Chapter Forty-One

Once they got back to the UVC Unit's office, Hunter and Garcia immediately began going over the multitude of receipts they had found at both victims' apartments. Despite coming to the conclusion that paying for therapy sessions seemed to be a little out of reach for Shaun Daniels and Terry Wilford, they just didn't want to leave any stone unturned, but as far as they were concerned, the most important task was now with their Research team.

And that task was a very simple one – support groups.

Garcia hadn't exaggerated – Los Angeles was arguably the most neurotic city on the planet. Other than the City of Angels, LA was also known around the world as ‘The Home to A-list Celebrities' – from TV and movie stars, to world-famous singers and musicians… from film directors and producers, to top sports personalities. There was no escaping the glitz and glam that surrounded that city, and with every mega-stardom came self-doubt, paranoia, neurosis and, of course, depression. Around the neighborhoods of Hollywood and Beverly Hills alone, therapists for the stars seemed to grow on trees. The problem was that any type of mental health issue didn't exclusively affect the rich and famous, but most of Los Angeles lived from paycheck to paycheck, barely able to put anything aside for a rainy day. Paying for a therapist, of any kind, was a dream too far for most Angelinos to reach. For that reason, free support groups, set up to try to help citizens battling against some of the most concerning mental health issues, could be found spread around the city and its outskirts.

Hunter was certain that in LA there wouldn't be a shortage of free support groups catering for parents who knew they had an anger or drinking problem… parents who were, or had been, violent toward their kids – and those groups were exactly what Hunter had asked the Research team to search for.

It was just past five in the afternoon when Garcia pushed himself back from his desk and rubbed his face with both hands.

‘Damn, I need a googly-eyes break.' He blinked heavily a couple of times. ‘Meaning – I'm getting googly eyes here from all these receipts. Have you come up with anything yet?'

Hunter also pushed himself away from his desk for a moment. Since they got back, he'd been going over every single receipt and invoice that they had found inside Shaun Daniels's apartment, totaling four and a half years. Garcia had been checking the ones from Terry Wilford's apartment – almost five years' worth of loose pieces of paper.

‘Nothing that made me worry,' Hunter replied. ‘A few unidentified receipts, but the amounts aren't large enough for a bulk therapy payment, and they don't repeat themselves, which they would do if he was paying for subsequent, individual sessions. You?'

‘Pretty much the same.' Garcia got up to refill his coffee cup. ‘Shaun Daniels was pretty tight with his budget. His therapy, if any, seemed to be booze and cigarettes.'

‘Well, I still got a fair amount to go here.' Hunter nodded at the pile on his desk. ‘But I could also do with a break.'

‘Coffee?' Garcia offered.

‘Please.' Hunter handed him his mug.

As Garcia was filling up both cups, the phone on Hunter's desk rang. Internal call. Research team.

Hunter took the call. ‘Shannon, what have you found?'

‘Quite a bit.'