The Crucifix Killer(103)

‘And you believe if we don’t catch him before he completes his psycho agenda, we’ll never catch him. He’ll simply disappear.’

Hunter nodded slowly.

‘So let’s catch him,’ Garcia said, pointing to the brown envelope Hunter had obtained from the hospitals.

Hunter smiled. ‘The first thing we gotta do is eliminate anyone under twenty or over fifty years of age from the list. After that let’s try and get a picture of everyone that’s left. We might just come up with something.’

‘Sure, pass me one of the lists.’

‘Have you been through the old investigation files?’

‘I’m still on them.’

Hunter looked pensive for a moment.

‘What’s up?’ Garcia asked.

‘Something’s been bothering me. Maybe the Crucifix Killer did frame Mike Farloe to throw us off course. Maybe he made a mistake and he had to cover it.’

‘A mistake?’

‘Maybe. It could be something to do with the last victim. The one just before we caught up with Mike Farloe. A young lawyer, I remember that. Do you have her file?’

‘It should be here.’ Garcia started searching through the files on his desk.

Their conversation was interrupted by Garcia’s fax machine’s ringtone. He pulled himself closer to his desk and waited for the printout to come through.

‘Você tá de sacanagem!’ Garcia suddenly said after staring at the received fax for half a minute.

Hunter didn’t understand Portuguese but he knew that whatever it meant, it wasn’t good.





Fifty-One





Hunter stared at his partner and waited, but Garcia kept his eyes on the fax, still mumbling something in Portuguese. ‘What the hell is it?’ Hunter shouted impatiently.

Garcia extended his hand displaying a black and white picture of a woman. It took Hunter a few seconds to realize what he was looking at. ‘Is that Jenny Farnborough?’

Garcia shook his head. ‘No this is Vicki Baker.’

‘Who?

‘Victoria Baker, age twenty-four, works as a manageress for a gym called 24 Hour Fitness in Santa Monica Boulevard,’ Garcia read from the foot of the picture.

‘I know that gym,’ Hunter cut in.

‘Apparently she was supposed to have gone to Canada on the second of July.’

‘And did she?’

‘It doesn’t say.’

‘Who sent us this?’

‘Logan from the Missing Persons’ Department. We still have a flag up on anyone that looks like the computer-generated image we got from Doctor Winston remember?’

Hunter nodded.

Because the first victim hadn’t been positively identified yet all protocol measures were still in place and that included constant checks against new entries to the MUPU database.

‘When was she reported missing?’

Garcia checked the fax’s second page. ‘Two days ago.’

‘By who?’

Another check. ‘Joe Bowman, the head manager of the gym.’

Hunter grabbed the fax from Garcia’s hand and studied it for a minute. The resemblance was there, but then again attractive, tall blonds seemed to grow on trees in Los Angeles. Hunter could clearly see how easily Vicki Baker and Jenny Farnborough could both be matched to the original computer-generated image. On their rush to identify the first victim they’d simply assumed Jenny Farnborough was their girl.

‘When did Jenny go missing from the Vanguard Club?’ Hunter asked.

Garcia flipped through a few pieces of paper he’d taken from his top drawer. ‘On the first of July. Vicki went missing one day later.’

‘This girl might not have gone missing on the sixth. She might’ve taken the plane to Canada and gone missing there, or when she got back, we don’t know yet. Let’s call the gym and check if this Joe Bowman is on duty today. If he is we’ll be on our way. The head of Customs at LAX is an old buddy of mine. I’ll get him to check if she boarded the plane on the sixth.’

Garcia quickly went back to his computer and with just a few clicks he had the gym’s information in front of him. He dialed the number and sat back on his chair waiting impatiently for someone to pick it up at the other end. It took only three rings for Garcia to get an answer. The conversation was restricted to about five sentences.

‘He’s on now until eleven-thirty tonight,’ Garcia said as he replaced the receiver.

‘Let’s go, you drive. Let me just call Trevor first.’

Trevor Grizbeck was the head of Customs and Immigration for the Los Angeles International Airport – LAX. Hunter knew there was no way he’d get an airline to disclose passengers’ information without a warrant, and he didn’t have time for one. It was time to call in some favors.