Gallery of the Dead

Sixty-Nine

Their trip to the Red Cross blood-donation center in downtown Tucson proved to be immensely disappointing. All three nurses on duty could clearly remember Timothy Davis — the very sweet African American gentleman who insisted on calling everyone ma’am — but none of them had any recollection of a tall stranger being at the blood center at around the same time Mr. Davis was there.

Inside the snacks room they found the same twenty-one-year-old volunteer who’d been tasked with monitoring that room the day before. He was the only one who could vaguely remember this mysterious tall man, but he was unable to give anyone any real details on the man’s appearance. All the six-foot kid with acne-ridden cheeks could remember was that the man was quite tall, about three to four inches taller than him. He remembered that the man was wearing a baseball cap, but he couldn’t be sure of its color. He also couldn’t remember the man’s attire. The kid never noticed the man’s eyes; the man was wearing aviator sunglasses.

‘Aviator sunglasses?’ Agent Fisher asked.

‘That’s right,’ the kid replied. ‘A little bit like yours, though not as expensive-looking.’

‘Did he talk to you at all?’ Hunter asked. ‘Say hello, goodbye, anything?’

‘No, the man never spoke to me.’

‘Do people usually?’ Agent Fisher again. ‘Speak to you, I mean.’

‘Most of them say at least “hello” or “goodbye”. Some ask if they can take a few cookies with them or what have you.’

‘And you didn’t find that strange?’ the agent insisted. ‘A man in a baseball cap and sunglasses... indoors, who didn’t say a word to you?’

Garcia’s eyebrows arched at the agent’s comment about sunglasses indoors.

‘I volunteer here whenever I can,’ the kid explained. His voice was beginning to sound a little fearful. ‘I was in an accident three years ago, and if it hadn’t been for someone else’s blood, I wouldn’t be here now. So I donate blood every twelve weeks or so, and volunteer whenever possible. I know this might sound funny, but you do get to see a lot of people coming in here in dark shades, baseball caps and long coats. It’s not really an odd practice. Some people are also very shy. If they talk to me, I always talk back. Try to make them feel as comfortable as I can. If they don’t, I just leave them be.’

‘And this tall man in a baseball cap and shades,’ Agent Fisher said, showing the kid a portrait photograph of Timothy Davis. ‘You remember seeing him talking to this man?’

The kid looked at it for a long instant. ‘Yeah, for sure.’ He nodded. ‘They were talking by the cookie table over there.’ He indicated the last of the three tables in the room.

‘Do you remember seeing him coming into the room?’ Hunter asked, pointing at the same door they had all come in from.

The kid took a moment.

‘Actually no, I don’t,’ he finally replied. ‘I don’t remember seeing him coming in through that door at all, but he could’ve come in while I went for a bathroom break, or to pick up some more cookies and juice.’

Hunter turned and faced the other door, the one across the room from them.

‘How about that door?’ he asked. ‘Is that door always open?’

‘The exit door?’ The kid nodded. ‘Most of the time, yeah. It helps cool the room, you know? Many donors also like to take their drinks outside to escape how stuffy it can get in here sometimes. Some just step outside for a cigarette. Some people will spend a lot longer in here than they will donating blood.’ He shrugged. ‘As far as I know that door is only pulled to when it rains.’

‘Where does it lead to?’ Garcia asked.

‘Just a back alley, really.’

Hunter faced Agent Fisher.

‘There’s your answer,’ he said.

‘To what?’ she countered.

‘To how our subject got in here. I had a quick chat with the girl at the reception desk,’ Hunter explained. ‘Contrary to everyone else at this center, she’s not a volunteer. She’s actually employed by the Red Cross. She deals with all the bookings and schedules and so on... computer stuff. She’s also the receptionist, which means that she’s the one who greets everyone who walks through that front door, sits them down and makes sure that they have stuck to the blood-donation guidelines. She has to speak with everyone who enters this center.’

‘And she doesn’t remember our tall mysterious man.’ Garcia could see where Hunter was going with his explanation.

‘No, she doesn’t,’ Hunter said. ‘She clearly remembers Mr. Davis. She said that it would be hard not to, but she does not remember any tall man coming in yesterday morning, whatsoever. My guess is that our subject simply sneaked in here through the back door. He knew nobody would really question him. He probably even had some sort of false bandaging around his arm just so he could blend in.’

‘His arm was bandaged,’ the kid confirmed. ‘I do remember that.’

Hunter just made a face.

‘Good call, Detective,’ Agent Brandon said to Hunter, as the group finally left the Red Cross blood-donation center. ‘Forensics seems to have found the spot where the killer hid in the live fence at Mr. Davis’s house, just like you suggested. So far they’ve managed to retrieve a partial shoeprint, which is already on its way to our lab in Quantico. They are still checking for any fibers that might’ve lodged themselves in the bushes. With some luck, this might be our first real break.’