Chapter Fifty-Nine

Despite being frail, Russell's mother's voice echoed throughout the room that they were in like a gunshot, dragging Garcia's and Russell's eyes straight to her.

‘Is that so, Mom?' Russell asked, his tone firm.

‘Sixty-three,' she repeated. Her eyes didn't meet her son's. ‘Twelve years.'

Her husband slowly looked at her and nodded his confirmation.

There was something that went beyond chilling in the way that Russell's mother had replied, and in the way that her husband had agreed. It was as if they were both proud of their son's achievements.

Garcia's stomach knotted inside of him. He was looking at a serial killer who'd been operating under the radar and in their own backyard for twelve years. A killer who had possibly claimed sixty-three victims – certainly one of the most prolific serial killers that he and Hunter had ever come across – and they knew nothing about it. How was that even possible? It had to be a mistake.

‘How do they know?' Garcia asked. ‘How do your parents know that there were sixty-three victims?'

‘Because he makes us watch.' Once again, Russell's mother beat him to the punch. Her voice was just a little steadier than moments ago. ‘If we refuse, he uses an eye speculum to force our eyes open.'

Garcia breathed out. That was the reason for the odd scratches around their eyes.

‘Watch this,'she continued. ‘That's the command he uses when he wants us to watch – watch this.'

Garcia's surprised and questioning eyes shot to her before rolling over to Russell. ‘You… force them to watch, while you torture and kill people?'

Russell looked back at him sideways. ‘It's only fair, don't you think, Detective? Give them back at least some of the psychological damage they gave me?'

Garcia's stare intensified.

‘Like I told you.' Russell made it sound trivial. ‘I'm a made monster. I am what I am because of what they were. Don't you think that it's only fair for them to see what they created? To watch what I'm capable of simply because I'm their son?' He finally picked up an instrument from the table – a surgical scalpel. ‘I'm their own artwork, Detective – darkness sculpted out of deeper darkness, if you like. I'm their own flesh… their own blood… their own DNA. I'm their legacy, so I think that it's only fair that I allow them to witness the fruits of their labor of love.' He pointed at himself. ‘Me.'

Garcia saw tears roll down Russell's father's cheeks, but he didn't move. Instead, his wife leaned over and used the tips of her fingers to wipe them from his cheeks.

Russell saw it too, but all he did was snort before walking over to Garcia again. ‘Now that the sad stories are over, Detective, I'd like to finally go back to my question.' He grabbed Garcia by the shirt.

Garcia laughed. ‘You should drop the scaring act. I already told you that. It's not working. You're not going to hurt me.' He truly hoped that, out loud, he sounded more confident than he did in his head.

Russell looked to be frowning back at him. ‘Is that so, Detective? How do you figure?'

‘Because you're not stupid,' Garcia replied. ‘I'm a homicide detective with the LAPD, investigating a case… your case. Do you think that I've been doing this all by myself?' He paused, even though he knew that Russell wouldn't answer his question. ‘It's an official LAPD investigation. There are notes, files, reports… a whole map of discoveries that led me to you.' Garcia shrugged. ‘All of a sudden, on the night that I attend a support-group meeting as part of the investigation, I disappear. What do you think is going to happen? My team is just going to go on as if everything was peachy?'

Russell let go of Garcia's shirt and smiled. He was so close that Garcia could smell his acrid breath.

‘The LAPD doesn't take too kindly to one of their own going missing. They'll come after you with everything they've got – SWAT teams… SIS… cops… the works. How long do you think it will be before they come knocking?'

This time, Garcia paused for effect.

‘It's over, Russell… Michael… Trevor… whatever name you want to use. You know it, and I know it. Right now, my whole team is going over all of my notes… all of my investigation files, following the same trail I did to get to you. I'm surprised they haven't kicked your door in yet.'

Russell straightened up his body.

‘Your best bet is to put down the scalpel, cut me loose… and hand yourself in. Do that, and I can guarantee that they won't shoot you dead. You'll spend the rest of your life in prison, there's no doubt about that, but at least you'll be alive.'

Russell pretended to be thinking about it before sending a politician smile Garcia's way.

‘You're a good bullshitter, Detective,' he said, as he began pacing in front of Garcia. ‘But not good enough.'

‘Is that so?' Garcia came back. ‘How do you figure?'

‘How long do you think you've been down here for, Detective?' Russell asked.

Garcia hesitated. ‘I don't know. You tell me.'

‘I've kept you sedated for days,' Russell revealed. ‘Observing… waiting… checking the news… and nothing. My door is still there… unkicked.' He licked his lips slowly, while maintaining heavy eye contact with Garcia. ‘There's no way anyone can track you, Detective, least of all back to me. I left your car at the school parking lot. Your gun and badge stayed in the glove compartment. Your phone, I left exactly where it landed. And before you try some new lie, I know that you didn't text or call anyone after you checked my truck out because I was observing you.'

Garcia tried thinking of something to say back, but he had nothing.

‘There were no CCTV cameras on that school parking lot,' Russell continued. ‘No recording of what happened… no one to witness me grabbing you. There's no attendance sheet for the meetings. No names. No addresses. Nothing. So you see, Detective – no one can get to you because no one knows where you are. No one can get to me because no one knows who I am, and I've left nothing behind for anyone to track.' He indicated his shaved head and eyebrows. ‘No hairs.' He stepped closer and showed Garcia the tips of his fingers. The skin on them had been completely scarred by fire. ‘No fingerprints.' He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a second. ‘I'm a ghost, Detective. They can't get to a ghost.'

‘Well, I got to you, didn't I?' Garcia tried arguing back.

This time, Russell threw his head back and laughed loudly. ‘You had no clue who I was. In either of the two meetings.'

Two meetings?Garcia thought. What the hell is he talking about?

Garcia didn't hide his surprise too well, because Russell picked up on it.

‘You still have no clue, do you?' The pause that followed was anxious. ‘Well, allow me to enlighten you.'