‘Graham, don’t do this,’ Hunter pleaded.

Graham simply ignored Hunter’s words. ‘Her real name is Julie, but in cyberspace she goes by the handle MSDarkDays. She is what is known as an Internet troll, Detective. I am sure you’re familiar with the term.’

Hunter knew exactly what an Internet troll was. Someone who deliberately posts offensive and derogative messages in online communities such as social networks, chat rooms, blogs, forums, etc. with the sole purpose of hurting others and provoking an emotional response.

‘When the video footage of my son’s suicide appeared online for the first time,’ Graham continued, ‘MSDarkDays was the first person to post a message. Would you like to hear that message, Detective Hunter?’

Hunter stayed silent.

‘The ugly fuck did the right thing. If my face were that fucked up, I would’ve killed myself a long time ago. Los Angeles has one less ugly freak to deal with. If all the ugly, fucked-up schoolkids who can’t deal with their own problems followed suit and topped themselves, LA would be a much better place,’ Graham quoted the post word for word. ‘Not content with what she wrote in that first post, MSDarkDays returned to the site several times over a period of weeks, adding several more posts. But I won’t bore you with them all, Detective. We don’t have the time.’

Hunter let out a deep breath. ‘We all make mistakes, Graham. You, me, her – no one is free of them. Don’t make another one now.’

Graham laughed a slightly crazy laugh.

CLOCK: 2:19, 2:18, 2:17 . . .

SAVE: 21,458.

EXECUTE: 21,587.

‘I’m not making a mistake, Detective. But if you use that gun, you might. You wouldn’t want to shoot the wrong person, would you?’

At that exact moment the clock reached 2:00. A new light came on, weak and yellowish but strong enough to make some of the shadows disappear, bringing Graham out of the darkness.

But Graham wasn’t alone. He was crouching down behind another metal chair, hiding behind the person strapped to it.

Hunter immediately took aim, but as his eyes settled on the person strapped to the chair he felt as if his heart had shot up his throat, blocking his intake of oxygen and making him feel faint.

Graham was hiding behind Anna – Garcia’s wife.

One Hundred and Fourteen

Using the computer on Hunter’s desk, Garcia typed the private IP address that Graham had given him onto the browser’s address bar and hit the ‘enter’ key.

Captain Blake was standing just behind him.

The screen flickered twice before the images loaded and, as they did, Garcia’s world came crumbling down in front of his eyes.

The broadcasting camera had been positioned high, and seemingly at the northeast corner of the room. The diagonal angle allowed it to cover a wide area. Standing on the left of the picture Garcia could see Hunter. His weapon was drawn and firmly aimed at the two people across the room from him. One of those two people was Anna.

‘Oh my God!’ Garcia mumbled the words almost catatonically.

Anna had been gagged and strapped to a high-backed metal chair in the same manner as the woman who was sitting inside the metal-bar cage. The difference was, she hadn’t been stripped of her clothes, and unlike the other woman Anna looked drugged. Her eyes were lazy and unfocused, her body depleted of all energy, her lips drooping to one side.

Cowardly hiding directly behind the chair was someone they couldn’t clearly see, but who they could only assume was Graham Fisher. He was holding a gun to Anna’s head.

Captain Blake was watching the images wide-eyed, her mouth half open. ‘What the hell is going on?’ She finally uttered the words like someone who had just awakened from a deep sleep, still groggy.

Garcia couldn’t find the strength to answer back.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Graham’s voice came booming out of the small speakers on Hunter’s desk.

One Hundred and Fifteen

‘I must apologize for this crude improvisation,’ Graham said to Hunter. ‘This certainly wasn’t how I had planned this final broadcast, but since I underestimated you and your partner, Detective Hunter, this was the best I could come up with in the few hours I had.’ A very short pause. ‘But enough with the apologies. I bet that you’re wondering how on earth I managed to get to your partner’s wife when she had a police unit following her everywhere she went.’

Hunter remained quiet.

‘Well, knowing the exact police car identification number, how difficult do you think it would be for someone like me to hack into the LAPD radio frequency, pretend I’m dispatch and call off the police escort, Detective?’

‘You’ve got to let her go, Graham,’ Hunter finally spoke, his aim still uncertain. ‘She’s not part of your plan. She’s never been part of your plan. I’m the one you want, not her. I’m the one you blame, not her. She had nothing to do with what happened to your son, before or after the bridge incident.’

‘That’s true,’ Graham admitted. ‘She was never part of my original plan. But as I’ve said, due to very late developments, I had to improvise, and if I’m honest I think it’s going quite well so far.’

CLOCK: 1:27, 1:26, 1:25 . . .

SAVE: 29,783.

EXECUTE: 29,794.

Hunter steadied his aim.

‘Go on, Detective, take a shot,’ Graham challenged him. ‘I know you want to. I also know how good a shot you are. I read your whole file. From this distance you can practically shoot the wings off the back of a fly. All you need is a chance, right?’

Hunter said nothing.

‘What’s wrong, Detective Hunter, confidence wavering a little? Not so certain of that kill-shot right about now? Oh, that’s right. If you miss, you could kill your partner’s wife. How would you explain that, then?’

No reply.

‘I have one more surprise for you, Detective Hunter. The camera high on the wall to your right is also broadcasting. Not to the World Wide Web, but to your partner back at the Police Administration Building, and whoever else he has in the room with him.’

Hunter’s attention didn’t flicker.

‘Oh, and he can hear us too. The microphone is on. So let me ask you this, Detective Hunter. What do you think your partner would say to you right now? Would he want you to take a shot or not? Bearing in mind that if you miss me, and by some miracle also managed not to hit his wife, then it will be my turn to pull my trigger.’ He pressed his gun harder against the side of Anna’s head. ‘From this distance, I know I won’t miss.’

Hunter tensed.

As if teasing Hunter, Graham shifted behind Anna for a split second.

Hunter held his breath. His left-hand grip tightened on his gun, while his right hand relaxed just a fraction, allowing his trigger finger to become more flexible, and his arms to better control the recoil. But the fact that Anna was Graham’s shield played in Hunter’s mind and he hesitated, giving Graham the chance to disappear behind her again.

CLOCK: 1:01, 1:00, 0:59 . . .

SAVE: 31,125.

EXECUTE: 31,148.

‘Sartre once said,’ Graham spoke again, ‘that the only real choice a man has in life is whether or not to commit suicide. Are you familiar with that quote, Detective Hunter?’

Hunter felt an uncomfortable anxiety run through him.

‘Yes or no, Detective?’ Graham demanded.

‘Yes,’ Hunter replied.

Graham paused for an instant. ‘Good, because I’m forcing that choice upon you right now, Detective Hunter. You want to save your partner’s wife’s life? Then I want you to put your gun to your head and pull the trigger.’