One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) - Страница 44

Hunter’s eyebrows arched. He had seen Screaming Toyz play at the House of Blues not too long ago.

The waitress returned with the new martini, and this time Pamela sipped it instead of gulping it.

Hunter asked her about the three letters – SSV – and the number sequence – 678. Pamela thought about it for a long moment, but said that they meant nothing to her, and that she couldn’t think of how they could relate to Christina Stevenson either.

Hunter thought about asking Pamela if she’d heard the name Kevin Lee Parker before, but decided not to. Chances were she hadn’t, and there was no escaping the fact that she was still a reporter. Hunter was sure she would check the name later, and consequently find out that he’d also been murdered just a few days ago. Armed with that information, a sensational headline about a new serial killer who liked to broadcast his own killing show would be across the front page of the LA Times in no time at all. One dramatic murder headline across the front page of the papers created shock and got people talking, but the news of a new serial killer loose in LA would create city-wide panic. He’d seen it happen before. And right now Hunter and the investigation could do without it.

‘Did she mention anything about any threats?’ he asked. ‘Any letters, emails, phone calls? Anything that was worrying her at all? People who disliked her?’

Pamela chuckled nervously. ‘We’re reporters for the fourth-highest-circulating newspaper in the whole of the USA, Detective. Due to the nature of what we do, everyone dislikes us, no matter how friendly they seem. For example, you and all your cop friends across the road do.’

Hunter said nothing. But she was right. He was yet to meet a cop who liked journalists.

‘On people’s “scum scale”, we rank right up there with corrupt politicians and lawyers.’ Pamela paused and had another sip of her martini. Despite her aggressive words, she knew full well what Hunter meant.

He waited for the moment to subside.

Pamela went back to the question. ‘The fact is, as reporters, we have all written articles that have upset some people. We have all received threatening letters and emails and phone calls. We still do every so often, but it’s all just bravado, really. People get angry when we expose the truth, because a lot of the time the truth doesn’t suit them.’

There was no denying that Pamela Hays was very passionate about her job.

‘Has Ms. Stevenson ever mentioned any of these letters, or emails, or phone calls to you? Something that she believed to be more than just bravado?’

Pamela started shaking her head, but paused halfway through the movement. Her stare became more purposeful, and if her Botoxed forehead could crease, it would have.

‘What did she say?’ Hunter asked, trying to seize the moment.

Pamela sat back on her chair. Her hand came up to her chin, and she partially extended her index finger so it was touching both of her lips. Her eyes moved down to her lap.

Behavioral psychology read the finger-over-mouth gesture as a tell sign – someone who was about to say something, or wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure if he or she should. In certain situations, the gesture was a clear giveaway that a lie was about to be told.

Hunter watched Pamela. Her reporter’s mind was clearly considering something, wondering if she should share whatever information she had, or hold it back. There could be a story there.

The problem for Pamela was that she wasn’t a crime reporter. The information would have to be passed over to someone at the crime desk. And she hated those pricks. Always looking down at everyone else, specially the entertainment desk, or as they called it the gossip pit.

Hunter sensed her hesitation and urged her again. ‘Pamela, even the tiniest piece of information could help us catch whoever took Christina. Was she frightened of something, or someone?’

Her gaze returned to Hunter’s face, and in his eyes she picked up the sort of determination and sincerity she didn’t see very often. Her features relaxed a little.

‘About four months ago, Christina wrote an article on a guy called Thomas Paulsen.’

‘The software millionaire?’

‘The one and only,’ Pamela replied, a little surprised that Hunter had heard of him. ‘What happened was, she was contacted by a former employee of Mr. Paulsen with a potentially big story. Christina came to me, and I gave her the go-ahead to investigate it. She spent two months working on it, and she unearthed a truckload of dirt on the scumbag. The story went to print, and Mr. Paulsen’s business and personal life were affected.’

‘What was the story about?’

Pamela had one more sip of her drink. ‘He liked to take his secretaries, PAs or whoever he fancied inside his company to bed, then intimidate them, using whatever means he saw fit, into keeping their mouths shut. He’s married with a daughter. When the expose was printed, it was revealed that he’d been doing it for years. He allegedly bedded over thirty-five employees.’ She paused, measuring her words. ‘I know that to many that might not sound too devastating, but this is the USA, a country full of false morals and where being religious, faithful and a true family man counts for more than you would know. And this is LA, a city where the tiniest of affairs can end someone’s career overnight. The article affected Mr. Paulsen’s life pretty badly.’

Hunter wrote something down on his notebook. ‘And did he threaten Ms. Stevenson?’

Pamela pulled a dubious face. ‘Right after the article came out, she started getting these phone calls . . . something about pain, making her suffer and dying slowly. Christina had been through stuff like that before, and she wasn’t the type who would spook easy, but I know that something about those calls did really frighten her. We tried tracing the calls, but whoever was calling her was too smart. The calls were being redirected all over the place.’

‘Was she still receiving them recently?’

‘I’m not sure. She hadn’t mentioned anything for a while.’

Hunter took some more notes.

‘But we’re talking about articles she wrote while with the entertainment desk,’ Pamela offered. ‘Before I brought her over to entertainment, Christina was with the crime desk for nine months. And before that she’d spent time with just about every other desk in the paper. If what happened to her was because of an article she wrote, you’re looking at a very long list.’

‘Yeah, we know,’ Hunter said. ‘Is there a way I could get an archive of all the articles Ms. Stevenson wrote while with the entertainment desk? I’d like to start there.’

Though Pamela looked surprised, her eyebrows didn’t move. ‘We’re talking two years’ worth of articles here.’

‘Yes, I know. We have a team working on gathering them, but your help can really speed things up.’

She held his stare for a couple of seconds. ‘OK. I’m sure I can gather everything together and get a compressed archive to you by tomorrow.’

Fifty-Seven

The driver had started his day before the break of dawn. He had patiently sat behind the wheel, quietly observing the entrance to the apartment block across the road from where he was parked. Most people would consider the task boring, but he didn’t mind it at all. He actually enjoyed the stakeout process. All that waiting gave him time to think. To organize his thoughts. To work things out. Plus, he loved watching people. One could learn so much just by observing from afar.

For example, at 6:45 a.m., a balding, heavyset man, wearing an old and ill-fitting gray suit, exited the building and crossed the road. He walked slowly, defeated, with hunched shoulders and his head down, as if his thoughts were too heavy for him. His entire demeanor screamed one thing – sadness. Just getting through each day was a terrible struggle. The driver could tell that the man hated his job, whatever it was that he did. The thick, golden ring strangling his chubby finger on his left hand indicated that he was married, but it also indicated that he had put on a lot of weight since that ring first graced his hand. It was safe to assume that his marriage had long lost the fire that it might have once had.