‘The bedroom and the bathroom are through there,’ Mr. Reuben said, indicating a door across the room.
Hunter and Garcia gloved up.
‘Do you mind waiting outside?’ Garcia said to the landlord. ‘We’re not sure if there’s any evidence here, but if there is I’d like to reduce the risk of contaminating it.’
Mr. Reuben looked disappointed as he took a step back. ‘Of course. I understand. I’ll be right out here if you need me.’
The first thing Hunter and Garcia noticed inside the narrow living room was Ethan Walsh’s laptop computer on the wooden table. A webcam was clipped to the top of the screen.
Hunter retrieved two large evidence bags from his pocket, and placed the laptop, the web camera and all the computer cables inside them.
Garcia was looking through the photographs on top of the chest of drawers. There were four in total. All of them of Ethan Walsh with his baby daughter. The drawers revealed a few books and magazines, all on computer programming, and a vast number of comic books. The kitchen was a little untidy, but not any more than one would expect for a single man living on his own. The fridge had several microwavable dinners and a lot of beer.
Hunter left Garcia to look around the living room some more and moved onto the rest of the apartment. The bathroom was a sardine can, with a cracked shower enclosure, a toilet and not much else.
The bedroom didn’t look much bigger either. A full bed was pushed up sideways against the far wall, directly under a small window, and even so it left very little space for one to maneuver around it. Besides the unmade bed, there was only a sliding-door wall wardrobe and a bed table with a reading lamp on it.
Hunter checked under the bed – two empty suitcases. The wardrobe had shirts, T-shirts, jeans, trousers, jackets, two pairs of sneakers, a pair of social shoes and two cardboard boxes full of videogames. Ethan’s bedroom was untidy, but again within what would be expected. Once more, nothing suggested a disturbance.
Hunter returned to the living room, where Garcia was standing next to the uncomfortable-looking sofa, flipping through the pages of what looked like a notebook or a diary. As Hunter stepped back into the room, Garcia paused and frowned at the page he was reading.
Hunter recognized the look. ‘What have you got?’
Garcia looked up and smiled.
‘Our first link.’
Ninety-One
The man carrying his empty basket walked down the long fruit and vegetable aisle in the supermarket for the third time, still unable to decide what to get. He stopped by the oranges section once again, picked one up, brought it to his nose and breathed in its intense aroma. He really liked oranges, but still, not one made it into his basket. He moved a couple of steps further along and paused by the ample and diverse apples display. His favorites were Fireside apples, but they were hard to find in Los Angeles, being a lot more popular in the upper Midwest. It didn’t much bother him though, because Pink Pearls were just as nice, and they were a product of northern California, abundantly found everywhere in LA. He held one in his hand for a long moment, resisting the temptation to bite into it right there and then. He put the apple back and moved along to yet another fruit display.
The indecisive man wore a dark blue suit jacket that didn’t match his light-colored trousers. His shoes were battered, showing years of wear. His hair had been combed back loosely, but only by his fingers, and his two-day stubble made him look a little older than he really was.
The man moved past the blueberries display without stopping. He didn’t like their grainy texture, and to him they were never sweet enough. Anyway, blueberries were way too expensive. He reconsidered buying some pears, peaches or nectarines, but in the end he moved on once again without making his mind up.
When he reached the end of the aisle, he paused and looked back at it, sighing with disappointment. He placed his hand inside his trouser pocket, closed his fingers around all the money he had, pulled it out and counted it again. He didn’t have a lot, just enough to buy the few items he had placed on his mental list. Fruit was one of those items, if only he could decide which one. He returned the money to his pocket and slowly walked back to the top of the aisle again. An attractive woman, who looked to be in her late twenties, was carefully selecting oranges and placing them inside a small, clear plastic bag. The man paused by her side, and after a few seconds tentatively reached for one.
‘These are great,’ the woman said quite enthusiastically.
The man smiled shyly.
‘I bought some the other day,’ the woman continued. ‘And they were the sweetest oranges I’ve had in a very long time.’
‘Really?’ the man replied, now intriguingly eyeing the orange in his hand.
‘I’m telling you.’ She paused and looked at him. He had kind eyes, she thought. ‘It’s like they’ve been infused with sugar or honey or something. You should try some.’
And just like that, a decision was made.
The man smiled and nodded happily. ‘OK, I think I will, then.’ He placed two oranges inside his shopping basket. Two were all he could afford.
A few minutes later the man had, at last, managed to buy all the items on his mental list. Happy with himself, he exited the supermarket, carrying everything inside a brown-paper bag. When he reached the semi-dark parking lot he paused, looking a little confused. He glanced left, then right, trying to decide which way to go. As he turned to go right, the brown-paper bag he was carrying ripped open at the bottom. The few groceries he had in it spilled to the ground, scattering around his feet. The two oranges he bought began rolling away in different directions.
‘Shit!’ he whispered, scrambling after the first of them like a cat after a tennis ball. He finally managed to pick it up, and quickly turned to look for the other one. He spotted it just as it was about to roll away under a parked SUV. All of a sudden, a foot came out of nowhere and stopped it.
The man looked up and saw the woman he’d met at the orange display. She bent over and collected the fruit from off the ground. ‘This one is a runaway, huh?’ She smiled.
The man looked at her, then at the ripped bag and the rest of his groceries on the ground.
‘It’s a bummer when that happens, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I can’t believe this supermarket still uses paper bags. They’re crap, and not very good for the environment either.’
The man was unsure of what to say, so he said nothing. Timidly, he started collecting his things.
‘Here, let me help you,’ she said, picking up half of the items, among them a jar of coffee. ‘You’re lucky this didn’t break.’
The man nodded, thinking that he was also lucky that he hadn’t chosen apples instead of oranges. They would’ve certainly bruised.
‘Thank you,’ he finally said, trying to collect the items she had picked up, but he didn’t have enough hands.
‘It’s OK. I can help you with these,’ she said. ‘Do you have a car?’
The man nodded. ‘Just over there.’ He pointed to his car, which was further down the parking lot.
‘Do you live around here?’ she asked, as they started walking toward the man’s car.
‘Not very far, you?’
‘A couple of blocks away.’
The man nodded. ‘Oh!’ he said after a few seconds, as if he’d just realized something. ‘Would you like a ride home?’
She smiled again. ‘Oh no, my car is parked just back there. The SUV that your orange almost rolled under. But thank you for the offer, anyway.’
When they got to the man’s car, he unlocked it and opened the back doors. ‘You can just put everything in the back seat, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sure,’ the woman replied.
As she placed the groceries down, one of the oranges rolled away from her, off the seat and onto the floor. She moved quickly, thrusting her body forward, stretching her arm and managing to stop it just before it disappeared under the driver’s seat.
‘This one really
is
a runaway,’ she thought.
Suddenly she felt a presence behind her. She twisted her body slightly, and looked over her right shoulder. The man was standing right behind her. The kind look in his eyes had changed to something much darker. He smiled in a way that scared her. When he spoke, his voice also sounded different – calm, but with a cold edge to it that sucked the air straight out of her lungs.
‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?’
Ninety-Two
The next morning brought with it the first autumn downpour. The sky was dark with heavy clouds, and daylight seemed to be fighting a losing battle to break through. The bitter wind that blew from the north made Los Angeles feel like Winnipeg in November.
For Hunter, Garcia and Captain Blake, the day started with an update meeting, held in Hunter’s office. None of them looked like they had managed much sleep overnight.
‘OK,’ Captain Blake said, using both hands to tuck her loose hair behind her ears. ‘Before we talk about anything else, I need to know what’s the deal with this Thomas Paulsen guy?’ A pinch of irritation colored her voice.
No immediate answer, but the exact same questioning frown suddenly appeared on both detectives’ faces.
‘I got a call late last night from the Chief of Police,’ Captain Blake explained, ‘who, in turn, received two separate calls yesterday, one from the governor of California, and the other from the mayor of Los Angeles. Apparently the two of you have been harassing a Mr. Thomas Paulsen, software millionaire, who so happens to be a major
funds
contributor to both of their political campaigns.’
‘Harassing?’ Garcia chuckled.
‘That was the word that was used,’ the captain confirmed.
‘We barely managed to get a word out, Captain.’ Garcia was struggling to keep his calm. ‘As soon as we entered his office yesterday, he launched onto this rehearsed speech of his. When he was done, he kicked us out. And that was all that happened. I don’t think we even got to ask a single question.’
‘And what else do you have on him other than him being the subject of an article written by Christina Stevenson, our second victim?’
A moment of hesitation.
‘We are investigating the possibility that Thomas Paulsen had threatened Christina Stevenson after the article was published,’ Garcia finally said.
‘You are
investigating
,’ the captain came back. ‘As in
you have no proof yet.
’
‘Not yet,’ Garcia admitted. ‘But if you were there you would understand, Captain. Everything about Thomas Paulsen stunk of crap. And he sure as hell fits the profile. He said so himself. He’s intelligent enough. He’s got the means and the cyberspace knowledge to pull it off. He’s as arrogant and as bold as the killer is on the phone, if not more. And he admitted that he was very glad to see Christina Stevenson die the way she did. Doesn’t that stink of psycho to you?’
‘It doesn’t matter if he stinks of psycho, dog shit or roses,’ Captain Blake shot back irritably. ‘We need probable cause. And you shouldn’t need
me
to tell you that. Arrogant . . .? Of course he’s arrogant. He’s extremely rich. He’s got politicians eating out of his hands, and he’s the CEO of a very large, influential and successful company. That gives him power, and a lot of it. Everyone with that much power inevitably becomes arrogant and detached from what we, mere mortals, call the real world. And you shouldn’t need
me
to tell you that either. This Paulsen guy has the power and the contacts to slam every investigation door right on our faces. He snaps a finger, and you two will be issuing traffic tickets for a very long time. He does it again, and I’ll probably get transferred to “Shitkickers Creek” somewhere in North Dakota. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Hunter and Garcia said nothing.
‘Let me ask you this,’ the captain said, moving on. ‘Are you investigating anyone else who had also been the subject of any of Christina Stevenson’s other articles? Don’t tell me Thomas Paulsen is the only person she has ever pissed off.’
‘No,’ Hunter answered. ‘At the moment we’re not investigating anyone else.’
Garcia lifted a hand in a stop gesture. ‘Wait a second, are we getting heat for doing our jobs, Captain?’
‘No,’ the captain spat out, her voice rising a notch. ‘You’re getting heat because I got heat, and I always pass it on. You’re also getting heat because this Paulsen guy doesn’t mind putting a large chunk of his money into politicians’ campaigns, and that will buy him the fires of hell when it comes to how much heat he can bestow upon this department.’
‘So?’ Hunter said. ‘Are the mayor and the governor saying that rich folks don’t kill people?’
‘No.’ The captain glared at him. ‘They are saying that you better have something very substantial in your bag before you go knocking on Thomas Paulsen’s door again, because if you don’t they’ll lose a very important contributor to their political campaigns on the run-up to a new election, and we’ll be slapped with a lawsuit that will make Rodney King’s seem like kindergarten stuff.’ She paused, taking a moment to recompose herself, her voice going back to its normal pitch. ‘Look, I know we’re all just doing our jobs here. You know me enough to know that I don’t give a flying fuck for who Thomas Paulsen is, or who he has in his pocket, but the truth of the matter is that with this guy we
will have
to play it by the book, because if we don’t and we screw up even an inch, the chief has guaranteed me that the next job any of us will be doing will involve a brush, a toilet bowl and human excrement. Do you get the picture?’
‘Yes,’ Garcia replied. ‘And the picture I’m getting smells like bullshit, Captain.’
‘Well, that’s the smell of power and politics, and you as well as I know that this department is drowning in it, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. So investigate the hell out of him if you like, but
play it by the book.
If you get anything else on him other than the article Christina Stevenson wrote about him, come to me with it first. That’s all I’m asking.’
The captain dropped the subject and moved toward the pictures board. ‘OK, let’s move on. The third Internet victim: I was told his body has been found.’ Her eyes searched the board, but found no new photographs.