The Crucifix Killer (24 page)

Jerome could offer no answer but a shrug of his shoulders.

‘I’ll tell you who . . . a fucking dead one. I want this guy, do you feel me? I want him alive so I can show him what torture really is.’ He put his right arm around Jerome’s neck and pulled his face within an inch of his own. ‘Whatever it takes, nigga, do you understand me? Whatever it fucking takes.’

The realization that the killer had been in the Vanguard Club only a few days ago made Hunter’s blood boil. He decided they should stick around for a while longer. The killer had been here, he had touched things, allowed other people to look at him, maybe even talk to him. Somehow he’d managed to drug Jenny between the VIP area and the ladies’ room and then drag her out of the club without looking suspicious – or did he?

Hunter touched Garcia’s arm to get his attention and pointed to the low ceiling. ‘Do you see what I see?’

Garcia looked up, following Hunter’s extended index finger. ‘CCTV!’

‘Bingo.’

‘Excuse me!’ Hunter said, approaching the bouncer standing next to the fire exit. ‘Where is your CCTV control room?’ he asked, showing the muscle man his badge.

‘Upstairs, next to the manager’s office.’

‘Can you show me where it is? I need to take a look at some of your tapes.’

The two detectives followed the bouncer back through the dancing crowd to the western side of the club. A narrow staircase led them up to the next level and into a small corridor. They approached the second door on the right where the sign read ‘CONTROL ROOM’. Inside a solitary guard sat surrounded by small TV screens. He was holding a newspaper neatly folded in four with the crossword section showing. Hunter noticed he had yet to complete a single word.

‘Hi there, Stu,’ the bouncer said.

The guard didn’t look up. ‘Emotional shock, six letters beginning with T, do you have any idea what it could be?’ The top of the ballpoint pen he was holding in his right hand had been completely chewed off.

‘Trauma.’ The answer came from Hunter.

The guard finally lifted his eyes from the paper with a surprised look, only then realizing Tarik wasn’t alone. He put down the newspaper and straightened himself in his chair. Hunter took care of the introductions and badge-displaying ritual.

‘I need to clear it with the manager first,’ Stu said reaching for the phone after Hunter had explained the reason for their unannounced visit. Hunter made no objection and listened as the guard quickly explained the situation over the phone to one of his superiors.

‘OK, sir. We’ll wait,’ he said, putting the phone down.

‘So?’ Hunter asked.

‘He’s coming over.’

Hunter scanned the small TV monitors in front of Stu’s desk. ‘How many cameras in total?’

‘One over each bar, one over the dance floor entrance, one above the fire exit, two out on the patio, one over the club entrance, one in each of the two corridors that lead to the bathrooms, three over the dance floor and two over the VIP area,’ Stu said, pointing to a different monitor with each new camera he mentioned.

The door opened and a short man dressed in an immaculately pressed pin-striped suit walked in. He was about five-foot five and the bad acne from his youth had left his pale face pitted like a sponge. His thick bushy eyebrows made him look like a cartoon character. He introduced himself as Tevez Lopez, the security manager.

‘We need to see all your CCTV footage from last Friday,’ Hunter said wasting no time with frivolous explanations.

‘What exactly are we looking for?’

‘A young woman was abducted last Friday. We have reason to believe she might’ve been abducted from this club. We need to check those tapes.’

Tevez and Stu looked worried for a moment. ‘We might have a problem here, Detective,’ Tevez said.

‘Why?’

‘We only keep our recordings for two, maybe three days; last Friday has been erased.’

‘What? Why?’ Garcia asked with frustration.

‘We have no need to keep it,’ Tevez offered casually. ‘If we had no problems on the night, no fights, no money’s gone missing from the tills, no drug-related incident, we see no point in holding on to the recordings. You see, Detective, everything is digital in this day and age. We have about thirteen cameras recording something like twelve to fifteen hours every night and that uses a hell of a lot of hard-drive space. Once we’re satisfied the night has gone on without a problem, we erase it to make room for the new recordings.’

Both detectives were stunned by Tevez’s statement. Probably the only ever footage of the killer, erased to save disk space. Hunter knew an opportunity like this would never come up again. He turned and faced the monitors.

‘You have no hard copy?’ Garcia questioned.

‘No, as I’ve said, there’s no need.’

‘Wait, can you zoom in on this camera,’ Hunter pointed to the top left monitor.

‘Sure.’ Stu twisted a knob on his desk and the monitor image zoomed in to three times its original size.

‘Who is this?’ Hunter pointed to a long-haired man seated in the VIP area. D-King and Jerome were sitting in front of him.

‘That’s Pietro, one of our barmen, but he’s not supposed to be in the VIP area,’ Tevez replied.

‘We’ll need to talk to him.’

‘Sure, would you like me to call him up here now?’

Hunter looked around the control room. It was hardly an appropriate place for an interview. ‘Do you have another room we could use?’

‘You could use my office, it’s just down the corridor.’

‘Wait until he’s finished talking to whoever it is he’s talking to and then call him up. We’ll wait in your office.’ Hunter didn’t want Tevez to know he’d already made D-King’s acquaintance.

Tevez’s office was small but well decorated. A square mahogany desk sat towards the back of the room. To its right, a neon-illuminated fish tank gave the office a nice personal touch. An array of shelves filled with photographs and books covered the entirety of the east wall. The loud music from the dance floor was muffled but still audible, making the floor under their feet tremble slightly but constantly. They’d been waiting for about five minutes when Pietro came in to greet them.

‘Mr Lopez said you’d like to talk to me,’ Pietro said after the usual introductions.

‘That’s right. Your conversation with Bobby Preston, what was it about?’ Hunter saw no need for beating around the bush.

The look on Pietro’s face told them that he didn’t recognize the name.

‘D-King, your conversation with D-King,’ Garcia clarified.

‘Was it about this girl?’ Hunter showed him Jenny’s picture.

Pietro was visibly nervous. All of a sudden he’d had D-King and the cops asking him questions about Jenny. ‘Yes, he wanted to know if I’d talked to her last Friday.’

‘And did you?’

‘Yes, briefly.’

‘Can you remember what time?’

‘It was around two in the morning.’

‘What did you talk about?’

Pietro felt as if he were in an episode of
The Twilight Zone
. D-King had just asked him exactly the same questions.

‘Nothing important. She looked tired so I asked her if she wanted a drink. We only chatted for about a minute. I had to get back to serving customers.’

‘Did she have a drink?’

‘Not from me, she had a glass of champagne with her already.’

‘Did she leave after you guys talked?’

‘Not straight away, she hung out by the bar for a while. She said she needed a break from the party. As I said she looked tired.’

‘Did you notice if she talked to anyone else?’

Again, the same questions as D-King’s. ‘Jenny is a very attractive girl. A woman like that hanging by the bar alone on a Friday night is like a magnet for men, so guys always approach her, but there was this one guy . . .’

‘What about him?’

‘He looked a little different. For starters he was wearing a pretty expensive-looking suit. No one really wears suits in here, except the bosses and some of the VIP guests, especially on Friday and Saturday nights. It looked like he was trying to pick her up, but he had no joy.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Not Jenny’s style. She’ll chat and flirt with everyone, guys and girls, but she’s not the kind of girl you can simply pick up in a nightclub. He chatted to her for a few minutes and then left.’

‘What did this guy look like?’

‘I couldn’t really tell you. I just remember he was tall and very well dressed, but other than that . . .’ Pietro shook his head. ‘I’m not very good with faces.’

‘Did you see her talking to anyone else?’

‘Not that I can remember, but then again, it was Friday night, I was too busy to really notice.’

‘Can you remember if you’ve ever seen this tall, well-dressed man in here . . . before or since Friday?’

‘Sorry.’ Another shake of the head. ‘If I have, he didn’t stick out. The only reason I remember him from Friday is because I saw him chatting to Jenny.’

‘Do you know if they left together?’

‘I didn’t see. But as I’ve said before, it’s not Jenny’s style.’

‘Did she seem high or drunk?’

‘Not at all, just tired really.’

Hunter grabbed a card from his beat-up leather wallet. ‘If you ever see the tall guy in here again, stop whatever it is that you’re doing and you call me, do you understand?’

‘Yeah, sure.’ D-King had asked for exactly the same thing.

‘My cell phone number is on the back.’

Pietro examined both sides of Hunter’s card and placed it in his back pocket. ‘She’s not OK, is she?’ he asked with tenderness in his voice.

Hunter hesitated for a moment, but revealing the truth would probably make Pietro keener to help. ‘She’s dead.’

Pietro closed his eyes for an instant. It was hard for him to believe that he would never again see Jenny’s smile or her warm eyes. He would never again hear her soft voice. ‘And you think this tall guy did it?’

‘We don’t know, but it looks like he was the last one to have talked to her.’

Pietro nodded as if he understood what he had to do.

The next day started with Hunter and Garcia taking a drive up to George Slater’s house in Brentwood.

‘Wow, this looks nice,’ Garcia said, admiring the striking building. Even by the lofty standards of Hollywood the house was impressive. It was positioned at the end of a narrow lane, shadowed by oak trees. The carved lintels and immaculate white front made the house stand out on a street of distinguished residences. On the east side of the house, overlooking a gorgeous garden was a detached double garage.

‘Being a lawyer has its advantages I guess,’ Hunter replied as he parked his car on the driveway. They made their way along the cobblestone walkway, up the small flight of stairs to the front door and pressed the ‘call’ button on the video-entry system.

‘Yes,’ the reply came just a few seconds later.

Both detectives lifted their badges to the small camera on the wall and introduced themselves.

‘Can you give me just a minute?’ The voice was soft and feminine, but Hunter detected the slight quiver that came from having cried for hours.

‘Of course, ma’am.’

They waited patiently for almost a minute before they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The door opened to reveal a very attractive woman with golden blond hair that she had up in a slicked-back bun. Her lipstick was a pale shade of red and her make-up subtle, just not enough to disguise the dark circles under her sad hazel eyes. Hunter put her age at around thirty-two. She was wearing a light black chiffon dress that suited her body perfectly. Her grief made her looked tired and frazzled.

‘Hello!’ She had a stunning presence about her, with a sort of delicate superiority. Her posture was perfect.

‘Thank you for seeing us, Mrs Slater, I hope this is not too much of an inconvenient time.’

Catherine forced a shy smile and stepped aside. ‘Please come in.’

The house had a hint of scented candles, jasmine perhaps, but the air inside felt cold and impersonal. The walls were white and Hunter noticed the even whiter squares revealing where pictures had once hung.

She showed them into what looked to have been an office. The book shelves were now empty and the sofa and armchair were covered with large white dustsheets. The room was brightly lit as the curtain that once protected it from the sunlight had been taken down. Cardboard boxes scattered around the room completed the ‘moving away’ decoration.

‘I’m sorry about the mess,’ she said, pulling the dustsheets from over the sofa and placing them behind the large hardwood desk that stood just a few feet from the window. ‘Please have a seat.’

Hunter and Garcia took the sofa while Catherine sat in the armchair opposite them. She noticed the inquisitive look on Hunter’s face and offered an answer even before the question.

‘I’m moving back to Alabama. I’ll stay with my parents for a little while until I decide what to do. I have no business here anymore, the only reason I came to LA was so George could take a position with Tale & Josh,’ she said in a sad and fragile voice. ‘Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea?’