The Caller

Seventy-Eight

As Hunter left the crime scene and exited the house, Detective Webb was finally able to focus his stare back on to Dr. Gwen Barnes’ body on the dining table. He knew it was her, but her facial disfiguration had been so severe, he just couldn’t recognize her.

‘This can’t be true,’ he said again.

‘Detective?’ This time the imposing call came from Dr. Slater. She walked over to meet him.

Webb blinked once before meeting her stern gaze.

‘I can’t have you contaminating my crime scene, do you understand me?’ She paused and took a breath. Her voice softened a little. ‘I am terribly sorry for your loss. I really am. No one should find out about the death of a loved one, or a friend, or anyone this way, but you are an LAPD detective, you should know better than to enter an unprocessed crime scene unprepared and unsuited. I can’t have you here. You are compromising not only this crime scene, but this entire investigation.’

‘Detective Webb,’ Garcia took over, approaching him. ‘Why don’t we talk outside, and allow forensics to process the scene?’ He gestured towards the door. ‘They have a lot to do in here. Maybe you can give me a little more insight on Dr. Barnes. We need all the information we can get on her. You can also tell me about the note and the bracelet you’ve mentioned.’

Webb’s professional side finally took over.

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said at last. ‘I’m sorry I’ve acted so impulsively.’

‘You were just being human, Detective,’ Garcia said, his tone friendly and understanding. ‘That’s what we all are.’

Webb allowed his eyes to rest upon the body on the table one last time, before exiting the house. As they stepped outside, Garcia unzipped his coverall and freed his arms, allowing the top half of the white jumpsuit to hang loosely from his waist. Once they reached the edge of the house’s front lawn, Webb reached inside his jacket pocket for his notepad, scribbled something down, tore off the page and handed it to Garcia.

‘What’s this?’ Garcia asked as he read the note.

‘My partner’s name and badge number. He’s the person who I went to meet after I dropped Gwen back here.’ Webb reached inside his pocket again, this time for a pack of cigarettes. He tapped one out and brought it to his lips before offering Garcia one.

He declined.

Webb lit his up and took a long drag. ‘There’s no reason for bullshitting here, Detective...?’

‘Garcia, but you can call me Carlos.’

‘There’s no reason for bullshitting here, Detective Garcia. I know how this works. I was the last person to see the victim alive. I was out with her on the night she was murdered and I was the one who drove her home. In short, right now, I am the suspect list.’ Webb had another drag of his cigarette.

Garcia regarded the man in front of him for a second. Webb did fit the basic description they had of the masked killer — tall, with broad shoulders — but then again, half of the male population of Los Angeles fitted that description.

‘This investigation goes a lot deeper than this murder alone, Detective Webb,’ Garcia said.

Webb looked back at Garcia, measuring his words before his eyebrows shot up his rugged forehead. ‘This guy has killed before.’ His intonation didn’t make it clear if it had been a question or a statement.

Garcia didn’t address it either way.

‘Why don’t you tell me about this note and bracelet you’ve mentioned?’