The Caller

Forty-Three

A blue-and-white forensic tent had already been set up at the entrance to the Jenkinsons’ house, completely covering the entire front porch. A CSI agent was busy checking the concrete driveway, searching for any tire tracks that differed from the ones left by the silver Cadillac SRX that was parked there. Two other CSI agents were carefully checking the front lawn, the flowerbeds and the window to the right of the porch.

‘If we really are talking about the same perp here,’ Garcia said, as he and Hunter left Sergeant Reed behind and began making their way towards the house, ‘this doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?’

Garcia had noticed the overly concerned look on Hunter’s face when he first saw him coming down the street. He figured it was for the same reasons he himself could hardly believe it when he got the call less than an hour ago: Karen Ward’s stalker has killed again?

‘No, it doesn’t.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘What do we have on this victim?’

‘Very little at the moment. Just the basics, really.’ Garcia reached for his pocket notebook. ‘Her name was Cassandra Jenkinson, forty-two years old, from Santa Ana in Orange County. Worked as an events organizer for a social club not that far from here in Porter Ranch.’ Reflexively, he pointed west. ‘Apparently she also volunteered once a week to help at a coalition for women with heart disease called “WomenHeart”.’

Hunter’s eyebrows arched. He had shopped at one of their charity shops before, he was sure of it.

‘She was married to a John Jenkinson,’ Garcia continued. ‘Forty-eight years old, from Los Angeles. He runs his own business consultancy practice based downtown. As we’ve heard from Sergeant Reed, he’s the one the killer video-called. John and Cassandra Jenkinson have a single child, a son, Patrick, twenty years old, who goes to college in Boston, Massachusetts. Ms. Jenkinson also had a complete clean record. No priors. No problems with the IRS. No outstanding debts. Not even an outstanding parking fine. From her records alone, she was a stand-up citizen.’ Garcia flipped a page on his notebook. ‘And that’s about it for now.’

Hunter nodded as his gaze moved from CSI agent to CSI agent.

‘They basically just started their operation,’ Garcia clarified. ‘They were just setting up when I got here about five minutes ago.’ He returned his notebook to his pocket.

‘Who’s the lead agent, do you know?’

‘Same one as last time,’ Garcia replied. ‘Dr. Susan Slater.’ He gave Hunter a quirky smile.

‘What was that?’ Hunter asked.

‘What was what?’

‘That “I ate the last donut” smile. What was that for?’

‘C’mon.’

Hunter paused and squinted at his partner.

Garcia made a face. ‘C’mon, Robert, she’s hot and you know it.’

‘Who, Dr. Slater?’

‘No, my grandma in a Brazilian bikini, doing the samba on Copacabana beach. Yes, Dr. Slater. Don’t play dumb, Robert, it really doesn’t suit you. I saw the way you were looking at her last time... and she at you. You should ask her out.’

‘We were working a crime scene, Carlos.’

‘So? Romance can blossom in the strangest of places.’

Hunter chuckled. ‘You’re sick.’

As they set off towards the house again, Hunter felt a drop hit the top of his head and looked up. Garcia did the same. Another one hit them both on the forehead.

On the driveway, the CSI agent searching for tire tracks seemed to have found something, but he too saw the first drops of rain hit the concrete and all of a sudden his movements became a lot more urgent.

‘Shit!’ they all heard him say as he frantically searched the bag he had with him for something he could use to cover the driveway patch directly in front of him.

Hunter and Garcia rushed over to help him, but one of the agents on the front lawn beat them to it.

‘Have you got something?’ Hunter asked as he towered over them, unzipped his jacket, and pulled it wide open like bat wings, to use it as an improvised umbrella.

The raindrops got thicker and more frequent.

‘I think I’ve got a partial tire track here,’ the agent replied, without looking up. ‘If we manage to protect it from the rain, that is.’

Garcia unzipped his jacket and mimicked Hunter’s movements.

‘Crap!’ the first agent said to the second. ‘I didn’t even have time to photograph it. If the rain washes this off, we’ve got nothing.’

The two agents were moving as fast as they could. A few seconds later, after using some tape to fix a piece of impermeable material to the concrete, the first agent finally looked up at Hunter and Garcia.

‘This will hopefully do it,’ he said. ‘Even if the rain manages to wash some of it off, I’m sure we’ll still get something. You guys with Homicide?’

Both detectives nodded, as the rain got a little heavier.

‘As I’ve said,’ the agent continued. ‘I barely had time to analyze it, but one thing I can tell you is, this partial doesn’t seem to belong to an SUV like the Cadillac.’ He nodded at the car parked on the driveway.

Hunter and Garcia zipped their jackets back up and rushed towards the house.

The officer standing at the porch handed them two sealed plastic bags containing disposable forensic coveralls. The officer at the door got them to sign the crime-scene manifesto before stepping to one side.

Hunter and Garcia finished suiting up, pulled their hoods over their heads and finally stepped into a brand new horror show.