Chapter Forty-Eight

The next couple of days seemed to ooze by in a heap of frustration. Research did an outstanding job with their ‘no red flags' list, because even with some names taking a lot longer than others to be fully backtracked, they managed to clear all twenty-five domestic violence support-group leaders by lunchtime on Monday, 15 July – just five days after they'd started their backtracking marathon.

‘So whoever this killer is,' Garcia breathed out, as he read the email they'd just received from Research, ‘he's not running any of the domestic violence support groups.'

‘I know,' Hunter agreed from behind his desk. ‘But that's something that we were already expecting, Carlos. Jumping from support group to support group maximizes his choices for a victim and minimizes the risk of him being noticed. Plus, if our killer really turns out to be this Michael, or Russell, or whatever name he wants to use, then we already know that he attends the group meetings instead of running them.'

‘Yeah, I know,' Garcia said, as he approached the coffee machine. ‘Would you like a refill?

‘No, I'm OK for now, thanks.'

Garcia poured himself another large cup of coffee and immediately had a healthy sip. He never failed to impress Hunter with how he could drink boiling-hot coffee as if it were just lukewarm. Asbestos mouth, Hunter called it.

‘I just wish we had a little more to go on before we start dropping in on the group sessions,' Garcia continued, returning to his desk. ‘All we have are two names, which are obviously false, a physical description that matches half of the male population in this city, and a small detail – fingers awkwardly curved at the knuckles – which, according to the info we have, aren't even that noticeable. That's it. Nothing else.' He chuckled. ‘It's like chasing a fart in a hurricane, Robert. And the fart doesn't even smell that bad to give us a hint.'

‘I agree it isn't much, but it's a hell of a lot more than we had a week ago, Carlos.'

‘I'm not going to argue that.' Garcia lifted both hands at Hunter. ‘It's certainly progress, but like I said, I just wish we had a little more to go on, because all we can really look for, as we sit in on these sessions, is the fingers detail.' He gave Hunter a single-shoulder shrug. ‘So I thought that maybe, as I join a new group, I could go around shaking hands with everyone, but that's not really how support-group introductions are done, right?'

Hunter firmly shook his head. ‘Definitely no handshaking. You do that and you might as well show everyone your badge.'

Garcia slouched his hips forward on his chair, his head back over the backrest so that he was staring straight at the ceiling. ‘So tonight I'll take the group in Westchester and you the one in Carson, right?'

‘Yep,' Hunter agreed. ‘The session starts at seven-thirty. Don't be late for yours.'

‘I won't.'

‘And remember – don't be too talkative, either,' Hunter reminded him. ‘Act shy… as if you were still uncertain you want to be there.' He leaned forward on his desk. ‘Leave your gun and badge in the car, and whatever you do, Carlos, please refrain from making jokes. They really don't go down well when we're talking therapy. Especially your sarcastic ones.'

‘Yes, I know,' Garcia replied. ‘We've been through all this before.'

‘Also,' Hunter reminded his partner. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for anyone who seems to be in disguise – wig, hats… that sort of thing.'

‘Disguise?'

‘This killer is very cautious, Carlos. He goes to great lengths to stage his murders as accidents. He figured out a loophole in the system. He uses different names with different groups. It wouldn't surprise me if he also completely changed his appearance to match that name-change. Risk management, and our killer is very good at it.'

‘OK,' Garcia accepted. ‘I'll be on the lookout.'

‘And don't forget to dress down.'

Garcia sat up straight. ‘Shall I go get a white wife-beater?' He sounded enthusiastic. ‘I can wear it under an unbuttoned, lumberjack, long-sleeve shirt. That will give me the look, won't it?'

‘Too stereotypical. The trick is to not call attention to yourself.

Garcia laughed. ‘Relax, Dad. I was joking. I know what I'm doing, all right?' He clicked his tongue as he gave Hunter a sideways wink. ‘I'll just wear the unbuttoned lumberjack shirt with a few finger-thick gold chains over my manly chest.'