The Night Stalker (20 page)

Captain Blake’s attention swung to Hunter. ‘Some sort of what?’

‘That’s exactly it,’ the doctor confirmed, showing everyone the long and thin metal object again. ‘In this closed format, the killer would’ve had no problems inserting this thing into her before sewing her shut.’

The shiver Garcia had fought off as he entered the building returned, and this time he was powerless against it.

‘Once inside,’ the doctor continued, ‘this happened.’ She held the object by one of its tips using only her thumb and index finger. With her other hand’s forefinger she clicked an almost invisible button at the top of it.

WHACK.

Caught completely by surprise, everyone jumped back.

‘Shit!’ Captain Blake let out in a high-pitched voice, bringing a hand to her mouth.

‘Holy crap, what the fuck?’ Garcia’s hands shot up towards his face in a protective reflex.

In a fraction of a second, with a loud metallic thwack, the blades on the object in Doctor Hove’s hands had snapped open exactly like a Chinese hand fan. Every shocked eye in the room was on it, and though their mouths were half-open, not a word was uttered. Doctor Hove carefully placed the object down on Kelly’s stomach, its narrower tip just touching her pubic bone.

‘This is about the position this thing was found inside her,’ she finally said, her voice quieter, her tone darker than before. ‘As you can see, the area it covers is almost the entire width of her abdomen.’

Captain Blake let go of the breath she had been holding for the past minute.

‘As I said,’ the doctor moved on, ‘these blades are laser sharp on both edges. The springs that were used to smack them open are small but very powerful. Able to generate several pounds of pressure. Probably the equivalent to someone hatching down with a meat cleaver. This thing sliced through everything in its path.’

She indicated a large female body organ diagram on the wall behind her.

‘Her urethra, bladder, cervix, uterus, ovary, vaginal cavity, everything in her reproductive system was mutilated instantly. The blades also managed to rip through muscle, her appendix and part of her large intestine. Her pelvic bone was chipped. There was no way she could’ve survived this. The internal hemorrhage she suffered was . . . unthinkable, but death wouldn’t have been instantaneous. The pain she went through is something that even Satan would’ve had trouble imagining.’

Hunter ran a hand over his mouth. ‘How long?’

‘How long did she suffer for?’ The doctor shrugged. ‘Depends on how strong she was. A matter of minutes, probably. But to her I’m sure it felt like days.’

All eyes returned to the object the doctor had placed on Kelly’s stomach.

‘So how does this thing work again?’ Captain Blake asked.

‘Simple,’ the doctor said, picking it up. ‘The blades are way too sharp for anyone to touch them, so moving them back to their starting position could pose a problem, but there’s a retracting mechanism built into it.’ She indicated a round screw just a couple of centimeters from the object’s base – the side that held one of the ends of the blades together. Using a screwdriver she retrieved from a glass-fronted cabinet, Doctor Hove began to turn it slowly. As she did, the blades started retracting behind each other, closing the fan-like knife. Less than a minute later they were all stacked up like a deck of cards just like before.

‘The trigger is this button,’ the doctor indicated it with her finger, ‘very similar to the ones you see in click pens.’

They all moved closer to have a better look.

‘So if this thing went off inside her, who clicked it on?’ the captain asked.

‘Well, I said the trigger is very similar to a clicking pen mechanism, but not identical. The difference is that this one is much more sensitive. I also said this was an ingenious piece of work. Check this out.’ She stepped back, holding the strange knife just as she had moments earlier. This time, instead of clicking the trigger with her finger, she simply jerked it down about four inches, as if shaking a cocktail shaker, but only once.

WHACK. The knife fanned out with a metallic thud once again.

‘It activates itself,’ the doctor said. ‘All it needs is a little bump.’

Hunter’s mind went into overdrive. ‘Fuck! The table . . . and the counter . . . that’s why . . . the impact.’

Captain Blake gave him a slight headshake, still not with him.

‘Do you think a clicking trigger mechanism just like that one could’ve been used to activate the bomb that was placed inside Laura Mitchell?’ Hunter faced the doctor.

She thought about it for a second and her face transformed as realization dawned. ‘It could’ve been easily adapted, yes. It’s such a sensitive mechanism that Doctor Winston could’ve activated it by mistake as he pulled the bomb out of the victim without even noticing it.’

‘How tall was she?’ Hunter asked, nodding at Kelly Jensen’s body.

‘Five six,’ the doctor replied.

Hunter turned to Captain Blake. ‘The table inside the old preschool, and the butcher’s counter in East LA had both been raised off the ground about a foot by wooden blocks or bricks. Neither of the victims was very tall. Laura Mitchell was five seven. The killer was making sure that his victims wouldn’t just climb down from where they were once they woke up. They had to
jump
down. Like a kid out of a bunk bed.’

‘Oh God!’ Doctor Hove’s eyes returned to the knife. ‘The impact as their feet hit the ground would’ve jerked the object inside them.’

‘Enough to activate the trigger mechanism?’ Captain Blake asked.

‘Easily,’ Doctor Hove replied. A moment later she brought a hand to her mouth as she realized what it all meant. ‘Jesus! The killer wanted to make them kill themselves without them knowing it.’

‘OK,’ Captain Blake said closing the door to Hunter and Garcia’s office just minutes after getting back to Parker Center. ‘What the hell is going on? I can almost get my head around a psycho being obsessed with painters. Both of them brunettes. Both of them somewhere in their thirties. Both of them attractive. In this city, that kind of obsession is
normal crazy.
But this thing about placing something inside the victims . . . something as absurd as a bomb, or as . . .’ she shook her head as words escaped her ‘ . . . fucked up as a fan-out knife, and then stitching their bodies shut, that’s completely dancing-around-the-room-naked-smothered-in-peanut-butter crazy.’ She looked at Hunter. ‘But this isn’t what we’re dealing with here, is it? This guy isn’t insane. He’s not hearing the devil’s voice in his head or drinking his own piss, is he?’

Hunter shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘An obsessed stalker going after his idols, then?’

Hunter tilted his head from side to side. ‘First impressions . . . maybe, but if you look closely at the evidence, it goes against the possibility of an obsessed fan being behind these murders.’

‘How so? What evidence are you talking about?’

‘The lack of bruising.’

Captain Blake’s brow furrowed so hard, her eyebrows almost met.

‘Two victims,’ Hunter indicated with his fingers. ‘Both kidnapped and held hostage for around two weeks. You remember what Doctor Hove said, right? That if we take away the savagery of the stitches and the way in which they died, they were both untouched. Not a scratch. The killer didn’t lay a finger on them while they were in captivity.’

‘OK,’ the captain agreed. ‘And how does that relate to the obsessed fan theory?’

‘Obsessed fans spend a lot of time creating fantasies in their heads about their idols, Captain,’ Hunter explained. ‘That’s why they become obsessed in the first place. Most of these fantasies are sexual, some are violent, but none is about kidnapping their idols so they could chat for weeks over hot milk and donuts. If this guy were a fan obsessed enough to kidnap, chances are he wouldn’t be able to resist acting out at least one of his fantasies. Especially if he was prepared to kill them anyway. And if he did that, there would’ve been some sort of bruising somewhere on their bodies.’

Captain Blake looked pensive. They’d never be able to obtain confirmation that either of the victims had been raped. But Hunter was right; the lack of bruising on both of their bodies suggested that wasn’t what this killer was after. An obsessed fan was starting to sound improbable.

‘So who the hell could be capable of something like this?’ she asked. ‘A split personality job?’

‘Again, possible, but with what we have so far it’s hard to say.’

‘Why?’ she challenged. ‘You said so yourself, the killer went from passive to absurdly violent in one quick step. Isn’t that an indication of extreme mood swings? A drastic change in personality?’

Hunter nodded. ‘Yes, but the way he carries out his violence contradicts the theory.’

‘How’s that?’

‘The time and preparation behind both murders was too extensive.’

‘Slow down, big brain, I ain’t following you,’ she countered.

Hunter continued. ‘Mood swings and extreme personality changes have to be triggered, usually by a very strong emotion – like rage, or love, or jealousy. They don’t simply occur out of the blue. The new mood, or personality, takes over and stays for a while, but as soon as that rage, or whatever emotion it was that triggered it is gone, so is the personality. The person goes straight back to his or her normal self.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Like waking up from a trance. How long do you think this trance can last, Captain?’

She started to catch on. ‘Not long enough.’

‘Not long enough,’ Hunter agreed. ‘The killer crafted a bomb and that knife from hell himself, not to mention the unique self-activating trigger mechanism. He also took time preparing the location where the victims were left, and then calmly sewed their body parts shut. All that takes a lot of time. Both preparing and executing it.’

‘And that would mean that the killer would’ve had to have been in an altered state of mind for days, maybe weeks,’ Garcia added. ‘Highly unlikely.’

Hunter nodded. ‘And then there’s also the current accepted opinion of modern psychology that Multiple Personality Syndrome doesn’t really exist. It’s a therapist-induced disorder perpetuated by a never-ending barrage of TV talk shows, novels and ill-conceived Hollywood movies.’

‘What?’

‘Basically, modern psychology believes that Multiple Personality Syndrome is complete bullshit.’

Captain Blake leaned against Hunter’s desk and undid both buttons on her suit jacket. ‘So we’re dealing with someone who knows exactly what he’s doing?’

‘I’d say so, yes.’

‘His creativity is proof of that,’ Garcia added.

Hunter nodded. ‘He’s also patient and self-disciplined, a rare virtue nowadays, even in the calmest of individuals. Add that to the level of craftsmanship he’s showed so far, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he were a watchmaker or even an artist himself. Maybe some sort of sculptor or something.’

The captain’s eyes widened. ‘Like a
failed
sculptor? Someone who was never as successful as his victims? You think this could be payback?’

Hunter shifted his weight to his left foot. ‘No. I don’t think this is born out of revenge.’

‘How can you be sure? Envy is a powerful emotion.’

‘If the killer is a failed artist after revenge because he never made it big, he wouldn’t target other artists. It’d make no sense. They wouldn’t be the reason he never made it.’

Garcia bit his bottom lip and bobbed his head in agreement. ‘The revenge would’ve been against agents, or gallery curators, or art critics and journalists, or all of the above. People who can make or break an artist’s career, not fellow artists.’

Hunter nodded. ‘Also Laura Mitchell and Kelly Jensen’s resemblance to each other isn’t just a coincidence, Captain. His victims mean more to him than just a vehicle for revenge.’

‘The killer also used the same MO, but inserted a different killing device into each of his victims,’ Garcia added. ‘I don’t think that was random. I think there’s a meaning behind it.’

‘What?’ Captain Blake asked. A speck of irritation crept into her tone as she crossed to the window. ‘What kind of relation could a bomb and a knife that didn’t even exist on this earth until a few days ago have with two painters?’

No one replied. The silence that followed held a different meaning for each of them.

‘So this new victim fucks up our lead on the James Smith guy, right?’ the captain blurted. ‘Everything we found in his apartment was about Laura Mitchell, not Kelly Jensen.’

‘Maybe not,’ Garcia argued. He started fidgeting with a paper clip.

‘And how’s that?’

‘Maybe he’s got another room somewhere else. Another apartment maybe,’ Garcia offered.

‘What?’ Captain Blake glared at him.

‘Maybe he’s that smart, Captain. He knows that with two victims, if he gets caught and only one of the rooms is found, he has a good chance of walking.’ He placed the paper clip, now bent out of shape, down on his desk. ‘As we already know, he adopted the name James Smith because he knew if anything happened, his name alone would hide him under a mist of people.’ He showed the captain his right index finger. ‘He pays his rent up front.’ Now the middle finger. ‘He pays his bills up front. If he
is
our guy, we know for sure he’s got at least one more place somewhere else: the place where he keeps his victims, ’cause we know he didn’t keep them in that apartment. If that’s the case, he could easily have another rented apartment somewhere else. Maybe under a complete different name. That’s why we can’t find him.’