Through the corner of his eyes, Hunter saw Norton scratch the back of his neck and look away.

Suddenly, the front door was pushed open again and a man who looked to be in his mid-forties stepped into the house. To everyone’s surprise, he wasn’t wearing the mandatory Tyvek coverall, which gave away the fact that he wasn’t part of Dr. Slater’s team. His hair was short, dull and uncombed, and the expression in his eyes, as they circled the room and paused on the body on the table, was one of pure shock.

Hunter immediately realized that he was someone known to the victim, but what he couldn’t figure out was how the man had been able to get through the wall of cops outside. He quickly moved towards him, blocking his path and his line of vision.

‘Sir, this is an LAPD crime scene. You can’t be in here.’

Disregarding Hunter’s words, the man lifted his head, trying to look over the detective’s shoulders. Hunter moved with him.

‘Sir? Did you hear what I said? Who are you?’

The man reached for something that was clipped on to his belt – an LAPD detective’s badge.

‘I’m Detective Julian Webb with the Central Bureau, Rampart Area Division.’

With over ten thousand officers and more than three thousand civilian staff, the LAPD was the third-largest municipal police department in the United States, just behind the cities of New York and Chicago. Linked to the LAPD, which officially was the police department that served only the city of Los Angeles, were over forty-five other municipal law-enforcement agencies, each with their own hierarchy of command, including officers, detectives, sergeants and captains. In total, the aggregated municipal law-enforcement agencies that formed the LAPD served an area of 498 square miles, and a population of over three and a half-million people. With such a large police department, it was no surprise that neither Hunter nor Garcia had ever crossed paths with Detective Webb.

Hunter and Garcia frowned at the badge. The Central Bureau, Rampart Area Division served the areas of Echo Park, Pico-Union and Westlake. Gwen Barnes’ house was located in Mid-City, which fell under the jurisdiction of the West Bureau, Wilshire Area Division.

‘Mid-City is way out of your jurisdiction, Detective,’ Hunter said. ‘How come you’re here and so quickly? Did you know the victim?’

Detective Webb was still trying to look past Hunter.

Hunter locked eyes with him. ‘Detective?’

‘Gwen and I were out on a date earlier this evening,’ Webb finally replied. ‘I was forced to cut the date short, but I promised her I would come back when I was done. That’s why I’m here.’ His eyes left Hunter’s and moved first to Garcia, then to Dr. Slater. ‘This can’t be true. I dropped Gwen back here less than three hours ago. I walked her to her door. How can this have happened? I should’ve listened to her. I should’ve believed her.’

Webb’s last few words made everyone pause.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Hunter asked.

Silence.

‘Detective?’ Hunter’s voice was commanding. ‘What do you mean by – you should’ve listened to her . . . you should’ve believed her?’

Once again, Webb matched his stare. ‘The note . . . the bracelet . . .’

All of a sudden, before anyone could question Webb further, everyone’s attention was grabbed by a loud female voice that was fast becoming hysterical. The voice was coming from just outside the front door.

Hunter immediately realized what was happening.

‘The victim’s sister,’ he said as he signaled Garcia to handle Detective Webb. A second later he was rushing out of the house.

Seventy-Seven

‘Erica?’ Hunter called, pulling down the hood of his Tyvek coverall. ‘Erica Barnes?’

At the house’s front lawn, a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties was frantically fighting being dragged away by two police officers. Her long and straight dark hair was bunched up into a messy bun above her head. Her dark-brown eyes were overflowing with tears, and her small, upturned nose had gone a light shade of pink from all the crying. In hearing her name, the distraught woman hastily jerked her arm away from one of the officer’s grip and looked back at Hunter. The expression on her face was a combination of desperation and anguish.

‘Let me go,’ she screamed at the officers, trying to free her other arm. ‘She’s my sister.’ Her voice was full of pain.

Hunter got to them in no time.

‘Sorry, Detective,’ Sergeant Prado said, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t know how she managed to get through the tape.’

‘It’s OK, Sergeant.’ Hunter placed a hand on his shoulder and firmly but tactfully pushed him away from the fragile woman. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

Sergeant Prado let go of Erica. The officer with him followed suit.

‘Are you sure, Detective?’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Hunter had never sounded so confident.

‘My sister . . . where’s my sister?’ Erica cried out, trying to look past Hunter.

He placed a hand on each of Erica’s arms, delicately holding her in place. ‘Erica, I’m Detective Robert Hunter of the LAPD.’ He kept his voice calm and quiet.

Erica wiggled her body away from Hunter’s hold. ‘Gwen . . . where’s Gwen?’ She tried to push past him in the direction of the house.

Hunter stepped with her, blocking her path. Their eyes met and all Hunter could do was give her a subtle, but very meaningful shake of the head. ‘I’m so sorry, Erica.’

She kept her eyes on his.

‘No . . . no . . . no . . . no . . .’

With each new word, Erica punched Hunter’s chest with a closed fist. He kept his arms down, offering no defense, allowing all of her emotions to be taken out on him. As her arms finally lost the strength in them, Hunter gently hugged her, bringing her head to his shoulder and turning her around, so she wouldn’t be facing the house. She fought him for all of two seconds, before giving in to his embrace.

‘It can’t be true. It can’t.’ She exploded into a brand new barrage of tears.

Hunter held her in his arms for a full minute. ‘Erica,’ he finally said. ‘Do you mind if I call you by your first name?’

Erica moved back from his grip and brought a hand to her face, wiping her runny nose with her palm.

Hunter unzipped his coverall and reached inside his pocket for a paper tissue. He always carried them with him.

‘Here,’ he said.

She hesitated for an instant before finally taking the tissue and blowing her nose. ‘Thank you.’

Hunter handed her the whole packet. ‘Why don’t you keep these? I have more in the car.’

Erica looked lost, her eyes unable to focus on anything.

‘How about we go have a seat somewhere?’ Hunter said, his head tilting in the direction of the road.

Erica allowed Hunter to guide her towards his car. As he walked past a uniformed officer, he asked him to get them a large glass of sugary water.

They sat inside Hunter’s Buick for several long minutes in complete silence. Erica couldn’t stop shaking or crying. Hunter gave her all the time she needed. He knew that nothing he could say would lessen the pain she was going through at that moment. Sometimes silence was the best conversation.

The officer finally returned with the glass of sugary water.

‘Here, Erica, drink this,’ Hunter said. ‘It will make you feel a little better. I promise you.’

Erica drank almost the entire glass of water in just a few large gulps.

‘I don’t understand,’ she finally said, looking back at Hunter. Her voice was still unsteady, but not as much as minutes earlier. ‘How can that phone call be true? How can that monster be real?’

‘Would you like to tell me about what happened? About the monster?’