Jerome listened.

‘A few months ago I was high, drunk and I ended up in some abandoned old factory or something like that in Gardena.’

‘Gardena? That’s way out of town,’ Jerome interrupted.

‘Well, I move around a lot, one of the perks of being homeless.’ Daryl forced a cheesy smile. ‘Towards the back of the main building you can still find part of a roof covering a room, so that’s where I crashed. I was woken up by the sound of a car approaching. I have no idea what time it was, late I guess, it was still dark. Anyway, out of curiosity I peeked through a hole in the wall to see what was going on.’

‘What did you see?’

‘Four guys dragging a tied-up woman out of a big van.’

‘Where did they take her?’

‘Around the back, down a little dirt track. I got curious, so I followed them. I never knew there was an underground area to that building, but there is. A heavy iron door hidden behind some high grass at the end of the dirt track. I waited about five minutes before following them down.’

‘And?’

‘The place was filthy, full of rats and shit and it smelled like a sewer.’

Coming from Daryl, Jerome thought that was priceless.

‘They have this whole thing set up down there, man. Lights and cameras and things like that. The room is all fucked up, full of holes in the walls, it was easy to watch everything without being noticed.’

‘What were they doing?’

‘Well, I thought they were filming a porn movie, man. They tied this girl to a chair. She was kicking and screaming, putting up a real good fight, but they kept on slapping her about. Two of the guys were working the camera and the other two went to work on the girl. But it wasn’t a porn film, man.’ Daryl’s voice weakened. ‘After they were done beating and fucking her they sliced her man. They carved her up like a Halloween pumpkin, and that was no special effect either.’ His gaze was distant as if he could still see the images of that night. ‘They were all laughing afterwards, man, like as if they had just finished a game of b-ball. It was sick.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I panicked, but I knew that if I made any noise, I’d be next. So while they were cleaning up their mess I sneaked back up and hid in the old factory until daybreak. I never went back there again, man.’

‘But can you remember where it is?’

‘Hell yeah,’ he said, nodding slowly.

‘C’mon, let’s go.’ Jerome got a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and left it on the table.

‘Let’s go where?’

‘To Gardena. To this old factory.’

‘Wow, man, you never said anything about going back there.’

‘I’m saying it now.’

‘I don’t know about that man. I told you what I know, that was the deal. That’s worth the bags right?’

‘If you want the bags, you’ve gotta take me there.’

‘That ain’t fair, man, that wasn’t the deal.’

‘I’m changing the deal,’ Jerome said firmly.

Daryl knew he had no choice. He needed a hit – badly. ‘OK, man, but if those motherfuckers are there, I’m staying the fuck in the car.’

‘I just wanna see where it is.’

Fifty-Five

Darkness was absolute and wakening had come very slowly. The residue effect from the drug still lingered in his aching body. A throbbing invaded his head, reaching down into his neck and shoulder blades and even the smallest of movements felt like agony. He was trying to come to terms with what had happened and where he was, but his memory was still fuzzy.

Confusion reigned for several minutes before details started to emerge.

He remembered the store, the attractive blond shop assistant, choosing a bottle of wine and a bouquet of roses for Anna. Anna… he hadn’t called her to let her know he’d be coming home earlier than usual. She wouldn’t be expecting him.

He remembered someone’s dark reflection on his car window, but not being able to turn around quick enough, the sharp pain on his neck and then nothing.

Squinting in the darkness he tried to understand where he was but nothing made any sense. The air was humid and foul with a fetid odor.

He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He tried looking at his watch, but he couldn’t make out its hands.

‘Hello!’ He tried calling out. His voice was too feeble. ‘Hello!’ He tried once again and heard the sound reverberate off the walls. As he struggled to sit up he felt something grab at his right ankle. He tried to pull clear, but whatever it was it just snapped taut. He ran his fingers over it.

A chain.

A very thick chain attached to an iron ring on a brick wall. He tried pulling it as hard as he could to no avail.

‘Hello, is anyone there?’

Silence.

He took a deep breath trying to contain his nervousness. He needed to stay calm and think clearly.

What’d happened? Someone had attacked me, but why?

His gun was gone, but his wallet and detective badge were still with him. Suddenly the realization of who could’ve taken him made him shiver.

The killer – the Crucifix Killer.

If he was right, he knew he was as good as dead. No one would ever find him until the killer was done with him.

He closed his eyes and thought of Anna.

He’d never be able to tell her how much he really loved her, how much he would miss her. He wished he’d given her a better life. A life of not having to wait up wondering if her husband would come home or not. A life that wouldn’t have required her to play second best to his job.

‘Get a grip Carlos, you ain’t dead yet,’ he whispered to himself.

He needed to identify his surroundings, to understand where he was. He reached for the chain around his ankle once again and ran his finger over it to find out how much movement he had. Standing up for the first time he realized how weak his legs felt. He quickly grabbed hold of the wall closest to him. His legs ached with thousands of pinpricks. He stood there for a long moment waiting for the blood to resume its normal flow.

With his hands against the wall he started moving to his left. The wall bricks felt moist but solid. He managed to move only about five feet before he reached the next wall. He carried on moving left, but before he reached the end the chain on his ankle held him to a stop. He extended his arm and touched the third wall. Garcia turned and walked in the opposite direction. He reached what felt like a heavy wooden door. He pounded on it with his clenched fists but it produced nothing but muffled thuds. Wherever he was, it was certainly a very solid prison.

He started walking back to his starting point when his foot kicked something. He stumbled back on instinct and waited, but nothing else happened. He crouched down and felt for the object cautiously. He touched it with his fingers – a plastic bottle full of liquid.

He undid the lid and brought the bottle up to his nose. It smelled of nothing. He dipped his right index finger into it. The liquid felt light like water and that brought on the realization of how thirsty he felt. Warily he brought his finger up to his mouth and touched the tip of his tongue – no taste, just like water.

Maybe the killer didn’t want him dead, at least not yet. It wasn’t unheard of, killers keeping their victims alive for a period of time before killing them. If Garcia was to stand a chance in any kind of struggle against this killer, he needed all the strength he could muster. He dipped his finger into the bottle one more time and brought it back to his mouth. He was certain – it was water. Slowly he moved the bottle up to his lips and had a sip. He kept the liquid moving around in his mouth without swallowing it for a while, testing for any abnormal taste. He got none. Finally he let the liquid run down to his throat and it felt like heaven.

He waited about two minutes for any kind of stomach reaction but he got nothing. He quickly gulped down three or four mouthfuls. The water wasn’t cold, but it filled him with life.