Ricky paused and rubbed his face with both hands.

‘Look, I know Andrew was a little weird, but most 10-year-old kids are in one way or another.’ His eyes moved to Rhonda. ‘Some of us still are.’

She flipped him her middle finger.

‘But he was a nice kid,’ Ricky continued. ‘And if you ask me, I think that what his father did was a very cowardly act. Andrew never had a chance. He didn’t deserve to die.’

Everyone went silent.

To Hunter, all the pieces were starting to fall into place.

Ninety-Seven

The room he was in was illuminated only by candles – twelve in total. Their flames flickered in an unsynchronized dance, bouncing shadows against the walls. He raised his eyes towards his naked body reflected in the large wall mirror. Bare feet on a cold cement floor, strong legs, broad shoulders, athletic body and icy cold eyes. He stared at his face for a long while, analyzing it carefully before twisting his body left, then right, checking his back.

He walked over to the table on the corner and picked up one of the many pre-paid cell phones on it, dialing a number he knew by heart.

It rang twice before it was answered by a calm but firm voice.

‘Do you have the information I asked you for?’ he asked, his eyes moving to the workstation in front of him.

‘Yes, it wasn’t a problem.’

He listened carefully.

The information was more surprising than upsetting, but his face displayed no signs of anxiety. He disconnected and ran his right hand over the large blood-coated needle and thread he’d left on the workstation.

He’d have to change his course of action, adapt, and he didn’t like change. Deviating from well-laid plans meant increasing his risk, but right now, he wasn’t sure it mattered any more.

He checked his watch. He knew exactly where she’d be in a few hours’ time. The information had been so easy to come by it made him laugh.

He faced the mirror once again and stared deep into his own eyes.

It was time to do it again.

Ninety-Eight

‘Shit!’

She checked her car’s clock and cursed under her breath as she turned into her street in Toluca Lake, southeastern San Fernando Valley. She had no doubt she’d be late, and she hated being late.

The gala charity fundraising event was scheduled to start in seventy-five minutes’ time. The drive from her house alone would take her at least half an hour. That gave her around forty-five minutes to have a shower, do her hair and make-up and get dressed. For a woman who took as much pride in her appearance as she did, that was almost impossible.

Her secretary had reminded her in plenty of time, as she’d asked her to, but an accident on Hollywood Freeway cost her an extra thirty-five minutes, and in an event where the Mayor of Los Angeles, the Governor of California and quite a few A-list celebrities were supposed to be attending, being late wasn’t the best plan of action.

To save time, she decided that she’d have her hair up and tied back. She also had a pretty good idea of which dress and shoes she’d be wearing.

Her home was a large, two-story, cul-de-sac house by Toluca Lake itself. She knew the house was way too big for her alone, but she had fallen in love with it when she was first property searching.

She parked her Dodge Challenger on her paved driveway and her eyes involuntarily checked the dashboard clock again.

‘Shit, shit.’

She’d been so concerned with the time and being late that she didn’t even notice the white van parked on the street, almost directly in front of her house.

She stepped out of her car and fumbled inside her handbag for the key while walking to her front door. As she got to the porch, she heard a ruffling noise coming from the trimmed shrubs of her small front yard. She paused and frowned. A few seconds later the noise returned. It sounded like some sort of scratching.

‘Oh, please don’t tell me I’ve got rats,’ she whispered to herself.

Suddenly she heard a sniffing cry and a tiny white puppy stuck its head through the bushes. It looked frightened and hungry.

‘Oh my God.’ She crouched down, put her handbag on the floor and extended a hand. ‘Come here, little one. Don’t be scared.’ The puppy stepped further out of the bushes, sniffing at her hand.

‘Oh, you poor thing. I bet you’re hungry.’ She patted its head, running a hand up and down its white fur. It was shivering. ‘Would you like some milk?’

She did not hear him walk up behind her. In her crouched position it was easy for him to dominate her. His strong hands pushed her forward into the bushes where the white puppy had come from, while at the same time pressing a wet cloth over her mouth. She tried to react, dropping the puppy and desperately trying to reach behind her to grab hold of her assailant. But it was too late; he knew it, and so did she.

Within seconds, her world faded to black.

Ninety-Nine

Garcia went straight back to his desk in Parker Center and fired up his computer. He needed to search the Internet for online editions of art magazines and journals.

Two hours later he was starting to get a headache from squinting at the screen, and he still hadn’t found what he was looking for. His gaze returned to the copy of the music magazine he’d taken from Jessica Black’s apartment and a thought crept into his mind. He considered it for only a few seconds before grabbing his jacket and flying out the door once again.

Garcia wasn’t as familiar with the central branch of the Los Angeles Public Library as Hunter was, but he knew they kept a microfilm and database archive on all their magazines and journals. He just hoped their Arts department was as accomplished as Hunter said it was.

Garcia found a free workstation, sat himself down and started searching through articles. He searched for any piece about either Laura Mitchell or Kelly Jensen, especially one-to-one interviews.

It took him just under two and a half hours to find the first one – an interview with Kelly Jensen for Art Today magazine. As he read the lines he’d been looking for, he felt a rush of blood inundate his veins.

‘This is fucking crazy,’ he said, pressing the print button. He collected his printout and returned to his seat. Laura Mitchell was now his next target.

An hour later he got to the end of the list of all the Laura Mitchell interviews he’d found in the system – nothing.

‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath. His eyes were getting tired and watery. He needed a break, a cup of coffee and an Advil.

Suddenly a crazy thought came into his head and he paused for a moment, considering the alternatives.