The Night Stalker

Fifty-Six

Kelly Jensen’s art studio was a refurbished mechanic’s garage behind a row of shops in Culver City. The street was narrow and hidden away from the main roads, at the top of a small hill. To the right of her studio was a small parking lot, where all the shop owners kept their vehicles during the day. At that time at night it was completely empty. The only light came from a lamppost on the corner, its bulb old and yellowing. Hunter looked around for security cameras. Nothing.

The studio was spacious and well organized. There were shelves and drawers for every different paint color, type of brush, palette, and canvas sizes. All finished paintings were placed on a large wooden rack that occupied the entirety of the north wall. There was only one canvas stand, positioned just a few feet from the large window that faced west. Kelly liked watching the sunset while working, Hunter guessed. A paint-splattered cloth covered the painting on the stand. Unlike Laura Mitchell, Kelly seemed to only work on one canvas at a time.

Hunter lifted the stained cloth and checked the painting underneath it. Dark, shadowy skies against a placid lake that surrounded the ruins of an old building on top of a steep sloping hill. Hunter stepped back to get a better view.

Kelly was a realist painter, and the effect she achieved with that particular canvas was so vivid it was like standing at the shore, looking out into the horizon. But she’d done something Hunter had never seen before. It was as though the whole scenery was seen through a smoky glass. Everything had a sad, gray tint to it, as if the weather was about to close in on you with a vengeance. The painting looked so real it made Hunter feel cold. He pulled the collar of his jacket tighter against his neck.

Kelly’s ample working space was uncluttered. The only furniture around the place were the shelves and drawer units against the walls, the storing rack, and an old, beat-up armchair several feet away from the window, facing the canvas stand. There were no six-foot canvases, partitions, or anything else for that matter. No place for anyone to hide behind. There was an improvised kitchen area in one corner, and a small bathroom in the opposite one. Hunter checked everywhere. There was no way the killer could’ve waited and then sneaked up on Kelly in there without her noticing it.

Hunter walked back up to the window and stared out into the night. Because her studio was at the top of a hill, the view was unobstructed and quite astonishing. No wonder Kelly used to paint facing that view. He checked the locks. All quite new and very secure. The small parking lot was to the far left, but only part of it was visible from the window.

Suddenly, just a couple of feet from where he was, something moved outside the window with incredible agility.

‘Shit!’ Hunter jumped back, his hand going for his gun.

The black cat ran the length of the window ledge in just a split second. Hunter stood motionless, both arms extended, his grip tight around his pistol handle, his pulse racing.

‘Goddamn it! Not twice in one night,’ he finally breathed out. How could he not have noticed the cat? He moved closer and looked again. The lack of any light outside made the window work almost as a two-way mirror. At night, a person dressed all in black could have observed Kelly without being noticed. Hunter unlocked the window, pushed it open and welcomed the cool breeze that kissed his face. He leaned forward and looked out, first right then left, in the direction of the parking lot. That’s when he noticed something at the far wall blink at him.