‘I knew Laura from the bank. Way before she became a famous painter.’ Smith’s tone was full of melancholy. He gave Hunter a sad headshake. ‘But she didn’t know me. She never noticed me. I don’t think she even knew I existed. I spoke to her a couple of times back then, in the coffee room. She was always nice, don’t get me wrong, but every time I talked to her, I had to reintroduce myself. I was never important or attractive enough for her to remember who I was.’ His eyes filled with sadness. ‘I wasn’t even invited to her leaving party.’

Inside the observation room, Captain Blake turned to Garcia. ‘We need a list of names and photographs of all bank employees from Laura Mitchell’s section during her last six months there.’

Garcia was already on the phone. ‘I’m on it.’

On the other side of the glass Smith relaxed the tight grip on his hands and blood returned to his knuckles. ‘I stayed with the bank for another two years after she left. But I followed her career from the beginning. I read every article, attended every exhibition. I even started liking and appreciating art.’ A sliver of confidence crept into his eyes. ‘Then one day I looked in the mirror and decided that I wouldn’t be weak any more. I decided that I was important and attractive enough for her to notice me, I just needed to polish off some rough edges.’

‘So you created your new identity,’ Hunter pressed.

‘More than an identity. I created a whole new person. New diet, strict exercise program, new haircut, new hair color, colored contact lenses, new wardrobe, new attitude, new way of talking, new everything. I became someone she would notice. Someone she would talk to and flirt with. Someone she’d like to spend time with. I became James Smith.’

Hunter had to admire his determination.

‘I went to every one of her exhibitions. But I still couldn’t sum up the nerve to say hello to her again. I was scared she’d recognize me. That she’d see straight through me . . . that she’d laugh at me.’

Hunter knew exactly why. Changing a person’s appearance is easy – it can be done in one afternoon or, in the case of changing a person’s body shape, with the right diet and exercise program – a few months. Changing a person’s personality is much harder, though – it requires work, determination, willpower and it can take years. Smith used to be a shy, low self-esteem, low-confidence, scared-of-rejection person, and though he looked completely different on the outside, he was yet to overcome all his personality glitches.

‘She approached you that night, didn’t she?’ Hunter concluded.

Smith nodded. ‘I was so surprised, I stuttered.’ A glimpse of a smile graced his lips as he remembered.

‘Did she give you her number?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you call her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you remember when?’ Hunter leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table.

‘I remember the day, the time, and everything that was said.’

Hunter waited.

‘It was the 4th March, at 4:30 p.m. I used a payphone and called her on her cell. She was on her way to her studio. We talked for a while and she asked me to call her back just before the weekend. She said that maybe we could go out for a drink or even dinner. She practically asked me out.’ Smith’s eyes moved from Hunter’s face to the far wall for a long moment. When they moved back to Hunter, a liquid sheen had formed over them. ‘You’re a detective. Do you really think that after all I’ve done, after so many years trying to get her attention, trying to get her to notice me, to talk to me . . . when she finally does, I’d hurt her in any way?’

‘Why did you run when we knocked on your door?’

‘I panicked,’ Smith replied with no hesitation. ‘I knew that I had broken the law by living under a false identity. I know that I could be locked away for several years for it. Suddenly the police were at my door. I did what most people in my shoes would do, I didn’t think, I just ran. Before I had time to consider, my picture was in every paper in town. I knew then that something was definitely not right. That’s when I called you.’

Hunter remained silent. His stare locked on Smith’s face. He’d said all that without flinching, without vacillating and without breaking eye contact with Hunter. If he was lying, Hunter decided, he was a master at it.

‘She approached me that night,’ Smith said again. ‘She smiled at me. She flirted with me. She gave me her number and asked me to call her. She wanted to have dinner with me . . . to go out on a date with me.’ Smith faced the two-way mirror. ‘I’d been dreaming about the day she’d finally noticed me for years. My dream had just come true. Why in the name of God would I hurt her?’

Eighty-Three

Hunter splashed some cold water over his face and stared at his tired reflection in the mirror. James Smith had requested an attorney. No matter what happened, without actual proof of any involvement between Smith and Laura Mitchell, the LAPD could only hold him without charge for a maximum of forty-eight hours. Captain Blake was already talking to the DA’s office about charging Smith with fraud and impersonation. That way, they could keep him off the streets for longer, at least until they had more information on him, his story and his whereabouts on the nights of all three murders.

After leaving the interrogation room, Hunter had finally managed to get in touch with Mark Stratton, Jessica Black’s boyfriend. Experience counted for nothing in these situations. There was no easy way to tell someone that their life had just been wrecked. That the person they loved the most had been taken away from them by a brutal killer. People dealt with loss and pain in their own way, but it was never easy.

Hunter didn’t disclose every detail over the phone. He kept the information down to the bare minimum. Not surprisingly, Stratton thought the call was a prank at first, a very bad joke from one of his buddies. Many of them were notorious for their dark and distasteful sense of humor. Hunter knew denial is the most common initial shock reaction to sad news. When realization finally set in, Stratton broke down the way most people did. The same way Hunter had broken down years ago when a RHD detective knocked on his door to tell him his father had been shot in the chest by a bank robber.

Hunter splashed some more water on his face and wet his hair. The darkness inside him was lurking around again, murky and deep.

Stratton told Hunter that he’d be making his way back to LA as soon as possible – sometime today, and that he’d call Hunter as soon as he got back. Jessica Black’s body still had to be positively identified.

Garcia was reading something on his computer screen when Hunter got back to his desk. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. He understood exactly how difficult making those calls was.

Hunter nodded. ‘I’m fine. Just needed to cool down, that’s all.’

‘Are you sure? You don’t look fine.’

Hunter approached the pictures board and studied the photographs of all three victims again.

‘Robert,’ Garcia called, his voice just a few decibels louder.

Hunter turned and faced him. ‘His interval between kidnapping and murdering his victims is shortening.’

‘Yeah, I noticed that,’ Garcia agreed. ‘Kelly Jensen was the first to be kidnapped. She was killed almost three weeks later. Laura Mitchell was taken about a week after Kelly, but she was the first to die. We still don’t know for sure, but it looks like Jessica Black went missing no longer than five days ago, and she turned up dead yesterday. It went from weeks to days. So either Jessica Black lost no time in breaking his spell, or he’s simply losing patience.’