how they got into his cell. The hospital never had a problem with rats. The speculation is that whoever killed him, brought them with him.’

‘Brought the rats with him?’

Hunter nodded.

Mr. J sat back on his chair with a shocked look on his face, his eyes wandering aimlessly.

Hunter regarded Mr. J for several long silent seconds before standing up. ‘I thought you’d like to know,’ he said. ‘I figured that it would be better if you heard it from me than if you found out through the papers or the morning news.’

Hunter turned to leave.

‘Detective,’ Mr. J called.

Hunter faced him again.

‘What’s going to happen now? Are you going to chase his killer?’

‘No.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘He was already a guest of an official institution of the California Penal System. The crime occurred inside their own estate facility. They have their own internal investigators for that sort of crime.’

‘One last thing before you go.’ Mr. J stopped Hunter again. ‘How did you find him in the first place? You never told me that. How did you figure out who the killer was?’

Hunter locked eyes with Mr. J for the last time. For several seconds, neither of them blinked.

‘His eyes,’ he finally replied. ‘There’s always something in a killer’s eyes that gives it away.’ Hunter gave Mr. J a subtle wink. ‘You take care... Mr. J .’ He turned and exited the café.