Hunter took that opportunity to fire a question before Anita could fire hers again.
‘You said that the last time you saw Kevin was on Monday, is that right?’
Anita nodded. ‘In the morning. He ate breakfast and left for work, like every morning.’
‘And he didn’t come home that night?’
‘No. That was not so strange before, but since Lilia was born he no play late no more.’
‘Play late?’ Garcia asked.
Anita chuckled nervously. ‘Kevin is a big
Hunter would immediately request that a city psychologist got in touch with Anita. She would need all the help she could get.
Someone from the forensics office would also visit Anita in the next day or so. They would need a mouth swab, or a hair sample from her baby daughter. Hunter and Garcia were certain the victim was Kevin Lee Parker, but protocol required positive identification. With the body’s grotesque disfigurement, Anita would never be able to identify it down at the County Coroner’s. Positive identification would have to be made by DNA analyses.
‘Shit!’ Garcia said, resting his head against the steering wheel. ‘We’re looking for another I-don’t-care-who-the-fuck-I-kill murderer.’
Hunter just looked at him.
‘You just saw the victim’s house. There’s no wealth. You met his wife and daughter – simple everyday people. OK, we have to wait for whatever the research team can dig out on Kevin Lee Parker, but does any of what we know or have seen about his life so far strike you as anything other than ordinary?’
Hunter said nothing.
‘I’ll be surprised if the team finds even a parking ticket on him. He was just a young family man trying to get by, trying to build some sort of a future for his wife and daughter before his faulty heart gave up.’ Garcia shook his head. ‘I don’t think Kevin Lee Parker became a victim because of money, or debt, or drugs, or revenge, or anything. He was just picked at random out of the general public by a sadistic maniac. It could’ve been anyone, Robert. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘You know we can’t be sure of that at this point, Carlos.’
‘Well, that’s my gut feeling, Robert. This isn’t about the victim. It’s about the killer showing off on a God power trip. Why build that torture chamber? Why call us and stream the execution live over the Internet for us to watch, as if it were a goddamn killing show? You said so yourself, the whole setup behind this is too bold, too complex – a phone call that bounces all around LA, not the world or even America, just LA, but an Internet transmission that seemed to have originated in Taiwan?’
Hunter had no reply.
‘This guy just wants to kill. Period. Who he kills makes no fucking difference to him.’
Hunter still said nothing.
‘You were right in your assessment,’ Garcia continued. ‘If we don’t stop this guy soon, Kevin Lee Parker won’t be the only victim we’re going to find. He’s just going to pick someone else at random off the streets, put him in that torture chamber and start the nightmare again. Maybe Baxter is right. Maybe this psycho is playing a game. Showing off how sick and creative he can be at the same time. You’re the psychologist here, what do you think? I must say that when he was talking to you on the phone, I had never heard anyone sound so cold and without emotion. The victim’s life meant absolutely nothing to him.’
Garcia had picked up the exact same apathy in the caller’s voice as Hunter had. There was no anger, no revenge tone, no satisfaction, no amusement, nothing. The caller had dealt with taking a life in the same way a person would deal with opening a tap and filling a glass with water. Hunter and Garcia both knew that that was the worst type of killer any detective could be faced with. The one to whom it seemed that nothing mattered. Killing was just a game.
The videogames shop occupied a double corner unit in a small shopping mall in Crenshaw Boulevard. At that time in the morning business was slow, with only a handful of kids browsing the shelves.
‘Excuse me,’ Hunter said, grabbing the attention of a shop assistant who was reorganizing a couple of displays at the front of the shop. ‘Could you tell me if Emilio is working today?’
The man’s stare slowly zigzagged between both detectives for a brief moment.
‘I’m Emilio,’ he said, placing one last game on the shelf and offering them a cheesy smile. ‘How can I help you today?’ His Puerto Rican accent was subtle, charming.
Emilio looked to be in his early thirties, with a heavy and oddly shaped body – round and bulbous around the shoulders and stomach, a little like a child’s party balloon that had been squeezed into shape. He had short dark hair and a thin, perfectly groomed mustache.
‘We’re with the LAPD,’ Hunter said, displaying his credentials. Garcia did the same. ‘Is there a place where we could talk with a little more privacy?’
Emilio shifted on his feet uncomfortably. His quizzical gaze started bouncing between both detectives again.
‘It’s about Kevin Lee Parker,’ Hunter clarified, but Emilio seemed to become even more confused.
‘Is Kev OK?’
Hunter’s eyes circled the shop before returning to Emilio. ‘Maybe we should talk back at the parking lot?’ he suggested, jerking his head to one side.
‘Yeah, sure.’ Emilio nodded and turned to address the tall and skinny assistant behind the counter. ‘Frank, I’ve gotta take a ten-minute break. Will you be OK?’
Frank’s eyes lingered on the two men with Emilio for a quick moment. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine.’ He nodded. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yeah, we’re all good. I’ll be back in ten.’
Emilio followed Hunter and Garcia back to the parking lot. ‘Kevin isn’t OK, is he?’ he asked once they reached Garcia’s car. Hunter detected real fear in his voice.
‘When was the last time you saw Kevin?’ Garcia asked.
‘Monday,’ Emilio replied. ‘He was working Monday. He was supposed to be working every day this week, but he didn’t turn up on Tuesday morning, or any day after that. Anita, his wife, called me on Tuesday morning. Kev didn’t go home on Monday night. She said that she had called the police, but they didn’t pay her much attention.’
‘What time did he leave work on Monday, do you know?’ Hunter asked.
‘Yes, same time as always,’ Emilio said. ‘He closed the shop at around 7:00 p.m., as he does daily. We usually walk up to the bus stop on Hyde Park Boulevard and 10th Avenue together, but on Monday evening I decided to grab dinner at Chico’s, just around the corner.’ Emilio pointed east. ‘I asked Kev if he wanted to come along, but he said that he just wanted to go home and play with his daughter.’
‘Do you know if he made it to the bus stop?’
‘I don’t.’ Emilio’s response was followed by a headshake.
‘On Monday, did Kevin look or sound different in any way?’ Garcia asked. ‘Nervous, anxious, agitated, worried, scared . . . anything?’
Emilio pulled a face as if that was the strangest question in the world.
‘No. Kev was . . . ’ He shrugged. ‘Kev. Always smiling. Always happy. Nothing different about him at all.’
‘Was he a gambler of some sort?’
Emilio’s eyes widened and he chuckled nervously. ‘Kevin, a gambler? No way. He was into videogames and online gaming, more specifically “Call of Duty – Modern Warfare, Black Ops 2” and “Ghost Recon”, but that was it. No casino games. Kev wouldn’t throw money away like that.’
‘How long have you known each other?’ Hunter asked.
Emilio gave them an uncertain headshake. ‘A long time. Over fifteen years. We met in lower school back in Gardena. Kev is the one who got me this job two years ago, after he became shop manager. I was struggling, you know? I was laid off a few years back and couldn’t get a job nowhere. Kev is a real friend . . . my best friend.’
‘So you don’t think that he was in any sort of trouble?’ Garcia asked.
‘I don’t think so. Look, if Kev is in any kind of trouble . . . anything, really, he would’ve told me, I’m sure of it; if not, I would’ve picked it up anyway. He isn’t very good at hiding things. He’s a very average guy, quite shy sometimes. He loves his family, and he loves his job. There really isn’t that much more to him. Something must’ve happened. And I mean something bad, you know what I’m saying? I’m telling you, he wouldn’t just take off. He has no reason to. He’s not a heavy drinker or anything, and I know he doesn’t sleep around.’ Emilio paused and looked back at both detectives, now visibly shaken. ‘Something did happen to Kevin, didn’t it? That’s why you’re here. You’re not from Missing Persons.’
‘No, I’m afraid we’re not,’ Garcia replied.
Nevertheless, Hunter sped through four hours of traffic footage, spotting thirty-seven pickup trucks joining one of the two freeways at that junction. Twenty-one of them were dark in color, but none of them seemed to have a dented back fender. Hunter passed the license plate number of all thirty-seven vehicles to his team, just in case Keon had been wrong. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance.