The Night Stalker

Forty-Five

Special autopsy room one was located down a different corridor, separate from all the other chambers. It was usually used for postmortem examinations of bodies that could still pose some sort of contamination threat — highly contagious viral diseases, exposure to radioactive materials and so on. The room, with its own cold storage facility and separate database system, was sometimes used during high-profile serial killer cases, like the Crucifix Killer investigation a few years ago — a security precaution to better contain sensitive information.

The image they got from the portable tactical X-ray unit in the basement of the disused preschool in Glassell Park didn’t reveal much, but whatever it was that the killer had placed inside his second victim, it sure as hell wasn’t a bomb, Doctor Hove had no doubt of that. The picture showed a solid, triangular shape with a rounded base. Something that resembled a large but very thin slice of pizza. She’d never seen anything like it, and the only way she could find out any more about it was by extracting it from the body.

Doctor Hove had had almost no sleep, and turned up at the LACDC even before the crack of dawn. She just wanted to get on with things. At that time in the morning she had to perform the autopsy of the new victim on her own, no assistant. It would take longer than usual.

It was just past 7:00 a.m. when Doctor Hove called Hunter’s cell.

During the short trip from Hunter’s apartment to the morgue, he heard a report of shots fired in Boyle Heights and another of an armed robbery in progress in Silver Lake through the police radio. He drove past three light-flashing, siren-wailing police cars and two ambulances. The day had barely started. How could such an incredible city be so saturated with insanity?

The main coroners building at the LACDC was an intriguing piece of architecture with hints of Renaissance styling. Terracotta bricks and light gray lintels gave it an Oxford college look. Its business hours were the same as any city office — Monday to Friday, 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. Except under special request, no autopsies were ever carried out in the evenings or weekends. This was certainly one of those.

Hunter had called Garcia from the car and he wasn’t surprised to find him already waiting in the empty parking lot.

‘You got here quick,’ Hunter said, stepping out of his old Buick.

‘I got no sleep. I was waiting for this call.’

Hunter looked at him suspiciously. ‘How about Anna?’

Garcia bobbed his head to one side. ‘She got no sleep either. She insisted on staying up with me. She said that at least we could spend a few hours together since we haven’t had much time for each other lately. But you know how perceptive she is. She’s already picked up that the case we’re working on isn’t just a regular one. She never says anything, but you can see the worry in her face.’

Hunter nodded understandingly. He was very fond of Anna. She was the unseen strength behind his partner. Most cops’ wives would never understand or stick by their husbands like Anna did. Divorce numbers amongst the police in Los Angeles were around 70 per cent. But Hunter could never see that happening to Anna and Garcia. They were made for each other.

On the other hand, Hunter himself had never been married. The few relationships he’d had over the years had never really worked out. They’d always start well. But the pressures and commitments imposed by his job had a way of taking their toll on most love stories.

Hunter paused and turned as he heard the sound of another car entering the lot.

Captain Blake parked her silver metallic Dodge Challenger next to Garcia’s Honda Civic.

‘I wanna see this for myself,’ she explained as she closed the door and pressed a button on her key. The car’s headlights flicked twice followed by a muffled click. ‘I want to get a better idea of who the hell we’re dealing with here. What kind of freak has claimed the lives of four people in my city so far.’

A silent and haggard-looking Doctor Hove let them into the building. With most of its lights turned off, and without the hustle and bustle of people, orderlies, and pathologists moving around, the place looked and felt like a horror movie mausoleum. The cold, antiseptic odor that was all too familiar to them seemed stronger this early in the morning. The underlying smell of death and decomposition followed their every step, scratching the inside of their nostrils. Garcia fought the shiver that threatened to run up his spine as they walked past the empty reception area and turned into a desolate hallway. No matter how many times he and Hunter had walked those corridors, he’d never get used to the empty feeling that took over him every time.

‘There’s no point in explaining it until you see it for yourselves,’ Doctor Hove said, punching the code into the metal keypad by the door to the special autopsy room. ‘And if you thought the bomb left inside the first victim was crazy, wait until you see this.’