The Night Stalker (35 page)

‘After I talked to him on the phone.’

‘You knew he’d go back to her place?’

‘I suspected he’d observe it.’

‘Observe it? Why?’

‘Because his mind refuses to believe something has happened to Laura Mitchell. He needed to check it out for himself.’

The captain’s stare returned to Garcia for a moment before moving back to Hunter. ‘You better start making sense, Robert. And right now is a good time.’

Hunter finally turned and faced Captain Blake. ‘When we spoke on the phone, he thought I was a detective with the fraud squad.’

‘Fraud squad? Why?’

‘Because
that’s
his crime, Captain – impersonating. We all know James Smith isn’t his real name. Nevertheless, he’s managed to obtain a driver’s license, an ID card, a library card, maybe even a passport, all under a false identity. That can get him one to five years inside. But as he said on the phone to me, that’s not enough to trigger a major investigation. That’s why he couldn’t understand why his photo had hit the papers. Why we were after him. When he found out I was with the Homicide Division, he hesitated for a moment, then there was a distinct change in his voice.’

‘Like what?’

‘Trepidation . . . fear, but not for himself, or of being caught.’

The captain looked lost.

‘The reason why he hesitated was because at first he couldn’t figure out why Homicide would be after him. But as we all know, he’s far from stupid. He quickly realized that it must’ve been something linked to his obsession.’

‘Laura Mitchell,’ Garcia said, comprehending.

Hunter nodded. ‘We know that they exchanged phone numbers at the exhibition. We checked Laura’s cell phone records. Just a couple of days before the presumed timeframe of her disappearance, she received a call from a payphone in Bellflower.’

‘That’s the next neighborhood along from Norwalk,’ the captain said. ‘Smith’s apartment is in Norwalk, right?’

Hunter and Garcia nodded.

‘Only one call?’

‘That’s right. My guess is that they talked that day, maybe arranged to talk on the phone again later that week or even meet up somewhere. She didn’t turn up or he got no reply on his next call. He kept on trying, still no answer. He got worried, maybe a little annoyed. When I mentioned Homicide on the phone to Smith, it took him just a few seconds to make the connection.’

‘So he started staking out Laura Mitchell’s place to try to spot her, get some sort of confirmation,’ Garcia said.

‘That’s what I figured he’d do,’ Hunter agreed.

‘Well, for someone who isn’t stupid, that’s a pretty dumb thing to do, don’t you think?’ the captain shot out. ‘You’re gonna tell me that he didn’t at least suspect her place would’ve been watched?’

‘You saw the pictures of his collage room, right? He’s been obsessed with Laura Mitchell for years. The kind of obsession that overrides rational thought, Captain – pure, undying love. Of course he knew it was dangerous. Of course he knew he could be caught. But he couldn’t help it. He needed to find out. He needed to make sure she was OK.’

‘Like an addiction?’

‘Stronger than an addiction, Captain. It’s a compulsion.’ Hunter turned towards the officer in the room. ‘Has he requested a lawyer yet?’

‘Not yet. He said he wanted to talk to you.’

All eyes moved to Hunter.

His gaze returned to James Smith for a moment longer. ‘OK, let’s do it.’

James Smith’s eyes darted towards Hunter as soon as he entered the interrogation room.

‘I’m Detective Robert Hunter of the Homicide Special Section. We talked on the phone a couple of days ago.’ Hunter placed a tray with a coffee pot and two mugs on the metal table. ‘Coffee?’

‘She was kidnapped and murdered?’ Smith’s voice was edgy and concerned. His eyes looked haunted.

‘It’s fresh.’ Hunter poured two cups and slid one over towards Smith. ‘And you really look like you could use some.’

Smith’s eyes didn’t leave Hunter’s face. ‘Laura was kidnapped and murdered?’ He pleaded rather than asked this time.

Hunter pulled the chair across the table from Smith and sat down before sipping his coffee.

‘They told me I was being arrested on suspicion of the kidnap and murder of Laura Mitchell.’

‘Yes, she was kidnapped . . . and murdered,’ Hunter said and paused for a second. ‘Everyone in the station has their money on you. They think you did it.’

Smith closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and breathed out a heartfelt breath. ‘When?’

Hunter regarded him.

‘When was she murdered?’ There was pain in his voice.

‘A few days before we knocked on your door.’ In contrast, Hunter’s voice was calm and collected.

Smith kept his eyes on Hunter but his stare was distant. The kind of stare you get when your mind is somewhere far away.

‘We know that you talked to Laura on the last night of her exhibition at the Daniel Rossdale Art Gallery. And we’ve seen the room inside your apartment.’

His focus returned to Smith’s stare.

‘I have the right to have an attorney present, don’t I?’

‘Of course you do, but I’m not here to interrogate you.’

Smith chuckled. ‘Really? So what’s this, a friendly chat? You’re here to be my buddy, is that it?’

‘Right now, you need all the friends you can get.’

‘Friends won’t help. You already said that everyone’s money is on me. Your mind is already made up. You’ll believe what you wanna believe no matter what.’

‘Try me.’ Hunter leaned forward.

Smith’s focus moved to the two-way mirror and the tension intensified. ‘Do you really think I’d be able to hurt Laura . . . in any way?’ His gaze returned to Hunter. ‘I love her in a way you’ll never understand.’

Hunter allowed the moment to settle.

‘The kind of love that strangles your heart and keeps you awake at night?’ he countered. ‘The kind of love that makes it hard for you to breathe when she’s near, even if she never notices you? The kind of love that if you have to wait forever for just a simple touch, or a kiss, you will?’

Smith went silent.

‘Yes, I know the kind of love you’re talking about.’

Smith interlaced his fingers together so tight his knuckles started to lose their color.

‘Is that how you loved her?’ Something in Hunter’s voice made Smith believe that maybe he understood.

‘I knew Laura from the bank. Way before she became a famous painter.’ Smith’s tone was full of melancholy. He gave Hunter a sad headshake. ‘But she didn’t know me. She never noticed me. I don’t think she even knew I existed. I spoke to her a couple of times back then, in the coffee room. She was always nice, don’t get me wrong, but every time I talked to her, I had to reintroduce myself. I was never important or attractive enough for her to remember who I was.’ His eyes filled with sadness. ‘I wasn’t even invited to her leaving party.’

Inside the observation room, Captain Blake turned to Garcia. ‘We need a list of names and photographs of all bank employees from Laura Mitchell’s section during her last six months there.’

Garcia was already on the phone. ‘I’m on it.’

On the other side of the glass Smith relaxed the tight grip on his hands and blood returned to his knuckles. ‘I stayed with the bank for another two years after she left. But I followed her career from the beginning. I read every article, attended every exhibition. I even started liking and appreciating art.’ A sliver of confidence crept into his eyes. ‘Then one day I looked in the mirror and decided that I wouldn’t be weak any more. I decided that I
was
important and attractive enough for her to notice me, I just needed to polish off some rough edges.’

‘So you created your new identity,’ Hunter pressed.

‘More than an identity. I created a whole new
person.
New diet, strict exercise program, new haircut, new hair color, colored contact lenses, new wardrobe, new attitude, new way of talking, new everything. I became someone she would notice. Someone she would talk to and flirt with. Someone she’d like to spend time with. I became James Smith.’

Hunter had to admire his determination.

‘I went to every one of her exhibitions. But I still couldn’t sum up the nerve to say hello to her again. I was scared she’d recognize me. That she’d see straight through me . . . that she’d laugh at me.’

Hunter knew exactly why. Changing a person’s appearance is easy – it can be done in one afternoon or, in the case of changing a person’s body shape, with the right diet and exercise program – a few months. Changing a person’s personality is much harder, though – it requires work, determination, willpower and it can take years. Smith used to be a shy, low self-esteem, low-confidence, scared-of-rejection person, and though he looked completely different on the outside, he was yet to overcome all his personality glitches.

‘She approached you that night, didn’t she?’ Hunter concluded.

Smith nodded. ‘I was so surprised, I stuttered.’ A glimpse of a smile graced his lips as he remembered.

‘Did she give you her number?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you call her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you remember when?’ Hunter leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table.

‘I remember the day, the time, and everything that was said.’

Hunter waited.

‘It was the 4th March, at 4:30 p.m. I used a payphone and called her on her cell. She was on her way to her studio. We talked for a while and she asked me to call her back just before the weekend. She said that maybe we could go out for a drink or even dinner. She practically asked me out.’ Smith’s eyes moved from Hunter’s face to the far wall for a long moment. When they moved back to Hunter, a liquid sheen had formed over them. ‘You’re a detective. Do you really think that after all I’ve done, after so many years trying to get her attention, trying to get her to notice me, to talk to me . . . when she finally does, I’d hurt her in any way?’

‘Why did you run when we knocked on your door?’

‘I panicked,’ Smith replied with no hesitation. ‘I knew that I had broken the law by living under a false identity. I know that I could be locked away for several years for it. Suddenly the police were at my door. I did what most people in my shoes would do, I didn’t think, I just ran. Before I had time to consider, my picture was in every paper in town. I knew then that something was definitely not right. That’s when I called you.’

Hunter remained silent. His stare locked on Smith’s face. He’d said all that without flinching, without vacillating and without breaking eye contact with Hunter. If he was lying, Hunter decided, he was a master at it.

‘
She
approached me that night,’ Smith said again. ‘
She
smiled at me.
She
flirted with me.
She
gave me her number and asked me to call her.
She
wanted to have dinner with me . . . to go out on a date with me.’ Smith faced the two-way mirror. ‘I’d been dreaming about the day she’d finally noticed me for years. My dream had just come true. Why in the name of God would I hurt her?’

Hunter splashed some cold water over his face and stared at his tired reflection in the mirror. James Smith had requested an attorney. No matter what happened, without actual proof of any involvement between Smith and Laura Mitchell, the LAPD could only hold him without charge for a maximum of forty-eight hours. Captain Blake was already talking to the DA’s office about charging Smith with fraud and impersonation. That way, they could keep him off the streets for longer, at least until they had more information on him, his story and his whereabouts on the nights of all three murders.

After leaving the interrogation room, Hunter had finally managed to get in touch with Mark Stratton, Jessica Black’s boyfriend. Experience counted for nothing in these situations. There was no easy way to tell someone that their life had just been wrecked. That the person they loved the most had been taken away from them by a brutal killer. People dealt with loss and pain in their own way, but it was never easy.

Hunter didn’t disclose every detail over the phone. He kept the information down to the bare minimum. Not surprisingly, Stratton thought the call was a prank at first, a very bad joke from one of his buddies. Many of them were notorious for their dark and distasteful sense of humor. Hunter knew denial is the most common initial shock reaction to sad news. When realization finally set in, Stratton broke down the way most people did. The same way Hunter had broken down years ago when a RHD detective knocked on his door to tell him his father had been shot in the chest by a bank robber.

Hunter splashed some more water on his face and wet his hair. The darkness inside him was lurking around again, murky and deep.

Stratton told Hunter that he’d be making his way back to LA as soon as possible – sometime today, and that he’d call Hunter as soon as he got back. Jessica Black’s body still had to be positively identified.