‘Carlos, what’s wrong?’ the captain asked.

Garcia took a deep breath and swallowed hard before regaining his focus and pointing at the screen. ‘That insect,’ he said, still sounding rattled. ‘That’s a tarantula hawk.’

‘That’s a what?’

‘A tarantula hawk,’ Hunter said. He’d also recognized the species. ‘A spider wasp.’

‘That huge thing is a fucking wasp?’ The captain coughed the words.

Garcia nodded. ‘They’re called tarantula hawks because they kill tarantula spiders for food and to lay their eggs.’

‘Oh, for the love of God. Are you telling me that those are flesh-eating wasps?’

‘No,’ Garcia said. ‘No wasp feeds on human flesh.’

Confusion set in on Captain Blake’s face.

‘But their sting,’ Garcia clarified, ‘is one of the most painful insect stings in the world. It’s almost like someone sticking a three-inch, three-hundred-volt electric needle into your flesh. Trust me, their stings are so painful it does feel like chunks of flesh are being ripped from your body.’

Hunter didn’t need to ask; his facial expression posed the question.

Garcia explained. ‘In Brazil there’s a very common species of tarantula hawk called Marimbondo. You find them everywhere. I was stung by four at once when I was a kid, and it put me in hospital. I almost died. The pain lasts only a few minutes but is totally sickening. It can make you delirious. I don’t know that much about them, but I know that they aren’t aggressive by nature, only if provoked.’ He pointed to the screen. ‘Her panic, the way she’s waving her hands about: that would be more than enough provocation. Her best chance would be to lie still.’

Hunter and everyone else knew that would be impossible. They couldn’t hear it, but they all knew that the buzzing sound of one two-inch-long wasp flying around inside a closed casket would be enough to fill most people with terrifying horror. By now, the woman had almost a hundred in there with her.

‘I also know that tarantula hawks can’t eat anyone alive,’ Garcia added. ‘But the venom from a single sting is enough to paralyze a tarantula spider. If a person is attacked by a whole nest . . .’ He pointed at the screen again and shook his head. ‘You tell me.’

On the screen the woman had stopped moving, paralyzed by the intense pain of the stings. Large red lumps now covered most of her torso. Inside the glass coffin there must’ve been over a hundred and fifty tarantula hawks buzzing around her, and still more were being released into the enclosure.

Her face had also been stung tens of times. Both of her eyes had swelled up so severely they were almost shut. Her lips had puffed up to twice their size, and her cheeks were totally disfigured, but she wasn’t dead. Not yet. She was still breathing. With her mouth semi-open, she was taking short, staccato breaths in between body tremors.

‘How long can this go on for?’ the captain asked, nervously pacing before Hunter’s computer.

Nobody answered.

The camera zoomed in on the woman’s face just as three tarantula hawks landed on her lips, stung them again and then slowly moved onto her tongue before disappearing into her mouth.

Captain Blake just couldn’t watch it any more. She looked away just as something began pirouetting inside her stomach. She struggled not to be sick right there and then.

A few seconds later a tarantula hawk climbed out through the woman’s left nostril.

No one said anything.

The woman finally stopped breathing.

Moments later the website went offline.

Twenty-Nine

The disturbing silence that took over the room came from a mixture of sadness, helplessness and pure anger. Despite the website being offline, Hunter, Garcia and Captain Blake’s eyes were still fixed on Hunter’s computer screen.

Michelle Kelly and Dennis Baxter were still on the phone. Michelle spoke first.

‘Detective Hunter, we’ve been monitoring the site’s traffic from the beginning. In the few minutes it was online, it received over fifteen thousand hits.’

‘Over fifteen thousand people watched this poor woman die?’ Captain Blake asked with a tone of disbelief.

‘It looks that way,’ Michelle replied.

‘Ms. Kelly,’ Hunter took over. ‘Can we meet? If necessary I’ll put in an official request for a joint effort between the LAPD and the FBI, but I’d like to start on it as soon as possible.’

‘Absolutely. Even with no official request, I want in. This goes way beyond department politics. My entire team and I will do all we can to help. I’ll be in our office until late tonight, if you’d like to come by.’

‘I will, thanks, and thanks for your help today.’

They disconnected.

‘Over fifteen thousand people?’ Captain Blake repeated it, still half shocked. ‘This thing is already out there, Robert. There’s no way we can contain it. We better get ready for the mother of all shitstorms.’

Hunter’s cellphone rang. The caller display window showed unknown number.

‘That might already be the bloodsucking reporters,’ the captain said.

‘Detective Hunter, Homicide Special,’ he said into the mouthpiece.

‘I told you it would be fun,’ the caller said in a serene voice.

Hunter had to take a deep breath before pressing the loudspeaker button.

‘And with almost two whole minutes to spare.’ The caller chuckled. ‘Oh boy. That was something else, wasn’t it? OK, OK, she wasn’t actually eaten alive, but, believe me, those stings are so painful it feels like your body is being ripped apart by sharp teeth.’

Captain Blake looked at Garcia. ‘Is that the sick fuck?’ she whispered.

Garcia nodded.

The captain’s nostrils flared. She was ready to let go of a barrage of abuse.

Hunter saw it first and lifted his hand, signaling her to stay calm.

‘Do you know how many people watched that online, Detective?’ The caller sounded amused. ‘Over fifteen thousand. Isn’t society sick?’ He paused and snorted. ‘Of course you know society is sick. You chase sickos for a living, don’t you, Detective Hunter? Sickos just like me.’

Hunter said nothing.

‘The problem is,’ the caller continued. ‘When is somebody considered a sicko, Detective Hunter? How about all the people who watched? How about all the people who voted? Are they sickos? Regular, everyday people, Detective: social workers, teachers, students, cab drivers, waitresses, doctors, nurses, even police officers. They all wanted to see her die.’ He rethought his words. ‘No . . . worse. They didn’t only want to see her die. They wanted to help kill her. They wanted to press the button. They wanted to choose how she would die.’ He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to resonate. ‘Does that make them all accessory to murder, or does it all fall under “human morbid curiosity”? You should know, Detective Hunter. You’re both a cop and a criminal behavior psychologist, aren’t you?’

Hunter didn’t reply.

‘Are you still there, Detective?’

‘You know I’m going to catch you, don’t you?’ The conviction in Hunter’s words was absolute.

The caller laughed. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yes. I will find you. And you will pay.’

‘I do like your attitude, Detective.’

‘It’s not attitude. It’s a fact. Your days are numbered.’

The caller hesitated for a fraction of a second. ‘I guess we’ll see about that. But since you’re so confident in your abilities, Detective, I’ll make a trade with you.’

Hunter said nothing.

‘I had no doubt ten minutes was more than enough time for me to get at least a thousand votes on one of the two death methods. I had no doubt, because society is too predictable. You know that, don’t you?’