The Executioner

Hundred and Seventeen

The overweight receptionist at the front desk confirmed that the key to room 219 was in its cubbyhole. That particular Travel Inn hadn’t yet upgraded to the now-conventional key cards, still using the old-fashioned key and massive key-ring combination. Guests at the hotel weren’t requested to leave the key at reception when they were going out. The receptionist hadn’t seen Mollie. The key had been dropped into the express-return box and she had no idea what time that happened.

Hunter flashed his badge, grabbed the key and returned to Mollie’s room. The few things she had with her when he took her there two nights ago were gone, and so was her rucksack. Hunter checked the room and the bed while Garcia took care of the bathroom.

‘Robert, you better come take a look at this.’

Hunter entered the bathroom and froze as his eyes rested on a few drops of blood in the sink. They looked around but there was no sign of a struggle. Nothing seemed disturbed. Hunter examined the blood.

‘What’re you thinking?’ Garcia asked.

‘Nosebleed. Mollie told me she gets them sometimes, mainly after visions.’

‘What do you wanna do?’

Hunter dialed a number on his cell phone. The person at the other end answered it on the second ring.

‘Trevor, it’s Hunter, Robert Hunter. I need you to do me a favor.’

Trevor Tollino was the most senior officer with the Special Operations Bureau of the LAPD, and a close friend.

‘What do you need, Robert?’ he murmured down the phone. Trevor used to be a field cop, but during a gunfire exchange with a drug gang in south LA he was hit in the neck. The bullet damaged his vocal cords, and after two operations he was left with a soft whispering voice. Hunter was the one who risked his life to pull a bleeding Trevor back to cover.

‘I need you to track down the location of a cell phone. It’s equipped with the latest GPS chip.’

‘Even with GPS, cell phones can be tricky to trace, Robert. If the phone’s on, it should take a few minutes. If the phone’s been turned off, then we’ve got a problem.’

‘Can you give it a try?’ Hunter said, giving Trevor Mollie’s number and all the information he’d copied down when he purchased the phone. ‘Call me back as soon as you have something.’

There was a pause. ‘Is this an official request, Robert?’

‘It’s a life-or-death request.’

Another short pause. ‘No problem. Leave it with me. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.’

Hunter paced the room and checked the window a couple of times. From the room he could see a small section of the street below and nothing else.

His phone rang, making Garcia jump on his seat.

‘Trevor, talk to me?’

‘I’ve got nothing, Robert. I can’t triangulate on it. The phone has either run out of battery or it’s been switched off. What I do have is the general location of its last call.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘The call was made to your phone.’

‘And the location?’

‘Firestone Boulevard in Downey.’

‘What? Downey is about seven miles from here. Can you give me a more specific location?’

‘Sorry, Robert. The call didn’t last long enough for me to properly close in on it. The best I could do was to narrow its location down to a general area. The phone was last active somewhere around the junction of Firestone and Lakewood.’ A brief pause. ‘After that it simply vanished.’