Chapter Forty

In Watts, before Hunter and Garcia parted ways with Officer Emiliano Esqueda, Hunter had asked him one last question, just to tie up a possible loose end. He asked him if he knew if Shaun Daniels had sought help for his drinking and/or anger problems when he was still together with Emiliano's mother. The officer's reply had been a resounding ‘no chance'. He was very sure of it.

‘So what's our next move, Robert?' Garcia asked, as they finally drove away from the youth center. ‘Because I'm a little stuck. Our best theory here… actually, our only theory here, is that our victims have sought help in the form of therapy, right? That's how the details of the physical violence they inflicted on their kids got revealed.'

Hunter looked to be in full thinking mode.

‘The problem is,' Garcia continued, ‘even if our theory is correct, it's not like we can just go and have a chat with every therapist and anger-management specialist in this city.' He laughed as he veered left to take South Alameda Street. ‘We're talking about LA here, arguably the most neurotic city on the planet, where having therapy is as common as having a cup of coffee. The number of therapists, counselors, anger-management specialists, voodoo doctors… whatever, in LA, must be in the hundreds, if not thousands.'

‘The exercise would be pointless, anyway,' Hunter said. ‘All of those professions have a code of conduct. None of them would disclose the names of their clients without a warrant, which we wouldn't be able to get. Plus, the killer could be the therapist, the psychologist, the counselor… whoever. In that case, if we turn up at their offices asking questions, all we'll do is warn the killer that we're on his trail.'

All Garcia could do was laugh. ‘So basically, we're cooked, right? Case over.' He shrugged. ‘We have no way of knowing if either of our victims did, in fact, talk to somebody about the violence they inflicted upon their kids. And even if we knew for sure that they had talked to someone, we then have no way of finding out who they actually talked to because there are no records.'

‘Maybe there are,' Hunter came back.

Garcia's question was asked silently, with an odd eyebrow movement.

‘You're right,' Hunter clarified. ‘The number of therapists in LA must be in the hundreds, if not thousands, and the one thing that they all have in common is – they all charge for their time. What's the one thing that we found in both victims' houses?'

Garcia thought about it for just a heartbeat.

‘Receipts.' A ghost of a smile graced his lips. ‘Loads of them.'

Hunter smiled back. ‘Both of our victims seem to have been pretty good in documenting their expenditures.'

‘We need to go through them all again,' Garcia said. ‘Including credit card records, but this time, we know what we're looking for.'

Hunter nodded. ‘That's step one.'

Garcia frowned. ‘Is there another step?'

‘Therapy,' Hunter explained, ‘of any kind… isn't exactly cheap, Carlos, and neither of our victims were exactly rich. On the contrary. From what I remember, Shaun Daniels was in and out of the red zone more often than we have lunch. And even if they'd found a therapist who charged a lot less than others, we'd still be talking about several sessions here, because no help is achieved with a single session. It's an escalation of trust, which needs to be built slowly. Cheap or not, those sessions add up.'

Garcia took in a deep, frustrated breath. ‘OK. Any ideas?'

Hunter smiled. ‘I have one.'