‘I think you allowed yourself to get personally involved with that case,’ Hunter said in a steady voice. ‘But you were an experienced detective, so it must’ve been something that rocked you pretty badly. My guess is that you suspected something really bad was happening in that family. To Billy in particular. But you didn’t have enough evidence to substantiate it. I think that maybe you went back to try and get an explanation from Billy’s guardians, but things went badly wrong.’

No reaction from Myers.

‘If I’m right . . . then I would’ve probably done the same thing.’

Myers sipped her drink slowly, her eyes still on Hunter’s face. She placed the glass back down on the table. Hunter held her stare without flinching.

‘She jumped,’ Myers said calmly. ‘Angela Fairfax jumped.’

Hunter waited.

‘That day I was the first to reply to a potential jumper,’ she began. ‘I made it there in two minutes flat, and started breaking protocol straight away. I had no choice. I just didn’t have the time to wait for backup. My intelligence on the boy was almost none. When I got to the rooftop, I found this kid sitting with his legs dangling from the edge of the building. He was just sitting there with his teddy bear, drawing onto a pad of paper. Billy was tiny. He looked so fragile . . . so scared. And that’s why I couldn’t wait for backup. A strong gust of wind and he would’ve taken off like a kite.’

She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her left ear.

‘He was crying,’ she continued. ‘I asked him what he was doing sitting on the edge of that building. He said he was drawing.’ She had another sip of her drink, a long one. ‘I told him that wasn’t a very safe place to sit and draw. Do you know what he said?’

Hunter said nothing.

‘He said that it was safer than being in his apartment when his uncle was home. He said that he missed his mom and dad so much. That it was unfair that they had to die in a car crash and not him. That they didn’t hurt him like his uncle Peter did.’

Hunter felt something catch in his throat.

‘I could see the boy was hurting,’ Myers proceeded, ‘but my priority was to get him away from that ledge. I kept on talking to him, all the while taking small steps forward, getting closer and closer in case I needed to reach for him. I asked him what he was drawing. He ripped the sheet of paper from the pad and showed it to me.’ For the first time her eyes moved away from Hunter’s face to a blank spot on the tabletop. ‘The drawing was of his bedroom. Very simple, sketched using lines and stickman figures with skewed faces. There was a bed with a little stickboy in it.’ Myers paused and swallowed dry. ‘A bigger stickman was lying on top of him.’

Hunter listened.

‘And here comes the sucker punch from hell: standing right next to the bed was a stickwoman.’

‘His aunt knew.’ It wasn’t a question.

Myers nodded and her eyes became glassy. ‘They were his guardians. They were supposed to protect him. Instead, they were raping his soul.’ She finished her whiskey in one gulp. ‘Right there and then I promised him that if he came with me, if he got off that ledge, his uncle would never hurt him again. He didn’t believe me. He asked me to cross my heart and hope to die. So I did.’ A heartfelt pause. ‘That was all that was needed. He said he believed me then because I was a police officer, and police officers weren’t supposed to lie, they were supposed to help people. Billy got up and turned towards me. I offered him my hand and he extended his tiny little arm to take it. That’s when he slipped.’

‘So he never jumped as the report said?’

Myers shook her head.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

The waitress returned to the table and frowned as she saw Hunter’s uneaten platter. ‘Something wrong with the food?’

‘What?’ Hunter shook his head. ‘Oh no, no. It’s fantastic. I haven’t finished it yet. Just give me a few more minutes.’

‘I’ll have one more of these.’ Myers pointed to her empty glass. ‘Balvenie, 12-year-old.’

The waitress nodded and went on her way.

‘I lunged towards him,’ Myers continued. ‘My fingers brushed his tiny hand. But I just couldn’t grip it. He was so fragile that his body almost disintegrated when he hit the ground.’

Hunter ran his hand through his hair.

‘It took me two days to build up the courage to go back to Billy’s building.’ She paused to find her words. ‘Actually, I think what built up inside me wasn’t courage – it was pure hate. I didn’t want a confession. I wanted to teach them a lesson. I wanted them to feel at least a fraction of the fear Billy felt.’ Her voice was suddenly coated with anger. ‘He was a 10-year-old boy, so hurt and so scared that he’d rather jump off the top of a building than go back to the family that was supposed to love him. You’re a psychologist. You know that 10-year-old boys aren’t supposed to commit suicide. They shouldn’t even understand the concept.’

The waitress returned with Myers’ drink and placed it on the table.

‘I got to their apartment and confronted them. Angela started crying, but Peter was as cold as ice. He couldn’t have cared less. Something took over me right there and then. So I forced them to cuff themselves to each other, and took them to the rooftop. To the same spot Billy had fallen from. And that’s when it happened.’

Hunter leaned forward but said nothing, allowing Myers to continue at her own pace.

‘Angela started crying uncontrollably, but not because she was scared. The guilt inside her just exploded and she let everything out. She said that she was so ashamed of herself, but she had been terrified of what Peter would do to her and Billy if she told anyone. Peter also used to rape and beat her up too. She said that she thought about taking Billy and running away, but she had nowhere to go. She had no money, no friends and her family didn’t care for her. That’s when Peter lost it up there. He told her to shut the fuck up and slapped her across the face. I almost shot him for that.’

Myers paused for another sip.

‘But Angela beat me to it. The slap didn’t faze her. She said she was tired of being afraid. She was tired of being helpless against him, but not any more. She looked at me and her eyes burned with determination. She said, “Thank you for finally giving me the chance to do something. I’m so sorry about Billy.” Then, without any warning, she threw herself off the rooftop. Still cuffed to Peter.’

Hunter was studying Myers, searching for signs of dissembling – rapid facial movements, fluttering of the eyes. She displayed only a sorrowful calm.

‘Angela was a heavy-built woman. Peter was tall and skinny. He wasn’t expecting it. Her weight pulled at him like a crane, but he managed to hold her for a few seconds. Long enough for his frightened eyes to look at me. Long enough for him to ask for my help.’ A pause. ‘I just turned and walked away.’

They sat in silence for a while as Hunter digested the story.

‘So what do you have to say? Do you think I’m lying?’ Myers finally asked.

That was why Myers had never recounted those events to anyone investigating her case years ago. Hunter knew no Internal Affairs investigator would have believed her. On the contrary, they’d crucify her for seeking revenge.

‘As I said,’ Hunter said, ‘I would’ve done the same thing.’

Sixty-Seven

Hunter and Myers talked for over an hour more. They shared information. She told him how the evidence she’d collected suggested that Katia Kudrov had been taken from inside her apartment in West Hollywood. She told him about the sixty messages on Katia’s answer machine, and how they were all exactly twelve seconds long. She told him about the sound analyses on the last message, the deciphering of the hoarse whispering voice – ‘YOU TAKE MY BREATH AWAY . . . WELCOME HOME, KATIA. I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU. I GUESS IT’S FINALLY TIME WE MET.’ – and why they believed the kidnapper had made the last call from inside her bedroom, probably while watching her shower.