The Crucifix Killer (29 page)

‘It’s just a follow-up call, sir,’ Hunter this time. ‘We just wanna tie up some loose ends.’

‘And you wanna do this in my home?’ Peterson asked in an irritated tone.

‘If we could have only ten minutes of your time . . .’

‘It’s Sunday, gentlemen,’ he cut in. ‘I like to spend Sundays with my family . . . uninterrupted. If you wanna tie anything up, my secretary would gladly arrange an appointment. Now if you’d excuse me.’ He started to close the door but Hunter pushed his foot forward stopping it.

‘Mr Peterson,’ Hunter said before Peterson had a chance to voice his discontentment. ‘Your colleague, your friend, was murdered by a total maniac who respects nothing. That wasn’t a vengeance killing, and it sure as hell wasn’t a chance one either. We’re not sure who will be next, but what we do know is if we don’t stop him, there will be another victim.’ Hunter paused, staring Peterson straight in the eye. ‘I’d love to have Sunday off, to spend it with my family and I’m sure so would Detective Garcia.’

Garcia raised an eyebrow at Hunter.

‘But we’re trying to save lives. Ten minutes, that’s all we ask.’

Peterson compressed his lips still looking annoyed. ‘OK, let’s talk out there, not in here.’ He made a head movement towards the road where Garcia’s car was parked. ‘Honey, I’ll be back in ten minutes,’ he called to the inside of the house before closing the door behind him.

As they reached Garcia’s car Hunter stole a peek back at the house. The little girl was looking down at them from a window on the second floor with sad eyes.

‘Great kid you’ve got there,’ Hunter commented.

‘Yes, she’s adorable,’ Peterson replied uninterested.

‘It’s a beautiful day. Doesn’t she like playing by the pool?’

‘She has schoolwork to do,’ he said firmly.

Hunter moved on. ‘Is that a new Chevy van?’ He pointed to the car.

‘I’ve had it for a couple of months.’

‘What kind of mileage do you get per gallon?’

‘Detective, you’re not here to talk about my daughter or my new van, so how about you cut to the chase.’

Hunter nodded. ‘We need to find out a little more about George’s Tuesday nights. We know he wasn’t playing poker. If you have any information, we need to know.’

Peterson retrieved a cigarette from a pack in his pocket and placed it on his lips letting it hang loosely. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, lighting it up.

Hunter and Garcia both shrugged at the same time.

‘George was a quiet person, kept himself to himself,’ he said, taking a long drag.

‘Anything out of the ordinary?’

‘Well . . .’ Peterson paused.

‘Yes?’ Hunter pressed.

‘He might’ve been having an affair.’

Hunter studied Peterson for a few silent seconds. ‘With someone in the office?’

‘No, no. Definitely not.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘We have no women lawyers in the firm. All the secretaries and assistants are senior women.’

‘So? A lot of men like older women,’ Garcia offered.

‘Still too risky, it could’ve cost him his job. George wasn’t stupid,’ Peterson replied, shaking his head.

‘So why do you say you think he was having an affair?’ Hunter asked.

‘By chance I’ve overheard him on the phone a few times.’ Peterson made sure he emphasized the words ‘by chance
.
’

‘And what did you hear?’

‘Lover’s talk – “I miss you and I’ll see you tonight.” That kinda thing.’

‘He could’ve been speaking to his wife,’ Garcia suggested.

‘I doubt it,’ Peterson shot back, twisting his mouth to the left and blowing a thin cloud of smoke.

‘Why do you doubt it?’ Hunter asked.

‘I’ve heard him speaking to his wife before. He didn’t talk to her like that, you know, all sweet and all, like newlyweds do. It was somebody else, I’m sure of it.’ He paused for another drag. ‘Most of the secret calls came on Tuesdays.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes I am. So when you guys came around the firm asking about George’s Tuesday-night poker game, I figured it must’ve been some sort of lie he’d told his wife. I didn’t wanna be the one to rat him out, so I kept my mouth shut. His wife already has a lot on her plate as it is . . . poor woman.’

‘Have you ever met her?’

‘Yes, once. She’s a very nice woman . . . pleasant. I’m a family man, Detective, I also believe in God and I don’t approve of cheating, but George didn’t deserve what he got. Even if he was cheating on his marriage.’

‘How about gambling? Did you know he used to gamble?’

‘No!’ Peterson replied surprised.

‘Have you ever heard him say anything about going to dog races, greyhounds?’

Another shake of the head.

‘Internet gambling?’

‘If he was gambling he would’ve kept it really quiet from everyone in the office. The senior partners wouldn’t approve of it.’

‘How about friends from outside the firm? He must’ve known other people. Have you ever met any of them, you know, at a party or something?’

‘No, I can’t say I have. His wife was the only person he’s ever taken to any of the firm’s social engagements.’

‘How about his clients?’

‘As far as I know, strictly professional relationships. He didn’t mingle.’

Hunter started to feel like he was trying to force blood out of a stone.

‘Is there anything else you can tell us about him, anything peculiar you’ve noticed?’

‘Other than the sweet-talk phone calls . . . no. As I’ve said, he was a quiet man, kept himself to himself.’

‘Was there anyone else in the firm who was closer to him, like a buddy?’

‘Not that I know of. George never hung around. He never came out for a drink with any of us. He did what he needed to do in the office and that was that.’

‘Did he stay late?’

‘We all do when the case demands it, but not for fun.’

‘So the only reason why you believe he was having an affair is because you,
by chance
, overheard him sweet-talking on the phone?’

Peterson nodded and blew another thin cloud of smoke to his right.

Hunter scratched his chin wondering if there was any point in continuing the interview. ‘Thanks for your help. If you can think of anything else, please let us know.’ He handed him a card.

Peterson took one last drag of his cigarette and dropped it onto the floor. He nodded to both detectives and started walking back up to his house.

‘Mr Peterson,’ Hunter called.

‘Yes,’ he replied with irritation.

‘It’s a really nice day. Why don’t you spend a few hours outside with your daughter? Maybe play a few games. Take her out for some ice cream or donuts. Just enjoy the day together.’

The little girl was still staring at them from the second-floor window.

‘I told you, she’s got schoolwork to do.’

‘It’s Sunday. Don’t you think she deserves a break?’

‘Are you trying to tell me how to raise my daughter, Detective?’

‘Not at all. Just a suggestion so you don’t lose her. So she doesn’t grow up hating her parents like so many nowadays.’ Hunter waved goodbye at the little girl who replied with a bashful smile. ‘As you’ve said, she’s adorable.’ He turned his attention to Peterson once again. ‘Don’t take that for granted.’

The address they were looking for was number 535 Ocean Boulevard in Santa Monica. Garcia decided to take the scenic route along the Pacific Coast Highway.

The PCH is where most American car commercials are filmed. The highway follows the Pacific coast from the sandy beaches of Southern California to the rugged coastline of the Pacific Northwest. Along the way, it passes through quaint coastal towns, numerous national parks and wildlife refuges.

With the sun high in the sky and the temperature now soaring to 95 degrees, Santa Monica Beach was jammed. If it were up to them, both detectives would just grab a cold beer at one of the many ocean front bars and lazily watch the day go by, but it was never up to them.

Her name was Rachel Blate, but to her clients she was known as Crystal. Hunter knew the renowned drug dealer would be going after whoever had killed Jenny with everything he had. He knew the streets better than Hunter. He had contacts under every dirty rock and inside every filthy hole. If D-King came up with anything, Hunter wanted to know.

As Garcia parked the car, Hunter quickly checked all the information they had on Rachel Blate.

‘Is this it? Is this everything we have on her?’ he asked as he studied the single-page document Garcia had given him.

‘Yeah, she’s clean, no prior convictions, no arrests. Her prints aren’t even in the database. A model citizen.’

Hunter screwed up his face in disappointment. That meant he couldn’t use a little police blackmail to persuade her to cooperate.

Both detectives were impressed by number 535. A glassy, twelve-floor apartment block that stood imposingly on Ocean Boulevard. Every apartment had its own balcony, every balcony at least twenty feet by fifteen. At the entrance lobby they were greeted by marble floors, leather sofas and a chandelier that belonged more in Buckingham Palace than in Santa Monica.

Rachel’s apartment was number 44C, but as they approached the building’s concierge, Garcia gently touched Hunter’s arm making a quick head movement towards the lift. An impressive-looking African American woman had just walked out of it. Her straight black hair fell matter-of-factly over her shoulders. She was wearing skintight shorts cut from a pair of ice-blue jeans, with a light yellow T-shirt tucked in at her narrow waist. Her figure was worthy of a
Playboy
centerfold. A pair of Gucci sunglasses hid her eyes from the bright daylight. Hunter immediately recognized her as one of the girls sitting at D-King’s table on Friday night.

They waited as she obliviously walked past them and onto the street. It took them just a few strides to catch up with her.

‘Miss Blate?’ Hunter called now coming up to her side.

She stopped and turned to face both detectives. ‘Hello, do I know you?’ she said cheerfully.

Hunter quickly displayed his badge – Garcia did the same. ‘Can we have a few minutes of your time?’

‘Am I in some kind of trouble?’ she asked unconcerned.

‘Not at all. We actually wanna talk to you about one of your friends.’

‘And which one would that be?’

‘Jenny Farnborough.’

She threw them a quick look of assessment, her eyes resting on each detective for no more than a couple of seconds. ‘Don’t know who you’re talking about, sorry,’ she said facetiously.

‘Yes, you do.’ Hunter was in no mood to play games. ‘She worked for D-King, just like you.’ His stare was cold and firm.

‘D-King?’ She frowned and very slightly shook her head as if she had no idea who they were referring to.

‘Look, we’ve all had a long week and just like you, we’d rather be enjoying the sun than doing this. So the quicker we disperse with the bullshit the faster we can get back to doing whatever it is that we do. We were at the Vanguard Club on Friday night, you were sitting with him, so don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you, and as I’ve said, you’re in no trouble, we just need your help.’

Now she remembered where she’d seen them before. She also remembered finding the blue-eyed, muscular detective quite attractive. She removed her sunglasses and placed them on her head using it to hold her fringe back. She realized there was no point in trying to deny she knew D-King or Jenny. If they wanted to arrest her, they would’ve done so already.

‘OK, but I haven’t seen Jenny since she decided to quit. I’m not sure how much help I can be.’

‘Quit?’ Garcia’s baffled look giving away his surprise.

‘Yes, I think she decided to go back home.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘That’s what we were told.’

‘By D-King?’

Rachel took a deep breath and held it for a second or two. ‘Yes.’

Hunter knew why D-King had lied to Rachel and the other girls. They would’ve panicked if they found out Jenny had been kidnapped, tortured and killed. He was supposed to be their protector, their guardian as well as their boss. Hunter debated how much he was willing to reveal. If he told her what had really happened, he’d be the one starting the panic in D-King’s camp. He decided not to stir anything up – for now.

‘Have you ever seen this man?’ Hunter showed her a picture of George Slater.

Rachel analyzed it for a few seconds. ‘Umm . . . I’m not sure.’

‘Look again.’ Hunter was sure she had recognized him but on instinct she’d lied.

‘Maybe . . . in a club or party.’

‘Private party?’

‘Yeah, maybe one of the extreme parties if I’m not mistaken.’ She bit her bottom lip as if trying to recall something. ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure of it, he liked the extreme parties. I don’t know his name if that’s your next question.’