Gallery of the Dead

Eighty-Three

Hunter finally left his office at around 7:30 p.m. Despite being a workaholic, he had to admit to himself that he welcomed Captain Blake’s orders with open arms. He had needed to check his diary to find out the last time he and Garcia had had a day off: twenty-three days ago. Forty-eight hours off the clock, even if he didn’t sleep that much, would certainly recharge his batteries and re-sharpen his brain. Maybe he could even spend some of that time with Tracy.

That thought made him smile.

Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, as Hunter took the exit onto Soto Street in the direction of Huntington Park, a black Ford Fusion appeared on his left and cut in front of him. Hunter had to swerve hard right not to clip the Fusion’s bumper.

‘You have got to be joking.’

Hunter’s surprise came not due to the Ford’s maneuver, but to the fact that that same black Ford Fusion had pulled exactly the same move, at that exact same junction, the night before, just as Hunter drove home. Hunter had taken notice of the license plate.

‘That’s it,’ Hunter said to himself. ‘I’m pulling him over.’

But as Hunter stepped on the gas in pursuit of the Ford Fusion, his thought process did another somersault, jumping from A to Z in two seconds flat.

That was when he realized something he’d been missing.