Gallery of the Dead

Seventy-Seven

It was as if Hunter had cast a flash paralyzing spell on everyone inside the office, because for the next five seconds no one spoke, no one moved, no one even blinked.

‘What?’ Agent Fisher broke the spell, quickly followed by Garcia, then Agent Williams.

‘What?’

‘What?’

Awkward looks all around.

‘So what is he collecting?’ Agent Fisher asked.

Hunter took a deep breath before speaking because he knew how crazy he was about to sound.

‘Human rarities.’

Surprise and bewilderment came together to form a very peculiar look, which masked everyone’s faces.

‘Human rarities? What does that even mean?’

‘OK,’ Hunter said, calling everyone’s attention to the first photograph on the left. Next to it was the Latin phrase the killer had carved into the victim’s back.

‘Kristine Rivers,’ he began. ‘Our very first victim. The killer scalped her and took out her eyes. Now have a look at this.’ From his folder, Hunter retrieved the personal file the FBI had compiled on Kristine Rivers and placed it on the table. He then indicated two fields displayed right on the first page.

Hair color: Red.

Eye color: Blue.

‘Now remember,’ Hunter stressed, pointing to Kristine Rivers’ portrait on the desk. ‘This is her official profile, so we’re not talking about her dyed bright red hair here.’

On the photo, Kristine Rivers’ hair, which had been styled into large curls, was fire-engine red.

‘Beneath all that bright red color,’ Hunter carried on, ‘Kristine Rivers was actually a natural redhead.’

Hunter went back to his file and selected a new photo of Kristine Rivers. This one showed her sitting with two other girls on a bench somewhere. Her hair was loose, falling several inches past her shoulders, a gorgeous shade of natural red.

‘According to what we have,’ Hunter added, ‘this picture was taken just a few days before Kristine Rivers was murdered.’

Garcia and Agent Williams still looked puzzled, but from the expression on Agent Fisher’s face, Hunter knew she had caught on.

‘Redhead women make up less than two percent of the world’s population,’ Hunter explained.

‘And the combination of natural red hair and blue eyes,’ Agent Fisher took over, ‘is the rarest eye/hair color combo on earth.’ She looked back at Hunter. ‘I too read a lot.’

‘That’s right,’ Hunter confirmed. ‘The combination of red hair and blue eyes makes less than 0.5 percent of the world’s population. The rarest combination on earth.’ He indicated the Latin phrase the killer had carved into Kristine Rivers’ back.

Pulchritudo in coniunctio — beauty is in the combination.

The puzzled look on everyone’s faces seemed to intensify.

Hunter kept the momentum going by indicating the second photograph from the left.

‘Let’s move to our second victim,’ he said. ‘Albert Greene.’

The photo Hunter had placed on his desk was the same one Agent Williams had showed Hunter and Garcia back in their office when they met for the first time. The picture showed the old man looking up from a newspaper.

‘As we all know,’ Hunter continued, ‘the killer took Mr. Greene’s eyes, nothing else.’

Hunter’s words prompted everyone to move in a little closer and concentrate their attention on the old man’s eyes.

‘Is there something special about them?’ Garcia asked.

‘There is,’ Hunter confirmed. ‘Something that wouldn’t show in his personal dossier.’

‘And what is that?’ Agent Williams this time.

‘Isn’t there anything on this picture that seems a little odd to any of you?’ Hunter asked.

Three pairs of eyes jumped back to the photo on his desk.

Hunter waited.

‘I don’t see anything,’ Agent Williams replied first.

Agent Fisher was still trying.

‘The newspaper,’ Hunter said, giving everyone a clue.

Both FBI agents’ attention shot to the newspaper Albert Greene had in his hands. They both squinted, trying to make out some of the headlines.

For some reason, Agent Fisher tried to identify the date on the paper’s front page.

Garcia’s gaze, on the other hand, kept moving from Albert Greene to the newspaper then back to Albert Greene.

‘No glasses,’ he finally said.

Hunter nodded at his partner.

‘What?’ Agent Fisher looked unsure.

‘He’s not wearing any glasses,’ Garcia said again.

‘Albert Greene was eighty-four years old,’ Hunter said. ‘Most of us, even if we already wear glasses, will begin to experience a significant decline in our reading sight from around the age of forty-five. That decline will naturally progress as we get older and our eyes get weaker. But that wasn’t the case with Albert Greene.’

‘You got that from a picture?’ Agent Fisher countered. ‘He could’ve been wearing contact lenses here.’

‘He wasn’t,’ Hunter affirmed. ‘I spoke to his daughter on the phone earlier today. He had a few health issues, but for some reason, his vision never deteriorated, at least not at the rate that was expected. Albert Greene never wore glasses. He never needed them.’

‘Never?’ Agent Williams looked unconvinced.

‘When he got to the age of sixty-five,’ Hunter said, recounting what he’d been told by Greene’s daughter over the phone, ‘his daughter made him go to an optician with her because she just couldn’t believe that he didn’t need glasses by then. She thought he was just being his stubborn self, but no. According to her, the optician was surprised at how good Mr. Greene’s vision was.’

‘At the age of sixty-five?’ Agent Fisher questioned. ‘But Albert Greene was eighty-four when he was murdered. His vision could’ve easily changed in those nineteen years.’

‘You would’ve expected it to,’ Hunter agreed. ‘But apparently that wasn’t the case. Mr. Greene’s daughter told me that since that first visit to the optician, she made him go back every year for a checkup.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘Nothing. Year after year, the results were always the same. Mr. Greene’s vision held steady like a fort. Two years ago, just after his eighty-second birthday, she took him to a clinic to see an ophthalmologist, not an optician, because she just couldn’t believe the results anymore. She was starting to think that the opticians were getting things wrong. After a battery of tests, the ophthalmologist confirmed that Mr. Greene’s vision had indeed deteriorated, but at a much, much slower rate than what would be considered normal. At eighty-four years old his vision was as good as might be expected of a person less than half his age.’

‘How’s that even possible?’ Agent Williams asked.

‘That’s the problem,’ Hunter replied. ‘It’s not supposed to be, but there have been a few isolated cases registered around the world where a person’s organ has failed to age at the normal rate — eyes, liver, auditory system, heart — the cases are few and far between, but they do exist. It’s a type of nerve and muscle hypertrophy. Mr. Greene was one of these rare cases; his eyes were unique.’

Hunter indicated the Latin phrase that corresponded to Albert Greene — Pulchritudo in oculis aspicientis — ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’

Agent Fisher was starting to get fidgety.

‘There’s one more detail,’ Hunter added. ‘Can you remember the job Albert Greene did before he retired?’

‘Janitor,’ Garcia replied. ‘He was a school janitor his whole life, isn’t that right?’

‘Not his whole life,’ Agent Williams corrected him. ‘For his last nine working years he was the main CCTV control-room operator for Maple Hills high school.’

‘That’s correct,’ Hunter said. ‘In other words, he was an observer. He spent his days watching students through video cameras.’

‘So?’ Agent Fisher failed to see the relevance.

‘Fuck!’ Agent Williams didn’t manage to keep his remark quite under his breath.

Agent Fisher’s surprised eyes shot in his direction. Despite having worked with him for over seven years now, she couldn’t remember ever hearing Agent Williams curse.

‘By definition that’s what a “beholder” is, Erica,’ Agent Williams clarified. ‘An observer.’

‘Given how much thought this killer puts into everything he does,’ Hunter said, ‘I don’t think that that was a coincidence. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The killer isn’t talking about us being able to see the beauty in what he did. He’s literally talking about the eyes of the beholder.’

‘This is absolutely mad,’ Garcia said.

‘What about Linda Parker — the LA victim, and Timothy Davis from Tucson?’ Agent Williams asked. ‘How do they fit into this new... “collector” theory of yours?’

Hunter held everyone’s stare for an extra second.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘This is where it gets even more interesting.’