The man breathed out slowly, and she sensed his movement.

For an instant she felt as if her heart had stopped.

The man stepped out of the shadows, for the first time hovering into the periphery of her vision. She craned her neck in his direction. Despite the different clothes, she immediately recognized him. It was the same man she had talked to in the supermarket, and then later helped at the parking lot. But gone were the easy approachable grin, the shy persona and the kind eyes. He looked taller, stronger, menacing. His face now seemed to be all edges and angles.

‘Hello again,’ he said.

His gaze grabbed hers like a giant claw, and she had the sensation that she was being helplessly sucked into a dark place. More tears came to her eyes.

‘Crying won’t help you.’

‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ she said again. The words simply dripped out of her lips, unrequested, sorrowful, powerless. ‘I’ll do whatever you want.’

‘Whatever I want?’ He did not take his eyes from her naked body. The insinuation in his words and the rigidity of his gaze struck her like a blow to the temple.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, and heard the lost girl inside her reply, ‘Yes. Whatever you want.’

He stepped closer.

She held her breath. ‘Oh, please, God.’

‘Stop praying.’

‘Sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘Whatever you say. Please.’

‘Stop begging.’

She began crying again.

‘Stop crying.’

She breathed in through her nose and held the breath in her lungs until she was able to control her sobs.

‘So, will you do whatever I want you to do?’ he asked her one more time.

She breathed in again, courage coming to her out of thin air.

‘Yes.’ There was now distinct determination in her tone. ‘You can do this.’ The voice in her head spoke again.

He stepped closer still, and she finally saw the glint of the knife in his hand.

‘Oh my God . . . no.’ The determination was all gone. Her mind became a single black sheet of panic, paralyzing her every move.

The man smiled in a way that told her that her fear pleased him. His eyes held hers as if they were connected. She felt the coldness of the steel blade on her skin, but was unable to break away from his hypnotizing stare. The blade pulled away fast, in a quick slicing movement.

The woman held her breath for a moment.

No pain.

She knew that a sharp enough blade could cut through human skin and flesh so subtly that sometimes no pain would come with it. She also knew that the tremendous amount of adrenaline rushing through her veins at that precise moment could hide even the most excruciating pain.

She waited.

Still no pain.

The man stepped back, breaking eye contact at last.

As if finally let go from a spell, her eyes moved down to her body, searching for blood, looking for cuts.

There were none.

Instead she saw that the man had sliced through the ropes that bonded her right wrist.

She was confused. Was he about to let her go? She didn’t dwell on that idea for very long, because her ankles and her left wrist were still tied to the heavy chair. She brought her right arm toward her chest, and the sensation of being able to move it again was exhilarating. Blowing onto her wrist, she opened and closed her fingers into a fist several times to get the blood circulating again. It felt nice.

The man reappeared suddenly, moving from behind her, and placed something heavy and cold on her lap. Her eyes moved to it.

A pair of gardening scissors.

‘Pick them up,’ he said.

She obeyed.

He paused. Time seemed to hesitate with him. ‘OK. I want you to cut off all the fingers on your left hand. Start with your pinky, and work your way to your thumb.’

She looked up, but he had returned to the shadows.

‘What?’ Her voice wavered.

‘You said that you would do anything I wanted you to.’ The voice came from behind her, now speaking very slowly. ‘That’s what I want you to do. I want you to cut off all the fingers on your left hand.’

The woman could not hide the terror she felt. The gardening scissors started shaking in her hand, and her lip quivered.

‘I suggest that you put a finger between the blades, close your eyes and just clip it fast and hard, before the courage escapes you.’

She couldn’t even form words.

‘It will hurt. No doubt about that. There will be a lot of blood. No doubt about that either. You will certainly feel like passing out. But if you show me that you are psychologically strong enough to completely mutilate your left hand, I’ll let you go, that’s a promise. I’ll even drive you to the police station myself.’

The woman fought the wave of nausea that came over her and looked down at the scissors.

‘I am giving you a choice. Do this and you are free. Don’t do it and . . .’ He left the mystery of the consequences at the mercy of her already terrified imagination.

She took a mouth full of air, but this time courage did not come with it.

‘Do it,’ he said firmly.

Her gaze moved to her left hand, still firmly tied to the chair.

‘Do it. That’s the price of your freedom.’

Hesitantly she spread the fingers on her left hand wide.

‘That’s it. Do it. Show me you are strong.’

She placed the scissors’ blades around her trembling left pinky finger.

‘That’s it. They are laser-sharp. Just squeeze the handles hard and fast and the blades will do the rest.’

She couldn’t move.

‘CUT YOUR FINGERS OFF.’ His yell was so loud and surprising, she wet herself. The sound of his voice reverberated against the walls and ceiling for what seemed like an eternity.

Tears started coming down the woman’s cheeks. The blades were so sharp that only brushing against them was enough to produce a cut. She saw a small drop of blood color the skin around her finger.

‘DO IT.’ Another loud and angry yell.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The man smiled.

The woman threw the scissors on the floor.

‘I can’t, I just can’t.’ She brought her shaking right hand to her face, sobbing. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t.’

The man laughed. ‘You thought that I wanted to rape you, didn’t you?’ he asked. He didn’t require a reply. ‘And that’s why you said that you would do anything I wanted you to. You figured that all you had to do was lay back and spread your legs. Put up with this monster entering you for a few minutes.’ He faintly came into view again. ‘If I wanted to rape you, what makes you think I needed your permission or cooperation for it?’

The woman didn’t answer. Her sobs became more intense.

‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I have no intention of raping you.’

In her mind she was filled with agony and embarrassment, exposed and lost.

‘Wha . . . What are you going to do to me?’ The little girl inside her spoke again.

The man disappeared back into the shadows. His reply came in a whisper to her right ear. ‘I’m going to kill you.’

She gasped for air. Her body now convulsing with fear.

The man laughed. ‘If that scares you,’ he paused for effect, ‘wait until you find out how I’m going to do it.’

Ninety-Four

The rain came in spurts as the evening began, falling heavily, with thunder blows and lightning strikes out over the ocean, before tapering off into a steady, irritating drizzle. As the storm passed, the temperature dropped a few degrees, giving the night an uncomfortable chill that seemed totally out of place in a city like Los Angeles.

By the end of the afternoon, Hunter and Garcia had received the phone records they had requested for Christina Stevenson and Ethan Walsh. The records went back only three months, and neither of the two victims had called the other during that period. At least not via their cellphones. Hunter was forced to request a new batch of phone records, this time going back a whole year, but it would be at least another day before they had those.