Gallery of the Dead

Twenty-Four

Once Hunter and Garcia left Linda Parker’s house, they decided to split the afternoon’s interview workload. Hunter was seeing Linda’s parents in Cheviot Hills while Garcia was dropping by her model agency in West Hollywood. By pure chance, they both made it back to the Police Administration Building just seconds apart. Hunter had just locked the door to his old Buick when Garcia pulled up next to him.

‘Did you just get here?’ he asked as he jumped out of his car. ‘Or are you going out again?’

‘No, I just got back.’

‘So how was your interview?’

‘Tough,’ Hunter replied. ‘Her parents are in shock. Getting any sort of information out of them was a very slow and tactical affair.’

‘That’s why you went to them while I checked out her model agency,’ Garcia said. ‘You’re much more tactful than I am. Anyway, did they give you anything?’

‘Nothing ground-breaking,’ Hunter explained. ‘As we were told, it does sound like Linda Parker’s mother was also her best friend. They hung out together. Went places together. Took holidays together. Did most things best friends do together. She was adamant that Linda always told her everything that was going on with her personal life. Including about guys she was seeing.’

Garcia tilted his head sideways in a ‘not so sure’ way. ‘Did you buy that?’

‘No. Nobody ever gets told everything. No matter how good a friend they think they are. We all have secrets.’

‘Especially when it comes to mother-and-daughter relationships,’ Garcia agreed. ‘I just can’t see a daughter telling her mother everything, regardless of how open-minded they both are.’

‘But we’ve got to go with what we have,’ Hunter said. ‘Which is, according to her mother, Linda Parker wasn’t seeing anyone. Actually, her mother told me that she’d never really had a steady boyfriend.’

‘Never? Really?’

They entered the PAB, crossed the reception lobby and cleared security.

‘She told me that Linda just didn’t have time for relationships,’ Hunter clarified. ‘And that since high school she had always concentrated all her efforts on her career and getting into the international fashion world. She said boyfriends were a distraction that Linda knew very well how to live without.’

They reached the elevator.

‘Actually,’ Garcia said, ‘the people at her model agency told me pretty much the same thing — that Linda Parker wasn’t the dating type and that she was very focused on her career.’

‘But I did get something else that might help us,’ Hunter added.

‘Oh, and what’s that?’

‘Emily Parker wasn’t only Linda’s mother and best friend. She also helped Linda with her online presence — Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube and email.’

‘OK.’

‘That means that she had the username and password to all of Linda’s accounts,’ Hunter said.

‘Wow. We won’t have to hack into anything?’

‘Not this time.’

‘Damn, that’s got to be a first.’

‘Her mother also told me that on the day she was murdered, Monday, Miss Parker had a very busy day — five photoshoots in five different studios scattered all over LA.’

‘Yep. I got the same info from her agency. We’re going to have to check them all.’

As they crossed the Robbery Homicide Division’s floor in the direction of their office, they both frowned as they noticed that their door was ajar.

‘Did you forget to lock the office?’ Hunter asked.

Garcia looked back at him sideways. ‘You were behind me when we left, remember? If anybody forgot to lock anything, it was you.’

‘I never forget to lock the door.’

‘Maybe the captain is in there,’ Garcia came back.

‘Yeah, but why?’

As they at last got to their office, Hunter and Garcia stopped by the open door. Captain Blake wasn’t in there. Instead, standing directly in front of their picture board with her back toward them and seemingly studying all the photographs that had been pinned onto it was a five-foot-eight woman. Her black hair had been elegantly styled into a shoulder-length beach wave. She wore a perfectly cut dark-gray suit jacket and a matching knee-length skirt.

Hunter didn’t need to ask to know who she was.

Garcia, on the other hand, had no clue who the woman was. He was much more impulsive.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, his tone firm and demanding. ‘Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?’

‘He skinned her?’ the woman asked without turning around and completely disregarding Garcia’s question. ‘And he severed her hands and feet?’ The surprise in her voice was undeniable.

Garcia’s head jerked back momentarily as his eyes widened with wonder. ‘Sorry, lady, are you hard of hearing? This office is out of bounds to everyone. You can’t be in here.’

‘And what the hell is this?’ she asked, still facing the board. ‘Is this a frozen cat? What the hell is going on here?’

Garcia looked at Hunter. ‘Is she for real? Who the hell is this woman? And how do we turn on her hearing aid?’ He addressed the woman again. ‘Hey, crazy lady, over here. I’ve got chocolate.’

‘She’s FBI,’ Hunter replied.

The woman finally turned to face the detectives.

‘Well spotted,’ she said with a head nod. ‘I’m Special Agent Erica Fisher with the NCAVC’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.’ She took two steps toward them before offering her hand. She had a small beauty spot above the left corner of her upper lip that added an extra pinch of charm to an already very striking heart-shaped face. Her eyes, which were as dark as her hair and as enigmatic as a coded message in wartime, locked with Hunter’s.

Neither detective shook her hand, but Hunter held her stare.

‘Well,’ Garcia said, walking past her and placing himself between her and the picture board. ‘Regardless of who you are, Special Agent Erica Fisher, you still can’t be in here.’

‘I guess that’s where you’re wrong,’ she replied before finally breaking eye contact with Hunter and turning to face Garcia. ‘Let me guess. You must be Detective Carlos Garcia, right? Born in São Paulo, Brazil. Your mother was American and a history teacher. Your father was Brazilian and a federal agent for the Brazilian government. After your parents divorced, you and your mother relocated to Los Angeles. You were ten years old at the time. Your father stayed in Brazil, where he still lives. You joined the police force straight out of high school and your progress was pretty much outstanding.’

Garcia frowned first at her, then at Hunter, but Special Agent Erica Fisher still wasn’t finished.

‘After busting your ass for two years as a detective in North LA, you were given a choice of divisions. That doesn’t happen to many young detectives. You chose to join the Homicide Division. You married your high-school sweetheart, Anna Preston, and you have no kids.’

‘Are you thinking about writing my biography?’ Garcia asked.

Agent Fisher smiled as her eyes returned to Hunter. ‘And the quiet guy over here can only be Detective Robert Hunter. You look a little different from the pictures in our archives.’

Hunter stayed silent.

‘I’ve heard an awful lot about you, Detective Hunter. In fact, I’ve read your book. Every NCAVC agent has. It’s part of our training. Very impressive stuff.’

Still not a word from Hunter.

‘You guess that’s where we’re wrong?’ Garcia said, dragging her attention back to him. ‘That’s what you said, right? And what exactly do you mean by that?’

Once again, Agent Fisher didn’t seem to take notice of Garcia’s words and for a moment she looked like she was debating what to do.

‘Hello?’ A new quirkiness found its way into Garcia’s voice. ‘Is she really deaf?’ he asked Hunter.

Agent Fisher let go of an irritated breath. ‘No, I’m not deaf, Detective Garcia, and what I meant by “that’s where you’re wrong” is that this whole investigation is being taken over by the FBI. You guys can... move on to your next case, go get some donuts, or whatever it is that you do.’

One second of stunned silence.

‘Come again?’ Garcia said, frowning at Agent Fisher.

‘Which part?’

‘The one about the FBI taking over our investigation.’

‘You heard it right, Detective Garcia,’ she confirmed. ‘My orders were to wait before breaking the news to you, but you seemed a little too eager to find out so... there you have it. This case doesn’t belong to the LAPD anymore.’

‘Who ordered you to wait?’ Hunter finally broke his silence.

‘Excuse me?’ Agent Fisher repositioned herself so she could see both detectives without having to rotate her body every time.

‘You just said that you were ordered to wait,’ Hunter said. ‘Who gave you those orders?’

‘I did.’

The reply caught everyone by surprise, because it came from the person who was now standing at the door to Hunter and Garcia’s office.