With its vast number of independent galleries, music venues, bars, and even an open-air museum, Leimert Park, which was located in South LA, was better known for being the center for both historical and contemporary African-American art, music, and culture in the city of Los Angeles. Several internationally famous singers, musicians, and artists had started their careers in one of the many back-alley clubs and theaters in Leimert Park. The neighborhood was also a mere twenty-five minutes’ drive from Garcia’s house in West Hollywood.
Hunter tried urging Garcia to stay at his barbecue. After all, it was their day off and Garcia had guests in his house, but Hunter knew that his partner’s work ethic was just as rigorous as his own, and both of them understood the importance of experiencing a crime scene in situ, instead of studying it through photographs and written reports. So when Hunter suggested that Garcia stayed with Anna and their guests, Garcia’s reply was a simple ‘As if.’
Anna, who always understood the kind of commitment that her husband’s job required, had smiled kindly at him and Hunter as she read the ‘I’m so sorry’ expression on their faces.
‘Go make the world safer for everyone, boys,’ she said, putting on the bravest face that she could muster.
After turning left onto 4th Avenue from West Martin Luther King Boulevard, Garcia had to drive another block and a half before he saw the flashing police lights ahead of him. He parked on the road, just behind one of the three black-and-white LAPD cruisers that had practically barricaded the dark gray fronted house on the right.
The property in question had a three-foot-high brick wall surrounding it, with an old wood gate that was definitely in need of some restoration. The wall was there purely for aesthetic purposes, not security.
As they stepped out of Garcia’s Honda Civic, both detectives couldn’t fail to notice the uneasy tension that showed in the faces of all three uniformed officers standing by the black and yellow crime-scene tape that had been raised around the property. Whatever they’d seen inside that house, it had clearly disturbed them.
The perimeter extended all the way to the road, including the stretch of sidewalk directly in front of the house. As always, a large group of curious onlookers had already gathered around the perimeter, every single one of them with their smartphones in hand, eager to capture something a little more exciting than just crime-scene tape and uniformed officers.
With their badges clipped to their belts, Hunter and Garcia zigzagged through the crowd. At the perimeter’s edge, one of the officers greeted them with a head nod before lifting the tape for them to stoop under. As soon as they did, a tall, skinny man in a light-gray suit approached them. He had been standing by the house’s front door, idly staring at nothing at all, as if questioning existence itself.
‘Detective Hunter?’ he asked, as his evaluating gaze settled on the two new arrivals. His tie was loose and his collar button undone.
Hunter nodded.
Garcia adjusted his sunglasses on his nose.
‘I’m Detective Barnes,’ the man announced. ‘We spoke on the phone.’
Hunter introduced Garcia and they all shook hands.
‘Forensics hasn’t arrived yet?’ Garcia asked, failing to spot any forensics unit vehicles parked in the vicinity.
‘Like I said on the phone,’ Barnes replied, ‘this crime scene has UVC written all over it. I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes here. Some detectives can be very particular about that. Plus, we all know that UVC can get a forensics team out to a scene a lot faster than regular Homicide, so I called you…’ he nodded at Hunter, ‘… and no one else. This is your show. You run it in whichever way you want. I was called to this scene by mistake. What I did do was set a perimeter so that the social-media vultures would keep their distance.’ He turned to look at the crowd on the other side of the tape. ‘Nowadays everyone is a cameraman… everyone is a reporter… everyone is a critic.’ Barnes shrugged disapprovingly. ‘None of us need any of that hassle.’
Hunter and Garcia nodded their understanding before Garcia reached for his cellphone. Barnes was right. The LAPD Ultra Violent Crimes Unit was at the very top of the priority chain when it came to certain requests.
Garcia quickly placed a call to the LAPD forensics unit.
‘The victim seems to be one Melissa Hawthorne,’ Barnes continued. ‘Twenty-nine years old, resident at this address. She lived alone.’
‘Seems to be?’ Garcia questioned.
Barnes’s lips stretched thin as he angled his head to one side. ‘I’m playing safe here because no proper tests have been conducted yet,’ he explained. ‘But you’ll understand once you get inside. Facial identification, done purely by sight, is damn near impossible, even for her sister.’ He paused to correct himself. ‘Stepsister, actually. She found the body.’
That was about to be Hunter’s next question.
Barnes breathed out before his squared chin jerked in the direction of one of the LAPD vehicles parked on the road.
‘Her name is Janet Lang,’ he said. ‘She’s sitting in that cruiser with a female officer. We had to give her something to calm her down. Hysterical doesn’t even begin to describe it.’ Barnes shook his head, as his eyes saddened. ‘What a total mind-fuck having to have that as the last image of your sister. I am so sorry for that girl. She’s only twenty-six.’
Hunter turned to face the cruiser that Barnes had indicated. Through its window, he could see an African-American woman with her face buried in the palms of her hands. Even at that distance, Hunter could see that she was shaking. Sitting next to her, with a comforting hand on her shoulder, was a female LAPD officer.
‘The officer at the door can provide you with shoe covers and latex gloves,’ Barnes informed them. ‘Nothing was touched. The scene is as in situ as it can be.’ He checked his watch. The time was coming up to 2 p.m. ‘Look, I need to get going. Just before you guys arrived, a call came in about a shooting in Baldwin Hills. That’s more my department.’
‘OK,’ Hunter said. ‘Thank you for your help here.’
Barnes took one step in the direction of the road but paused before turning to face the two UVC detectives again.
‘Good luck with this one,’ he said, in a tone that made it clear that he was happy that this would not end up being his investigation. ‘I really hope you guys catch this sonofabitch.’
Hunter and Garcia watched Detective Barnes duck under the crime-scene tape and jump into a blue Toyota Camry that was parked across the road. As he drove away, both detectives turned to face the house.
It was a small, single-story structure with a tiled hip roof and dark blue window frames. There was no porch. A curved walkway, made up of squared concrete slabs, led from the wooden gate at the three-foot brick wall to the front door. Surrounding the walkway was a well-cared-for lawn patch. There was no garage.
Despite the front door having been pulled almost to a close and the curtains on the two large windows at the front of the house being drawn shut, Hunter and Garcia could easily tell that the lights in the house’s first room were on. Credentials in hand, they walked up to the uniformed officer guarding the front door, who, just like Detective Barnes had told them, supplied them with elasticated plastic shoe covers and latex gloves.
As Hunter reached for the door handle, the officer, a short and stumpy man with a thick moustache and matching sideburns, took a step to his right and quickly crossed himself, reciting something in Spanish.
The front door opened straight into the house’s humble living room. One step was all that Hunter and Garcia managed before they saw her, just a little to their left, as the living room gave way to the open plan kitchen area. As they did, both detectives immediately came to a halt.
Garcia pulled his sunglasses from his face, his unblinking eyes nearly the size of poker chips.
‘What the actual fuck?’
Hunter stood completely still, while an uncomfortable knot began tying itself inside his throat.
‘In all your years in the force,’ Garcia asked Hunter, without breaking eye contact with the body, ‘detective or not, have you ever seen anything like this?’
Hunter’s reply came as a simple whisper.
‘No.’