Gallery of the Dead

Four

Hunter and Garcia signed the crime-scene manifest, collected a disposable forensics coverall each and began suiting up. Lieutenant Jarvis didn’t reach for one, clearly indicating that he had no intention of reentering that particular crime scene.

‘So what sort of information do we have on the victim so far?’ Garcia asked.

‘The very basic sort,’ the lieutenant replied, reaching for his notepad. ‘Her name was Linda Parker,’ he began. ‘Twenty-four years old from the Harbor, right here in LA. She made a living as a model. Her record was squeaky clean as far as we can tell — no arrests, no outstanding fines, no court orders... nothing. Her VW Beetle had only a few more months to go on finance before it was all paid off. Her taxes were also all paid on time and in full.’

‘Did she live here alone?’ Garcia again.

‘As far as we know — yes. No other names show on any of the utility bills or accounts.’

‘Any known boyfriends? Relationships?’

The lieutenant shrugged. ‘We’ve had no time to gather that sort of information. Sorry, guys, you’re going to have to do the digging work on that.’

Once again, Hunter allowed his stare to run up and down the street.

‘Anything at all from the neighbors?’ he asked. He knew the lieutenant would’ve already ordered a door-to-door of the neighboring houses.

‘Nothing. No one seems to have seen or heard anything, but my guys are still asking around, so maybe with a bit of luck—’

‘Unfortunately lady luck doesn’t seem to like us very much,’ Garcia said. There was no humor in his voice. ‘But who knows? Every day is a new day.’

‘It looks like the perp gained access to the house through the victim’s bedroom window at the back,’ Lieutenant Jarvis said. ‘It’s been smashed from the outside.’

‘How did he get access to the backyard?’ Garcia asked.

The lieutenant nodded at the wooden door on the left of the house. A third forensic agent was dusting it for prints. ‘No signs of forced entry, but it wouldn’t take an athlete to climb over that.’

‘Is that the person who found the body?’ Hunter asked the lieutenant, his head tilting in the direction of the official vehicles parked on the road just to the right of the house.

As soon as he’d stepped out of his car, Hunter had noticed a female officer kneeling by the opened passenger door of the black-and-white unit furthest from them. The officer wasn’t alone. A very distressed woman in her late forties, maybe early fifties, sat in the passenger seat in front of her.

‘That’s right,’ Lieutenant Jarvis replied. ‘At least you won’t have to go through the ordeal of informing the parents. She’s the victim’s mother.’

Hunter and Garcia paused, their eyes going from the lieutenant to the woman sitting in the cruiser. Neither detective could think of a more soul-destroying experience for a mother to go through than to discover the brutally murdered body of her own daughter.

‘Understandably, she’s in shock,’ the lieutenant explained. ‘And not making a lot of sense right now, but from what we understand she used to speak to her daughter on a daily basis, either in person or on the phone.’ He rechecked his notes. ‘Last time they spoke was two days ago — on Monday afternoon. That was a phone conversation. They were supposed to have met for lunch yesterday, but her mother had to call and cancel. According to her, she called her daughter at around nine in the morning, but got no reply. The call went straight into voicemail. She left a message, but her daughter never called back. The mother tried calling again about forty-five minutes before they were supposed to meet, just to make sure her daughter had gotten the message and didn’t waste the trip. Again, straight into voicemail. She tried again last night and then again this morning and in the afternoon.’ Lieutenant Jarvis gave the detectives a confirming nod. ‘Voicemail every time. That was when the mother got worried. She said that, though unlikely, maybe her daughter had gotten upset because she had to cancel their lunch meeting yesterday, but according to her, even if that had been the case, her daughter would’ve called back by now. The mother called again and left one last message saying that she would drop by tonight.’

‘So what time did she get here today?’ Hunter asked.

‘Around seven o’clock.’

‘How did she get in?’ Garcia this time. ‘Was the door unlocked?’

‘No, the door was locked, but her mother kept a spare key with her.’

Hunter turned toward the CSI agent dusting the front door.

‘Break-in?’ he asked.

‘If it happened at this door, it wasn’t forcefully,’ the agent replied, looking back at Hunter. ‘The lock, the doorframe, nothing here has been tampered with, but this door has got a simple deadlock. It wouldn’t really take an expert to breach it.’

Hunter and Garcia pulled their hoods over their heads and zipped up their coveralls.

‘Through the living room,’ Lieutenant Jarvis explained, gesturing as he did. ‘Onto the hallway on the other side and into the bedroom at the end of it. If you get lost, just follow the smell of blood.’ The lieutenant didn’t phrase his last sentence as a joke. ‘And if I were you, I wouldn’t disregard the nose mask.’

Linda Parker’s front door opened straight into a spacious living room, pleasantly decorated with a mixture of shabby-chic and traditional furniture, all of it complemented by pastel curtains, which matched the room’s rugs and cushions. Nothing seemed out of place. Nothing suggested a struggle.

Another forensics agent, also searching for latent prints, was working her way through the many surfaces in the room. She acknowledged the detectives with a subtle nod.

The wooden-floor corridor that led to the rest of the house was short and wide, with a single door on the right-hand side, two on the left and one at the end of it. Only the second door on the left-hand side was shut. The walls were adorned by several framed photographs — fashion-magazine-cover style. They all showed the same striking model — slender and toned with a heart-shaped face, full lips, a delicate nose, upturned eyes that were almost aquamarine in color and cheekbones most women would pay a fortune for.

Hunter and Garcia made their way toward the room at the end of the hallway.

A quick peek into the open door on the right — bedroom.

The open door on the left — bathroom.

They would check the shut door later.

As they finally got to the crime-scene room, they paused at the door in flustered silence.

Of one thing Hunter and Garcia were both absolutely sure — Lieutenant Jarvis’s wish would never come true. He would never be able to unsee what was inside that room.