The Crucifix Killer Part 37

'Right at the back,' the blond girl replied with a new smile.

Their selection wasn't exactly impressive, but then again Garcia wasn't exactly a connoisseur. He chose a bottle by price. The more it costs, the better it should taste, he thought. He went back to where the flowers were and chose a nicely arranged bouquet of red roses.

'I guess this will be all,' he said placing everything on the counter.

'That will be 40.95 please!'

Garcia handed her three twenty-dollar bills.

'She's a very lucky lady,' the blond girl said, handing back his change.

'Excuse me!'

'The lady those flowers are for . . . very lucky lady.' She smiled again and Garcia noticed how young and pretty she was.

'Oh! Thank you,' he blushed.

'Do you live around here?'

'Umm . . . no, I just needed to get a few things. This is on my way home,' he lied.

'Oh . . . that's a pity, but maybe you can stop back here again some time?'

Garcia had no reply but a timid smile.

Outside, as he approached his car, Garcia couldn't believe the store attendant had come on to him. That hadn't happened in a very long time.

Other than a brand-new-looking Chevy van there was no other car on the parking lot. He opened his pa.s.senger door and carefully placed the roses on the seat. His thoughts going back to the day's developments. He still found it hard to come to terms with how alike Jenny Farnborough and Victoria Baker looked. Garcia didn't believe in coincidences, but he also didn't believe that both women going missing at the same time had been planned. This killer didn't keep his victims for long. Once they were abducted, they would turn up tortured and dead within a few days. Vicki Baker had been the victim. Jenny Farnborough had probably just gone missing, he thought.

Suddenly Garcia remembered they still had a police tail on D-King. With the events of the past few hours happening so fast he'd completely forgotten about it. He'd have to call them off as there was no need for them now. He grabbed his cell phone and searched its address book for the correct number. He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the presence behind him. The reflection of the dark figure against his shiny car came too late. Before Garcia had a chance to turn around and face his attacker he felt a sharp p.r.i.c.k against the right side of his neck.

The drug reacted almost instantly. Garcia's vision blurred and he felt his knees buckle. He dropped his cell phone and heard it smash as it hit the ground. He tried holding on to the car door for balance but it was all too late, the stranger was already dragging him to the nearby van.

Fifty-Four.

Jerome had one more stop, one more person to see before he went back home to face another nightmarish night. D-King had given him one job and one job only find the people who'd taken Jenny.

He'd seen many people die in many different ways, a good number of them by his own hands and it had never bothered him. Their dying faces had never lingered in his memory, but the scenes from the DVD he'd watched inside D-King's limo had never left him. He found it hard to sleep, to eat. He missed her. Jenny had been his favorite girl. She was always smiling, always positive about everything. No matter how bad any situation might've looked, she'd always find the good, the funny side to it.

Jerome had been at it for almost two weeks. He'd called favors from every dirty underground contact he had on the streets. All information leading to another sc.u.mbag. The newest one on his list was a low-life junkie named Daryl.

The web of filth that surrounded the snuff-movie business was weaved tight. No one seemed to know anything, or if anyone did they weren't talking. The information Jerome was given was that Daryl wasn't involved with snuff movies, but he might've come across something that could give him a lead.

Daryl lived on the streets, sleeping in any hole that would offer him a shelter for the night. Tonight he was sharing the luxury ruins of a semi-demolished building in South Los Angeles with a few other homeless junkies. All Jerome had to do was find him.

He'd been waiting patiently, observing the building from a safe distance. He'd been given a good enough description of Daryl, but it seemed that everyone around there looked pretty much the same. Jerome's advantage was that Daryl was supposed to be six-foot four and that would make him an easy target to spot.

It wasn't until just past one in the morning when Jerome noticed a tall, awkward figure crossing the street and moving towards the ruined building. Jerome quickly doubled his step to catch up with him.

'Daryl!'

The man stopped and turned around to face Jerome. His clothes were dirty and torn. His shaved head was covered in scars and scabs. It was obvious he hadn't shaved or showered in a few days. He looked frightened.

'Who wants to know?'

'A friend.'

The man looked Jerome over from head to toe. Jerome had dressed down, swapping his usual thousand-dollar suit for a regular T-shirt and blue jeans, but he still looked too well dressed for that part of town.

'What sort of friend?' the tall man asked, taking a step back.

'One that can help you,' Jerome said, pulling a small cellophane bag from his pocket containing some brown powder inside. He watched as the man's eyes lit up with excitement.

'What do you want man?' he asked, still looking skeptical.

'I want to know if you are Daryl or not.'

'And if I am, am I gonna get that bag?'

'Depends if you can tell me what I need to know.'

The tall man stepped closer and Jerome noticed how weak he looked. It was obvious Jerome could simply beat the information out of him at any time.

'Are you a cop, man?'

'Do I look like a cop?' Jerome had always wondered why people would ask that question as if an undercover cop would just come clean and say 'Yes, you got me, I'm a cop.'

'Cops can look like anything these days.'

'Well, I'm not one. Are you Daryl or not?'

The tall man hesitated for a few more seconds, his eyes fixed on the brown powder bag. 'Yes, that's me.'

Oh! The power of bribing, Jerome thought. 'Good, so now we can talk,' he said, placing the cellophane bag back in his pocket.

Daryl's eyes saddened just like a little boy who'd lost his candy. 'What do you wanna talk about?'

'Something you know.'

A new doubtful look came over Daryl. 'And what is it that I'm supposed to know?'

Jerome sensed a hint of hostility in Daryl's voice. More bribing was needed. 'Are you hungry? I could certainly use some food and a cup of coffee. There's a twenty-four-hour cafe just around the corner. How about we go talk in there, I'm buying.'

Daryl hesitated for a second before nodding. 'Yeah, coffee and food would be nice.'

They walked in silence, Daryl always two steps in front of Jerome. They reached the empty cafe and sat at a table at the back. Jerome ordered some coffee and pancakes and Daryl a double cheeseburger with fries. Jerome took his time with his food, but Daryl devoured his.

'Would you like another one?' Jerome asked as soon as Daryl was done. Daryl finished the last of his root beer and let out a loud burp.

'No thanks. That hit the spot just right. So what is it that you'd like to know?'

Jerome leaned back on his seat looking relaxed. 'I need information about some people.'

'People? What kinda people?'

'The not very nice kind.'

Daryl scratched his bushy beard and then his crooked nose. 'Everyone I know fits into that category,' he said with a half smile.

'From what I heard you don't really know these people, you just know where I can find them.'

Daryl raised his eyebrows. 'You gotta tell me more than that, man.'

Jerome leaned forward and placed both hands over the small table. He waited for Daryl to do the same. 'Do you know what a snuff movie is?' he whispered.

Daryl jumped back, almost knocking Jerome's coffee off the table. 'f.u.c.k that, man. I knew this was bulls.h.i.t. I know nothing about that.'

'I've heard differently.'

'Well, you heard wrong. Who the h.e.l.l told you that?'

'That's not important. What is important is that I need to know what you know.'

'I don't know nothing, man,' he said gesticulating aggressively while avoiding Jerome's eyes.

'Look, there are two ways we can do this.' Jerome paused for a second and took out the same cellophane bag he'd shown Daryl earlier. 'You can tell me what you know and I'll give you ten of these.'

Daryl shifted his weight on his seat. 'Ten?'

'That's right.'

That was more heroin than he'd ever had. He could even sell some of it and make a small profit. He ran his tongue over his cracked lips nervously. 'I'm not involved in it, man.'

'I never said you were. I just need to know what you know.'

Daryl started to sweat. He needed a hit.

'The people that deal with that s.h.i.t . . . they are bad motherf.u.c.kers, man. If they find out I said something, I'm dead.'

'Not if I get to them first. You'd never have to worry about them again.'

Daryl ran both hands tensely over his mouth as if wiping something off. 'I guess the other way we can do this is a painful one, right?'

'For you . . . yes.'

Daryl took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'OK, but I don't know names or nothing.'

'I don't need names.'

'You know, I've been down on my luck for a little while now.' Daryl's voice was low and sad. 'It's not every day I have a meal that hasn't been someone else's leftovers. If I could manage to have a shower every day I would, but it's not that easy when you're really broke. Most of the time I have to sleep rough, so any place would do, but a sheltered place if I can find one, is much better.'

Jerome listened.

'A few months ago I was high, drunk and I ended up in some abandoned old factory or something like that in Gardena.'

'Gardena? That's way out of town,' Jerome interrupted.

'Well, I move around a lot, one of the perks of being homeless.' Daryl forced a cheesy smile. 'Towards the back of the main building you can still find part of a roof covering a room, so that's where I crashed. I was woken up by the sound of a car approaching. I have no idea what time it was, late I guess, it was still dark. Anyway, out of curiosity I peeked through a hole in the wall to see what was going on.'

'What did you see?'

'Four guys dragging a tied-up woman out of a big van.'

'Where did they take her?'

'Around the back, down a little dirt track. I got curious, so I followed them. I never knew there was an underground area to that building, but there is. A heavy iron door hidden behind some high gra.s.s at the end of the dirt track. I waited about five minutes before following them down.'

'And?'

'The place was filthy, full of rats and s.h.i.t and it smelled like a sewer.'

Coming from Daryl, Jerome thought that was priceless.

'They have this whole thing set up down there, man. Lights and cameras and things like that. The room is all f.u.c.ked up, full of holes in the walls, it was easy to watch everything without being noticed.'

'What were they doing?'

'Well, I thought they were filming a p.o.r.n movie, man. They tied this girl to a chair. She was kicking and screaming, putting up a real good fight, but they kept on slapping her about. Two of the guys were working the camera and the other two went to work on the girl. But it wasn't a p.o.r.n film, man.' Daryl's voice weakened. 'After they were done beating and f.u.c.king her they sliced her man. They carved her up like a Halloween pumpkin, and that was no special effect either.' His gaze was distant as if he could still see the images of that night. 'They were all laughing afterwards, man, like as if they had just finished a game of b-ball. It was sick.'

'What did you do?'

'I panicked, but I knew that if I made any noise, I'd be next. So while they were cleaning up their mess I sneaked back up and hid in the old factory until daybreak. I never went back there again, man.'

'But can you remember where it is?'

'h.e.l.l yeah,' he said, nodding slowly.

'C'mon, let's go.' Jerome got a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and left it on the table.

'Let's go where?'

'To Gardena. To this old factory.'