The Night Stalker (44 page)

‘Shit,’ Garcia said. ‘Out towards the hills. Completely isolated.’

Hunter nodded.

‘So if we suspect that’s where the captain is being held, why are we going there without a SWAT team?’

‘Because Andrew said that how long the captain lived depended on our actions. He’s somehow monitoring what we do.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know, Carlos. But he called me just minutes after I landed. I’d been away less than a day. How the hell did he know I’d gone to Healdsburg this morning?’

Garcia had no answer.

‘SWAT teams are great, but they aren’t exactly subtle. If Andrew gets a sniff that we might know where he is, he’ll get to Captain Blake a lot faster than we or any SWAT team can get to him. And then it’s game over.’

‘So what are we gonna do?’

‘Everything we can. We might be able to surprise him. He doesn’t know that we know. The surprise factor is on our side. If we do this right, we can end this – now.’

Garcia stepped on the gas.

Hunter started flipping through the magazines and printouts Garcia had brought with him. He started reading the interview with Jessica Black again from the start when he suddenly paused and frowned. He reached for the next magazine, the one with Laura Mitchell’s interview.

Adrenalin rushed through his veins. ‘You’re shitting me,’ he whispered.

‘What?’ Garcia asked.

‘Wait up.’ He grabbed the computer printout – Kelly Jensen’s interview. ‘We’ve been fucking blind.’

‘For Chrissakes, what have you found, Robert?’

‘Did you know that these three magazines belong to the same corporation?’

‘No.’ Garcia shrugged.

‘Well, they do.’

‘OK, so . . . ?’

‘Did you check the name of the reporter who conducted the interviews?’

‘No.’ Garcia started to look worried.

‘It’s the same guy.’

‘No way.’

Hunter lifted one of the magazines and pointed to the credits, indicating the reporter’s name.

Hunter was already on the phone to Special Operations. He told them to send units out to the reporter’s home and work address. If he were sighted, he was to be stopped and taken in immediately. An APB was also put out on his registered car.

In Santa Clarita they drove up Sand Canyon Way in the direction of the hills and turned right into a small narrow road that ran another five hundred yards towards the entrance to the old St Michael’s Hospice.

‘We better come off-road somewhere around here and walk the rest of the way,’ Hunter said as they got within two hundred yards of the entrance. ‘I don’t wanna alert him that we’re coming.’

Garcia nodded and found a hidden place behind some tall trees to leave the car.

They quickly walked the rest of the way through the high vegetation and found a covered position about seventy-five yards from the derelict St Michael’s Hospice building.

It was a two-story rectangular structure covering around one thousand square feet. Most of the outside shell had crumbled, the majority of the roof had caved into the top floor, and there were clues everywhere that a large fire had taken place some time ago. At certain spots they could see right through the building. Debris was scattered all around the grounds.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Garcia asked. ‘There seems to be nothing here.’

Hunter pointed to the ground around what used to be the building’s main entrance – a series of fresh tire tracks.

‘Someone has been here recently.’

The tracks led away from the front of the building and disappeared around and towards the back – the only place where the walls seemed intact. Hunter and Garcia spent a few minutes observing from a distance, looking for surveillance cameras or any other signs of security or life. Nothing.

‘Let’s get closer,’ Hunter said.

The tire tracks stopped by a large staircase and wheelchair ramp that led down into the building’s underground floor. There were several footprints on the steps, going in both directions. They all seemed to belong to the same person.

‘Whatever’s happening here, it’s down there.’ Garcia nodded at the stairs.

Hunter pulled out his gun.

‘Only one way to find out. Are you ready for this?’

Garcia grabbed his weapon. ‘No, but let’s do it anyway.’

Surprisingly, the double swing doors at the bottom of the staircase weren’t locked. Hunter and Garcia pushed them open and stepped inside.

The first room was an old-style reception lobby. A battered semicircular counter was fixed to the wall on the left. Broken furniture was scattered around everywhere, covered in dust and old rags. Beyond the reception counter there was another set of swing doors.

‘I don’t like this one bit,’ Garcia whispered. ‘There’s something just not right about this place.’

Hunter looked around slowly. He still could see no surveillance cameras or any other type of security against intruders. He nodded at Garcia and they both carefully approached the new set of doors.

Hunter tried the handles – unlocked. They moved through.

The doors led them into a wide corridor, stretching for about thirty-five feet. One single dim light bulb kept it from plunging into total darkness. From where they were standing they could see only one door, halfway down the corridor.

‘OK, I’m not one to believe in vibes, or auras, or crap like that,’ Garcia said, ‘but there’s definitely something fucked-up about this place. I can feel it in my soul.’

They kept moving stealthily forward until they reached the lonely door on their left. Again – unlocked. They moved inside.

The room was about twenty-five feet by twenty, and was kitted out like a carpenter’s workshop. A large wooden drawing desk, a heavy-duty workstation counter, two old metal filing cabinets, wall-mounted shelves, and a paraphernalia of instruments and tools hanging from the walls and scattered around the room.

Hunter and Garcia stood still for a moment, taking everything in. When they finally approached the drawing desk, they froze.

‘Holy shit,’ Garcia whispered. His eyes settled on the building plans and the photographs on the desk. They showed one item only. An object they’d seen before. The fan-out knife that was retrieved from inside Kelly Jensen’s body.

Across the room, Hunter recognized the items inside a small box on top of the workstation – the self-activating clicking mechanism. There were three of them, ready to be used. Next to them he found another box with two aluminum tubes. Hunter and Garcia didn’t need to look at them closely to know exactly what they were – practice runs for the flare that was inserted into Jessica Black’s body. This was his creative chamber of horrors, Hunter thought. His death factory.

‘Look at this,’ Garcia said, checking some of the other drawings on the desk. ‘Plans for the bomb used on Laura Mitchell.’

An uneasy silence followed.

Garcia allowed his eyes to roam the room one more time. ‘He can build almost any sort of torture and death instrument in here.’

Hunter’s eyes were also rechecking the room – ceiling, corners, strategic places . . . Still he could see no surveillance of any kind.

‘Here we are!’ Garcia said, reaching for a sheet of paper he found stuck to the wall.

‘What have you got?’

‘Looks like the underground floor plan for this place.’

Hunter moved closer and studied the drawing. The corridor they were in led into a new, transversal hallway. That hallway went around in a large squared path. Four corridors, and according to the plans they were looking at, each corridor held two rooms. There was no other exit on the other side. The only way out was to come back to where they were and go up the stairs they’d come down from.

Garcia felt his blood run cold. ‘Eight rooms. He can keep up to eight victims here at once?’

Hunter nodded. ‘It seems that way.’

‘Fuck. This guy is sick.’

Hunter paused and turned around. He had noticed something hanging from the wall before, but he didn’t pick up on it. A large metal key ring with several skeleton keys.

‘I bet these open the rooms.’

Garcia nodded. ‘Let’s go give them a try.’

They stepped out of the drawing room and, as quickly and quietly as they could, moved onto the transversal hallway at the end of the corridor they were in. They came out exactly at the center of the hallway. In total, this corridor stretched for sixty or seventy feet. Just like the previous one, a single dim light bulb behind a metal mesh on the wall kept it from total darkness.

‘So, what would you like to do?’ Garcia asked. ‘Split up or go together?’

‘Let’s give ourselves a better chance and move together. That way we can cover each other.’

Garcia nodded. ‘Good call. Which way?’

Hunter pointed right.

Once again they moved in almost complete silence. They quickly got to the first room towards the end of the corridor. A very sturdy and thick timber door. At the bottom of it there was a food hatch. Hunter fumbled through the keys in the large key ring, trying each one. He found the correct key on his third attempt.

Hunter gave Garcia a quick nod, who responded in the same way. They were as ready as they’d ever be.

Both detectives held their breath as Hunter stood with his back against the wall to the right of the door and pushed it open in one fast movement. Immediately, Garcia stepped inside, both of his arms stretched out, his weapon held by a double-hand grip. He was followed a fraction of a second later by Hunter.

The room was in complete darkness, but the tiny amount of light that seeped through from the corridor outside allowed them to understand its setup. It was small, maybe only ten feet in depth by seven wide. There was a metal bed pushed up against one of the walls and a bucket on the floor to the right of the bed; nothing else. The walls were made of red bricks and the floor was concrete. It looked like a medieval dungeon, and if fear had a smell, that room was drenched in it. There was no one in there.

Garcia breathed out and cringed. ‘Damn, look at this place, man. Stephen King couldn’t have imagined this hellhole.’

Hunter closed the door silently and he and Garcia moved on. The corridor swung left. Hunter went through the same process, trying each key as he reached the first door in this new hallway. The room was identical to the first one and again in total darkness. There was no one in there either.

Garcia started fidgeting.

They reached the next door and the process started again. As Hunter pushed the door open and they stepped inside with their weapons at the ready, they heard a faint and frightened cry.

Hunter and Garcia paused by the door. Both of their guns aiming at whoever or whatever had made that noise, but neither of them fired. Due to the darkness, it took Hunter a couple of seconds to spot her. She was pressed against one of the corners of the room, curled up into a tiny ball. Her knees were tight against her chest. Her arms hugging her legs so hard the blood seemed to have drained from them. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the door and the two new arrivals. One word could describe her whole being – fear.

Hunter recognized her straight away – Katia Kudrov.

He holstered his gun and quickly lifted his hands up in a surrender gesture.

‘We’re Los Angeles police officers,’ he announced in the calmest voice he could muster. ‘We’ve been looking for you for a while, Katia.’

Katia burst into tears, her body convulsing with emotion. Hunter stepped into the room and approached her very slowly.

‘You’re gonna be OK, we’re here now.’

Her eyes were still wide, staring at Hunter as if he was an illusion. Her breathing was coming to her in bursts. Hunter feared she was too shocked to speak.

‘Can you talk?’ he asked. ‘Are you hurt?’

Katia sucked in a deep breath through her nose and nodded.

‘Ye— yes, I can talk. No— no, I’m not hurt.’

Hunter kneeled down before her and took her in his arms. She hugged him tight and broke down in a barrage of desperate tears and high-pitched yelps. Hunter felt as though he was absorbing her fear through his skin.

Garcia stood by the door, both hands wrapped firmly around his gun, his gaze incessantly moving up and down the corridor outside.

Katia’s eyes met Hunter’s. ‘Than— thank you.’

‘Are there others here?’

She nodded. ‘I think so. I never saw anyone. I’m never let out of this room. The lights are always off. But I’m sure I heard something one day. I mean, I heard
someone.
Another woman.’

Hunter nodded. ‘You are the first one we found, we’ve gotta look for others.’

Katia’s arms tightened further around Hunter. ‘No . . . don’t leave me.’

‘We’re not leaving you. You’re coming with us. Can you walk?’