‘Go down Camp Road in Griffith Park. Before you get to the end of it you’ll reach a sharp right elbow turn, don’t go right, take the tiny dirt road on the south end of it and follow it all the way around until you reach the high trees. There you’ll find an M-Class Mercedes-Benz. I left the result of yesterday’s gamble inside it.’ Before Hunter had a chance to say anything the robotic voice hung up.

Hunter looked up at Isabella’s staring eyes. She didn’t need to be psychic to know something wasn’t right. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked concerned.

Hunter took a deep breath before answering. ‘I gotta go… I’m so sorry.’

Isabella watched as Hunter stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

‘I’m really sorry for having to run out on you again.’

‘It’s OK, trust me, I understand.’ She stood up, took a step forward and kissed him on both cheeks.

Hunter pulled two twenty-dollar bills out of his wallet and placed the money on the table. ‘Is it OK if I call you sometime?’

‘Of course.’ With an insecure smile Isabella watched as he raced out of the restaurant.

Twenty-Six

Hunter called Garcia on the way to Griffith Park, asking him to inform the forensics department together with the LAPD Special Tactics Unit. He was sure the killer wouldn’t be at the location, but he had to follow protocol, the STU team needed to clear the area first.

Encompassing over 4,107 acres, Griffith Park is the United States’ largest municipal park of natural terrain covered with California oak trees, wild sage and manzanita. It is also home to the famous Hollywood sign, which stands on Mount Lee.

It didn’t take the STU long to find the abandoned Mercedes-Benz. The area was hidden away from any members of the public that might’ve been strolling around the park. High and bushy white oak trees surrounded the car, blocking most of the two o’clock sunlight. The air felt uncomfortably humid and hot, soaking everyone’s shirt in sweat. It could be worse, it could be raining, Hunter thought. Garcia was already busy faxing the vehicle details through.

The car seemed intact, the heat making its rooftop shimmer like water, but its dark-green tinted windows prevented anyone from seeing inside properly. A perimeter had been rapidly delimited around the car. After deliberating over their plan of action, four STU agents approached the car in two by two formation, with their MP5 sub-machine guns at eye level; the powerful flashlights attached to the bottom part of their barrels cast light circles over the abandoned car. With every cautious step dried leaves and sticks crunched under their feet.

They carefully checked the immediate area. Gradually inching their way towards the vehicle. Searching for any trip wires or booby traps.

‘We’ve got someone in the driver’s seat,’ the agent at the front announced in a firm voice.

Suddenly all the light circles illuminated a figure slumped in the front seat. His head was tilted back resting against the headrest with his eyes shut. His mouth was semi-open and his lips looked a dark shade of purple. Droplets of blood had run down his cheeks from his eyes like blood tears. He’d been stripped of his shirt and his body was covered in hematomas.

‘Backseat, what have I got?’ Tim Thornton, the STU leader, called out. His voice demanding.

One of the agents broke off from the four-strong group and approached the right-side back window, his powerful flashlight illuminating the car’s interior. Nothing on the backseat, nothing on the floor. ‘Backseat is clear.’

‘Show me your hands,’ Tim shouted, his machine gun pointed directly at the driver’s head.

No movement.

Tim tried again, his words coming out slower this time. ‘Can you hear me? Show me your hands.’

No movement.

‘He looks dead, Tim,’ another agent offered.

Tim approached the driver’s door while the other agents kept their aim locked on the man at the wheel. Tim cautiously dropped down to his knees and checked underneath the car – no explosives, no wires. It all looked clear. He got up and slowly reached for the handle.

Still no movement from the driver.

Tim could feel the sweat rolling down his forehead. He took a deep breath to steady his hands. He knew what he needed to do. In one clean movement he pulled the door open. A split second later he had his MP5 aimed back at the driver’s head.

‘Jesus Christ!’ he gasped, turning his face away from the car before taking a step back and quickly lifting his left hand to protect his nose.

‘Talk to me, Tim, what’s wrong?’ Troy, the second in command, shouted, approaching the passenger’s door.

‘The smell goddammit, it’s like putrid meat.’ Tim paused for a moment fighting nausea, coughing violently. The warm, fetid breath that shot out of the car quickly intoxicated the air. It took Tim several seconds to collect himself. He needed to check for the victim’s vital signs.

Hunter, Garcia, Captain Bolter and Doctor Winston were avidly observing the action from the perimeter mark. Their standard-issue headset allowed them to listen in as the STU communicated with each other. Standing just behind them were an ambulance and a paramedic team.

Tim had another look at the victim. His hands had been tied to the steering wheel and the only piece of clothing he had on was a pair of pin-striped boxer shorts saturated in blood. His entire body was covered in large, dark, boil-like blisters and a sunburn-type rash. Some of the blisters had burst open, secreting thick, yellow mucus.

‘Is that pus?’ Troy asked, standing by the passenger’s door. The comment brought a worried look to Doctor Winston’s face.

‘How the hell would I know? I’m not a doctor,’ Tim fired back, and with shaky hands reached for the victim’s neck feeling for the carotid artery.

‘I’ve got no pulse,’ he shouted after a few seconds.

Cough… Without warning, the victim’s head jolted forward, spitting blood onto the steering wheel, dashboard and windscreen. Tim stumbled back in a hurry falling to the ground after losing his balance.

‘Holy shit! He’s alive.’ His voice filled with horror.

Troy, who had come close to shooting the driver after his sudden burst of life, rushed to the driver’s side. ‘Medic!’

A shocked look came over everyone’s faces. Hunter and Garcia dashed towards the car, closely followed by Captain Bolter and Doctor Winston.

‘We need that ambulance in here now.’ Tim was back on his feet and had joined Troy by the driver’s door, his breathing still emphatic.

‘We need to cut him loose,’ Tim said, pulling his MOD knife from his belt.

‘Sir, can you hear me?’ he called but the car occupant had already lost consciousness once again.

‘Don’t move, I’m gonna free your hands from the wheel and we’re gonna get you to a hospital, you’ll be OK, stay with me, pal.’

Tim carefully sliced through the bloody rope that kept the victim’s left hand tied to the wheel and it slumped down lifelessly to his lap. Tim moved to the next hand and repeated the procedure. Seconds later the driver was free.

Troy searched for the paramedic team who still hadn’t reached the car. Unexpectedly, the victim coughed once again spitting out more blood, this time onto Tim’s STU uniform.

‘Where the fuck is the ambulance?’ Tim shouted in an angry voice.

‘We’re here,’ one of the paramedics said, pushing his way through to reach the driver’s door. Within a few seconds the rest of the ambulance team had reached the car.

Hunter, Garcia, Captain Bolter and Doctor Winston all watched in silence as the team carefully moved the victim from the driver’s seat to the stretcher and into the ambulance. The smell causing a group gagging frenzy as they came closer to the car.

‘Where’s he being taken to?’ Hunter asked the paramedic nearest to him.