‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?’
Ninety-Two
The next morning brought with it the first autumn downpour. The sky was dark with heavy clouds, and daylight seemed to be fighting a losing battle to break through. The bitter wind that blew from the north made Los Angeles feel like Winnipeg in November.
For Hunter, Garcia and Captain Blake, the day started with an update meeting, held in Hunter’s office. None of them looked like they had managed much sleep overnight.
‘OK,’ Captain Blake said, using both hands to tuck her loose hair behind her ears. ‘Before we talk about anything else, I need to know what’s the deal with this Thomas Paulsen guy?’ A pinch of irritation colored her voice.
No immediate answer, but the exact same questioning frown suddenly appeared on both detectives’ faces.
‘I got a call late last night from the Chief of Police,’ Captain Blake explained, ‘who, in turn, received two separate calls yesterday, one from the governor of California, and the other from the mayor of Los Angeles. Apparently the two of you have been harassing a Mr. Thomas Paulsen, software millionaire, who so happens to be a major funds contributor to both of their political campaigns.’
‘Harassing?’ Garcia chuckled.
‘That was the word that was used,’ the captain confirmed.
‘We barely managed to get a word out, Captain.’ Garcia was struggling to keep his calm. ‘As soon as we entered his office yesterday, he launched onto this rehearsed speech of his. When he was done, he kicked us out. And that was all that happened. I don’t think we even got to ask a single question.’
‘And what else do you have on him other than him being the subject of an article written by Christina Stevenson, our second victim?’
A moment of hesitation.
‘We are investigating the possibility that Thomas Paulsen had threatened Christina Stevenson after the article was published,’ Garcia finally said.
‘You are investigating,’ the captain came back. ‘As in you have no proof yet.’
‘Not yet,’ Garcia admitted. ‘But if you were there you would understand, Captain. Everything about Thomas Paulsen stunk of crap. And he sure as hell fits the profile. He said so himself. He’s intelligent enough. He’s got the means and the cyberspace knowledge to pull it off. He’s as arrogant and as bold as the killer is on the phone, if not more. And he admitted that he was very glad to see Christina Stevenson die the way she did. Doesn’t that stink of psycho to you?’
‘It doesn’t matter if he stinks of psycho, dog shit or roses,’ Captain Blake shot back irritably. ‘We need probable cause. And you shouldn’t need me to tell you that. Arrogant . . .? Of course he’s arrogant. He’s extremely rich. He’s got politicians eating out of his hands, and he’s the CEO of a very large, influential and successful company. That gives him power, and a lot of it. Everyone with that much power inevitably becomes arrogant and detached from what we, mere mortals, call the real world. And you shouldn’t need me to tell you that either. This Paulsen guy has the power and the contacts to slam every investigation door right on our faces. He snaps a finger, and you two will be issuing traffic tickets for a very long time. He does it again, and I’ll probably get transferred to “Shitkickers Creek” somewhere in North Dakota. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Hunter and Garcia said nothing.
‘Let me ask you this,’ the captain said, moving on. ‘Are you investigating anyone else who had also been the subject of any of Christina Stevenson’s other articles? Don’t tell me Thomas Paulsen is the only person she has ever pissed off.’
‘No,’ Hunter answered. ‘At the moment we’re not investigating anyone else.’
Garcia lifted a hand in a stop gesture. ‘Wait a second, are we getting heat for doing our jobs, Captain?’
‘No,’ the captain spat out, her voice rising a notch. ‘You’re getting heat because I got heat, and I always pass it on. You’re also getting heat because this Paulsen guy doesn’t mind putting a large chunk of his money into politicians’ campaigns, and that will buy him the fires of hell when it comes to how much heat he can bestow upon this department.’
‘So?’ Hunter said. ‘Are the mayor and the governor saying that rich folks don’t kill people?’
‘No.’ The captain glared at him. ‘They are saying that you better have something very substantial in your bag before you go knocking on Thomas Paulsen’s door again, because if you don’t they’ll lose a very important contributor to their political campaigns on the run-up to a new election, and we’ll be slapped with a lawsuit that will make Rodney King’s seem like kindergarten stuff.’ She paused, taking a moment to recompose herself, her voice going back to its normal pitch. ‘Look, I know we’re all just doing our jobs here. You know me enough to know that I don’t give a flying fuck for who Thomas Paulsen is, or who he has in his pocket, but the truth of the matter is that with this guy we will have to play it by the book, because if we don’t and we screw up even an inch, the chief has guaranteed me that the next job any of us will be doing will involve a brush, a toilet bowl and human excrement. Do you get the picture?’
‘Yes,’ Garcia replied. ‘And the picture I’m getting smells like bullshit, Captain.’
‘Well, that’s the smell of power and politics, and you as well as I know that this department is drowning in it, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. So investigate the hell out of him if you like, but play it by the book. If you get anything else on him other than the article Christina Stevenson wrote about him, come to me with it first. That’s all I’m asking.’
The captain dropped the subject and moved toward the pictures board. ‘OK, let’s move on. The third Internet victim: I was told his body has been found.’ Her eyes searched the board, but found no new photographs.
‘It has, yesterday,’ Garcia confirmed. He then proceeded to explain how the victim’s body had been left inside a construction dumpster at the back of a private property in Maywood. ‘The body was already on its way to the coroner’s when we got there. We should be getting the autopsy results and photographs anytime soon.’ He double clicked something on his computer. ‘Forensics sent us an email last night with all the shots they took of the body in situ at the “dump scene”. I just haven’t had time to print them out and pin them up yet.’ He double clicked something again, and the printer at the edge of his desk came to life.
‘Officially confirmed ID?’ the captain asked.
Garcia nodded. ‘The victim’s wife and daughter live in Seattle. They were recently divorced. His parents live in Iowa, but we got access to his apartment in Bellflower through his landlord. Fingerprint analysis between items in his apartment and the body found in Maywood is a one hundred percent match.’
‘So who is he?’
‘His name is Ethan Walsh,’ Hunter replied, handing her a copy of the photograph the pizzeria owner had sent Detective Perez.
Captain Blake’s eyes moved to the picture and recognition was instant. She too hadn’t been able to forget his face. Seeing him branding a timid smile like the one he had on the picture seemed too alien to her memory of his terrified face contorting in agony.
‘What’s the story on him?’ Her voice almost faltered.
Hunter gave her a quick summary on everything they had found so far on Ethan Walsh.
Captain Blake listened to everything in silence, interjecting only when Hunter was done. ‘Do we have anything on this ex-partner of his, Mr. Nelson is it? He’s also an expert computer programmer, right?’ She handed the picture back to Hunter.