The Crucifix Killer (38 page)

Hunter’s confused look didn’t go away.

‘She comes from a very traditional family,’ Bowman explained. ‘She wanted them to accept me.’

‘Accept the idea that their daughter was moving in with a married man?’ Garcia asked intrigued.

‘No,’ Hunter answered first. ‘Accept the idea of their daughter moving in with an African American man,’ he concluded.

‘Black,’ Bowman corrected him. ‘We like to be called black. That’s what we are and black is not an offensive word. This political correctness thing is all bullshit if you ask me, but you’re right. You can say her family would disapprove of our relationship.’

‘And you didn’t keep in touch with her while you were in Europe?’

‘No . . . I should have . . .’ his voice trailed off.

‘Why not?’

‘She wanted it that way. She said she needed time to get the idea through to them. I knew she was supposed to be back here on the thirty-first, so I tried calling her from Europe then, but I never got a reply. There was nothing I could do from where I was. When I got back I panicked when I couldn’t find her, so I called the police.’

‘You said she lives just a few miles from here?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yes, in North Croft Avenue.’

‘Do you have the keys to her apartment?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Bowman’s eyes were unable to meet Hunter’s. ‘But I’ve already been through all this with the other officers.’

‘From the Missing Persons’ Department?’

‘That’s right.’

‘We’re not Missing Persons. We’re Homicide.’

Bowman glared in surprise and fear. ‘Homicide?’

Hunter took out a copy of the sketch Isabella had given them together with the twenty different permutations of it and placed it on Joe’s desk.

‘Have you ever seen this man?’

Bowman picked the sketches up with shaking hands and looked at them attentively.

‘No, I can’t say I have. Who’s he supposed to be?’

Without saying a word, Hunter produced the computer-generated portrait of the first victim and placed it on the desk. Joe stared at it confused. His eyes pleaded for an explanation. ‘Why do you have a digital image of Vicki?’ he offered in an unsteady voice with watery eyes before Hunter had a chance to ask the question.

‘What does this have to do with Vicki going missing? Why do I have Homicide detectives in my office? Why do you have a digital image of Vicki?’

‘There might be a connection to a different investigation we’re conducting,’ Garcia explained.

‘A Homicide investigation? Do you think she might be dead?’ His voice croaked with dread.

‘We don’t know yet.’

‘Oh my God! Who would ever want to harm Vicki? She is the sweetest person you could ever meet.’

‘Let’s not jump to conclusions yet, Mr Bowman,’ Hunter tried calming him down. ‘About this person,’ he pointed to the sketches. ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen him in your gym?’

‘If he’s been in this gym, the receptionists are the ones to ask.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll ask them. We’ll also need Vicki’s address.’

In silence Joe wrote her address down and handed it to Hunter.

‘Were you guys into clubbing, partying, going out, you know, that sort of thing?’ Hunter carried on.

Bowman looked at Hunter confused. ‘No, not at all. Because of my situation we couldn’t really advertise our relationship to the world.’

Hunter nodded. ‘Did she like going out by herself or with friends to places like that?’

‘Not that I know,’ Bowman answered hesitantly.

‘Do you know if she took part in unorthodox parties?’ Garcia cut in.

Bowman and Hunter looked at Garcia with the same mystified look. Neither of them really certain of what he meant by
unorthodox parties
.

‘I’m not sure I know what you’re asking me,’ Bowman replied.

Hunter was as interested in Garcia’s explanation as Bowman was.

No point in beating around the bush, Garcia thought. ‘Was she into sex parties, BDSM, fetish . . . things of that nature?’

‘What sort of question is that?’ Bowman asked wide-eyed.

‘The sort of question that pertains to this investigation.’

‘Are you asking me if Vicki was a pervert?’ Bowman blasted in an offended tone.

‘No, just if you know if she was into that sort of thing.’

‘No, she wasn’t.’

Hunter decided to cut in. ‘Is she well off? I mean is she well paid?’

Bowman turned his attention to Hunter with a ‘what does that have to do with anything?’ expression.

‘Can she afford expensive stuff?’ Hunter tried to clarify.

‘What kind of stuff? Drugs?’ Bowman’s expression was even more puzzled now.

‘No. Beauty stuff – moisturizers, creams, make-up, you know, women stuff.’

‘Well, she ain’t rich, not by LA standards anyway, but I’d say she earns enough. Now, where beauty stuff is concerned she spends a fortune. I’ve seen her pay over 300 dollars for an anti-wrinkle night cream and the bottle was the size of a pack of gum.’

Hunter cocked both eyebrows in surprise.

‘That’s not all,’ Bowman continued. ‘Four hundred dollars on an eye cream from Switzerland, 150 dollars on a bottle of nail varnish, not counting what she spends on manicures, pedicures, moisturizers, beauty treatments and spas. She can go without food, but not without her beauty creams and serums. Vicki’s very vain. Maybe too vain.’

‘Does Vicki have a locker or a place where she keeps her stuff?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yes. All members of staff do. We encourage everyone to exercise. We all have assigned lockers.’

‘That’s great. Can we see hers?’

‘It’s got an electronic lock and it needs a four-digit combination code. She’s the only one who knows hers.’

‘Yes, but I’m sure there’s an override code,’ Garcia said.

Bowman twisted his mouth wondering if that was the right thing to do. ‘Don’t you need a warrant to look through her things?’

‘We are trying to find her, not put her in prison. A warrant could take a day or so, meanwhile we are losing precious time,’ Hunter shot back.

‘It’s inside the women’s changing room.’

‘We only need five minutes, just tell whoever is inside the changing room to cover up,’ Garcia said.

A short silence followed.

‘We’re losing time here,’ Hunter pressed.

‘OK,’ Bowman finally gave in. ‘Give me a few minutes. I’ll ask one of the receptionists to make an announcement.’

Hunter studied Bowman as he quickly spoke on the phone to the front desk. ‘Are you sure we haven’t met before? You really do look familiar,’ Hunter asked once he had put the phone down.

‘I’ve appeared in several bodybuilding magazines. I’m a pro competitor. You look pretty fit yourself. Do you ever buy any fitness magazines?’ Bowman replied.

Hunter snapped his fingers. ‘Once or twice, yes. That’s probably where I’ve seen you before then.’

Bowman gave Hunter an unenthusiastic smile.

Ten minutes later they were standing in front of locker number 365 inside the ladies’ dressing room. Bowman punched in a six-digit code that bypassed Vicki’s original one. The small light on the locking mechanism went from red to green and the door clicked open. Garcia had fetched some latex gloves from his car and Hunter was the one with the task of going through her things.

There wasn’t much in there. A pair of running shoes, two pairs of socks, training shorts, a woman’s top and a pair of fingerless weightlifting gloves. On the top shelf he found what he needed. A spray can of deodorant and a hairbrush. He picked them both up and placed them inside separate plastic bags.

Bowman watched in silence wondering why they were taking only two items and leaving the rest behind.

At eight o’clock that evening Doctor Winston was getting ready to finish for the day and go home when he received the call from Hunter. The deodorant spray can and the hairbrush needed testing for prints and DNA.

Hunter knew the results from the DNA test would take around five days to come through, maybe three if they put in a super-urgent request, but the fingerprint analysis could be done tonight. Doctor Winston said he’d wait for them.

Hunter was glad they weren’t inside the basement room where both victims’ bodies were kept. The Coroner’s building made him feel uneasy, but the basement room gave him the creeps. The forensics lab was located on the first floor and Doctor Winston had asked Ricardo Pinheiro, one of the forensic analysts, to stay behind and help him with the fingerprint job. Hunter handed Ricardo the deodorant can and watched while he applied a fingerprint powder made of titanium dioxide to it. The high-reflexive index of the powder against the smooth metal surface of the can reacted almost immediately, revealing several latent fingerprints.

Ricardo dusted the excess powder from the can and proceeded to transfer the prints to several clear cellophane slides.

‘On a fast naked-eye first look I’d say we probably have three sets of prints here.’ Ricardo was rarely wrong. He took the cellophane slides to the nearest microscope and carried on analyzing them.

‘Yep, three different sets, but there’s a predominant one,’ he said after a minute at the microscope.

‘Let’s check the predominant set of prints first then,’ Doctor Winston said. ‘Can you transfer them to the computer?’

‘Sure,’ Ricardo said, taking the slides and moving on to one of the video microscopes, which were already linked to the lab computers. He took a snapshot of each fingerprint and with each shot the photo-analysis software displayed an enhanced image on the computer screen.

‘Do you want me to run the prints against the police criminal fingerprint database?’ Ricardo enquired.

‘No, check it against this one.’ Doctor Winston handed him a small pen drive with the digital image of the first victim’s fingerprint on it.

Ricardo loaded the image into the computer’s hard drive and with just a few clicks he had both images side by side on the analysis software. He clicked the ‘compare’ button.

Several comparison point red dots appeared over both fingerprint shots. It took the software less than five seconds to display the words
Positive Match
at the bottom of the screen
.

‘Yep, they’re the same person,’ Ricardo confirmed.

‘It’s official, we finally have a match for our victim,’ Doctor Winston said. ‘Who was she again?’

‘Her name was Victoria Baker. Canadian . . . had been living in LA for four years,’ Garcia replied.

Hunter kept his eyes on the fingerprint images on the computer. ‘We’ll run the other two prints against the police database just in case,’ he finally said, obviously bothered about something. It wasn’t until they were back in Garcia’s car that he spoke again.

‘We’re back to square one where links between victims are concerned. This screws up our “sex party” theory. George Slater probably never heard of Victoria Baker.’

Garcia ran both hands over his face and rubbed his eyes in the process. ‘I know.’

‘We have to find out where she was abducted from. Her place might give us some clues, but we won’t get a warrant until tomorrow.’

Garcia agreed. ‘We also have to contact her family in Canada and let them know.’

Hunter nodded slowly. That was one task they both could do without.

‘I’ll do it tonight,’ Hunter said.

As Garcia parked his car back by the RHD building Hunter wondered if he looked as tired and defeated as his partner did.

‘I’ll talk to Captain Bolter about the warrant and hopefully we’ll have it first thing tomorrow morning,’ Hunter said. ‘I’ll meet you here at around ten-thirty, first I’ll try and get another list of patients from one more hospital.’

Garcia rested his head against the headrest and took a deep breath.

‘Go home, rookie,’ Hunter said stealing a peek at his watch. ‘It’s not even nine o’clock yet. Spend the night with your wife. You need it and so does she. There’s nothing more for us to do tonight.’

There was always something to do in the office, but Hunter was right. There was nothing else they could accomplish tonight. Garcia thought of what had happened the night before with Anna and he could do with being home before she’d gone to bed at least once this week. They’d been working on casino time for weeks, never knowing what time it was. Even a tiny break would be welcome.

‘Yeah, Anna will appreciate me being home tonight.’

‘That’s right,’ Hunter agreed. ‘Get her some flowers on the way home. Not some cheap bouquet, something nice. Remember, buying somebody a present indicates your knowledge of that somebody’s personality, so get her something that you know she’ll like,’ he said with a reassuring smile.

Garcia took Hunter’s advice and dropped by Markey’s, a small convenience store on North Rampant Boulevard. It stocked just about everything, from flowers to booze, and their meatball sandwich and freshly brewed coffee weren’t bad either. Garcia had stopped there plenty of times back when he used to be a detective for the LAPD. It was a small detour from his way home, but he was sure Anna would appreciate his effort.