The Night Stalker

Thirty-Three

Patrick Barlett was one of the top financial advisors in the whole of California. He ran his own company from the fortieth floor of the famous 777 Tower.

Barlett’s company reception office was decorated to impress. Hunter thought he no doubt subscribed to the theory that money attracts money.

There were two receptionists standing behind a semicircular steel and green-glass reception counter. Their synchronized smiles greeted Hunter and Garcia as they approached the counter. Hunter flashed his credentials, but was careful to keep his thumb over the word homicide. The receptionists’ smiles lost some of their sparkle. Two minutes later, Hunter and Garcia were shown into Patrick Barlett’s office.

If his company’s reception was impressive, Barlett’s office was majestic. The entire west wall was one huge floor-to-ceiling window, offering the sort of panoramic views of Los Angeles few had ever seen. The floors were pristine bare oak boards. The walls were painted white with just a hint of blue. The entire office was full of sharp edges and gleaming surfaces.

Barlett greeted both detectives with an overpowering handshake.

‘Please, come in,’ he said in a smooth, deep voice. ‘I’m sorry for the mess, I just got in. I came straight from the airport.’

Barlett was thirty-one years old, as tall as Garcia but with a strong, quarterback frame, tanned skin and a full head of brown hair. His eyes were dark, nearly black. His facial bone structure was as attractive as any Hollywood superstar.

As Hunter explained the reason for their visit, he saw something change inside Barlett’s eyes, as if something precious had been smashed to pieces.

Barlett sat behind his imposing desk unable to speak for a minute. His stare stayed on Hunter for several seconds before switching to a small picture frame on his desk. The photo showed three couples at what looked like a gala dinner. Patrick and Laura were sitting side by side. They looked happy. They looked in love.

‘There’s got to be some sort of mistake.’ The smoothness in his voice had given way to an anguished quiver.

Hunter shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, no.’

‘There must’ve been. Who identified the body?’

‘Mr. Barlett,’ Hunter’s voice sounded firmer this time, ‘there’s no mistake.’

Patrick’s eyes returned to the photo frame for an instant before breaking away and finding refuge in the panoramic view. His hands moved from his desk to his lap, like a kid trying to hide the fact that they were shaking.

‘When did you last see Miss Mitchell, Mr. Barlett?’ Garcia asked.

Silence.

‘Mr. Barlett?’

His gaze moved back to both detectives. ‘Huh? Please call me Patrick.’

‘When did you last see Miss Mitchell, Patrick?’ Garcia repeated, a fraction slower this time.

‘Weeks ago, on the last night of her exhibition at. .’ he searched the air for the name but didn’t find it, ‘. . in West Hollywood somewhere.’

‘The Daniel Rossdale Gallery?’ Hunter helped him.

‘Yes, that’s the one.’

‘Were you invited?’ Garcia again.

‘It wasn’t an invitational exhibition.’

‘I mean, did Miss Mitchell know you were going? Did she ask you to go?’

Barlett’s entire demeanor changed into something a lot harder.

‘Am I being accused here?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘This is absolutely ridiculous. If you think I’d ever be capable of hurting Laura, then you guys are probably the worst detectives this town has ever seen. Either that, or you didn’t bother doing a background check on us. We have history together. I love Laura. I’d take my own life before I hurt her.’

Hunter noticed that Barlett didn’t even mention the fact that he wasn’t in town when Laura’s body was found.

‘Did you try contacting her again after the exhibition? Apparently you didn’t part on very good terms that night.’

‘What?’ Patrick glared at Garcia. ‘That’s bullshit. You need to get your facts right, Detective. I drank a little too much that night and I acted like a jerk, I admit it. But that was all. Nothing more. And yes, I tried calling her the next day to apologize, but all I got was her answering service.’

‘Did you leave a message?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did she call you back?’

Barlett gave Garcia a nervous chuckle. ‘No, she never does. I’m used to it.’

‘Why do you say you acted like a jerk?’ Garcia again. ‘What happened?’

Barlett paused, trying to decide if he should say any more. ‘Since it’s obvious you have me as a suspect, I think we should adjourn this conversation until I have my lawyer present.’

‘We’re not accusing you of anything, Patrick,’ Garcia countered. ‘We’re just clearing up a few points.’

‘Well, it looks and sounds like an interrogation to me. So, if it’s all the same to you, I really think I should have my lawyer present.’ He reached for the phone on his desk.

Garcia leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his stubbled chin.

‘That’s your prerogative, Patrick,’ Hunter took over, ‘but that won’t help anyone. It will certainly waste time, though. Time we could spend hunting Laura’s killer.’

Patrick paused mid-dial and stared at Hunter.

‘I understand this line of enquiry might seem upsetting to you, but at the moment everyone is a suspect and we wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t come knocking at your door. Laura’s final exhibition night seems to be the last time anyone saw Miss Mitchell alive. You were seen arguing with her that night.’ Hunter leaned forward. ‘You’re an intelligent man, so think about it. Given your well-documented outbursts, your history with Laura Mitchell, and the fact that you’ve been trying to get her back for the past four years without success, does it come as a surprise to you that we’re here? What would you do if you were us?’

‘I would never hurt Laura,’ Barlett repeated.

‘Fine, but this ain’t the way to prove it. No matter what you do, lawyer or no lawyer, you’ll still have to answer our questions. We’ll just get a warrant and drag this thing out for a lot longer.’ Hunter emphatically allowed his eyes to focus on the photo on the desk. Barlett followed his stare. ‘Whoever killed Laura, the woman you loved so much, is still out there. Do you really think that fighting us and wasting time is such a good call?’

Barlett’s eyes didn’t leave the photograph.

Hunter and Garcia waited.

‘I was jealous, I admit it,’ he finally said as his eyes became glassy. ‘That guy was shadowing Laura everywhere she went like a hungry dog. Staring at her all the time as if she were naked or something. Then I saw them talking. Laura was a very private person, not the flirty type, so of course I was jealous. But there was something different about that guy.’

‘Different how?’ Hunter asked.

‘I don’t know. The look in his eyes when he stared at her. As I said, he was shadowing her. Just a few steps away from wherever she was, but he wasn’t there for her art.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because not once did he look at any of the paintings. While everyone else was walking around, admiring the exhibition, his eyes were on her. . only on her. As if Laura was the exhibition.’

‘Don’t you think that your opinion of this man could’ve been distorted by the fact that you were jealous of him?’ Garcia suggested.

Barlett shook his head. ‘I was jealous of him, all right, especially after I saw him chatting to Laura and the way she was smiling at him, but that’s not the reason he caught my attention. I spotted the way he was staring at her way before they talked. I’m telling you, he wasn’t there for the exhibition. He was there for her.’

‘And you told Laura that?’ Garcia asked.

‘Yes, but she wouldn’t listen. She got angry. She thought I was jealous. But I was just trying to protect her.’

Hunter retrieved a snapshot from a folder he’d brought with him. It was one of the photos they’d got from the Daniel Rossdale Gallery. The one showing the tall, dark-haired stranger who had swapped phone numbers with Laura. He was standing next to her, staring at the camera. Hunter placed the photo on the desk in front of Patrick. ‘Is this the person you’re referring to?’

Patrick moved closer. His eyebrows contracted. ‘Yes, that’s him.’

‘And you’d never seen him before?’

‘Not before that night, no.’

Hunter’s phone rang in his pocket.

‘Detective Hunter,’ he answered and listened for a long moment. His eyes lit up as he faced Garcia.

‘You’re kidding me.’