I Am Death (11 page)

‘And if I get to serve another term,’ he continued, dishing out another very well-rehearsed look that made sure his visitors understood what those words really meant, ‘I will
certainly put those views forward to the relevant committees. You have my word.’

He stood up and adjusted the sleeves of his jacket.

The women followed suit.

‘It’s been an absolute pleasure, ladies, and I want to thank you for taking the time to come and see me,’ he said, offering his hand. His handshake was as well crafted as his
entire performance – strong enough to show strength and authority, but not too overpowering. He escorted both women to the door, before giving them one last ‘goodbye’ smile.

His personal assistant, Grace Hamilton, was standing in the outer office, holding a legal-size envelope.

As always, Grace was impeccably dressed. Today she wore an extremely well-fitting navy-blue suit with a silky white blouse, but the look on her face was far from her usual tranquil and smiling
one.

‘Richard,’ she said, taking a step forward once the two women were gone.

Mayor Bailey had insisted that she call him by his first name. The request hadn’t been a flirtatious move, though he did enjoy flirting and was very good at it, but because he didn’t
like formalities in his office . . . and it made him feel younger.

He locked eyes with his assistant and paused for a heartbeat. Her eyes were full of fear.

‘Grace, is everything OK?’ There was nothing fake about his expression or tone of voice. The concern in them was all real.

Grace Hamilton never discussed anything with the mayor in his anteroom.

‘Could I have a word in private, please?’ Her voice sounded edgy and urgent.

‘Of course,’ he replied with a single nod before stepping to one side and ushering her into his office.

Grace closed the door behind her and followed Bailey to his large oak desk.

‘What’s the matter?’ Bailey asked, turning to face her.

‘This arrived this morning,’ she finally said, lifting up the envelope she had with her. ‘It was addressed to you, and marked as “urgent – private and
confidential”.’

Bailey looked at Grace. ‘Yes? So? We get enough of those every week. Did you check the contents?’

‘I did,’ she said, nodding. ‘It’s a photograph.’ She paused as if she needed to catch her breath. ‘And a note.’

Bailey’s eyes moved to the envelope.

Grace handed it to him.

Without sitting down, Bailey opened it and reached inside. The first item he brought out was the 4x6 Polaroid photograph.

Grace looked away in disgust.

Bailey glanced at the image and froze. A pit immediately opened in his stomach and threatened to swallow him whole.

‘What the fuck?’

The photograph was of a woman’s face, but it was far from a glamorous one. Her dark-brown hair seemed dirty and drenched in sweat and was sticking to her clammy forehead and the sides of
her face. Tears had caused her eye makeup to smudge and run down her cheeks, drawing thin dark lines that should’ve run down to her chin, but they hadn’t. Instead, they had been
collected by the thick fabric gag that had been tied so tight around her mouth it had stretched her face awkwardly and cut into the edges of her lips. Just past the gag, blood had finished the
thin-line design that her tears had started. But what seemed to squeeze Bailey’s heart inside his chest was the look in the woman’s eyes – pleading, full of fear and totally void
of hope. It was the look of someone who deep inside knew nobody would come for her in time.

Bailey looked at Grace, his expression a mixture of repugnance and confusion.

She finally looked back at him.

‘Is this for real?’ he asked. ‘I mean, with all this digitalphoto-enhancing crap today, who can be sure, right?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Grace replied, her voice unsteady. ‘That’s a Polaroid picture, Richard. Like in the old days. I don’t think they can Photoshop
those.’

The mayor looked back at the picture. ‘No, you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘Do you know who this woman is?’

Grace shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen her before. You?’

‘No, me neither.’

A couple of jittery seconds went by.

‘I was unsure whether I should bring this to you, or hand it straight to the police or the Secret Service.’

Bailey placed the photo on his desk but continued to stare at it. His palms were damp with sweat, his mind full of questions. True, over the years he had received a ton of crazy mail, but never
something like this. His mind worked fast.

‘How was this delivered, Grace?’

‘It came in a FedEx envelope. The address is bogus. It’s a boarded-up grocery store.’

Bailey’s left eyebrow rose inquisitively.

‘Do you still have it? The envelope, I mean?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll go get it.’ Grace began backing away from Bailey.

‘Grace, wait,’ Bailey called again. ‘Do we have latex gloves anywhere in the office?’

‘Umm . . .’ Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at him. ‘Not in the office, I don’t think so.’ She hesitated a second. ‘But maintenance will have them. Their
personnel all wear them.’

‘Call them and get them to bring us a couple of pairs ASAP.’

‘Right away, sir.’

‘Also,’ Bailey stopped her again, ‘do we have some sort of sealable plastic bags? Something we keep documents in?’

Grace thought for a moment. ‘I’ve got a box of sandwich bags in my drawer. They’ve got zip seals.’

‘They’ll do. Bring them over.’

Grace nodded and quickly walked out of the office. A few minutes later she returned with the FedEx wrapper, a box of latex gloves and a box of plastic see-through sandwich bags. She handed
everything to Bailey, who immediately slipped a pair of gloves on before checking the sender’s information at the back of the FedEx envelope.

‘Tyler Jordan?’ he whispered to himself, frowning.

‘I checked it against your address book,’ Grace explained. ‘But there was no match, that’s why I proceeded to open the package.’

Bailey was sure that the sender’s name and address would be bogus, but he would still have it verified.

‘Have you shown this to anyone else?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘So other than you, no one else has touched this picture?’

‘That’s correct,’ Grace replied with an anxious nod.

Bailey doubted that whoever had sent him the package had been stupid enough to leave fingerprints anywhere but, again, he needed to make sure. He retrieved a couple of sandwich bags from the box
and placed the photo and the FedEx wrapper inside them.

‘There’s still a note inside, Richard,’ Grace reminded Bailey, nodding at the envelope on his desk.

He had been so taken aback by the photograph and the desperate look on the woman’s face that he had forgotten all about the note Grace had mentioned earlier. He took the envelope, tipped
it over and allowed the piece of paper to slide out on to his hand.

Grace held her breath.

Bailey unfolded the note and his eyes stayed on the script for several seconds, the words barely making any sense to him until he got to the last couple of sentences. That was when his whole
demeanor changed.

If Grace hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn that what had consumed the Mayor of Los Angeles had been fear.

For the briefest of moments, Bailey seemed paralyzed. Then, like a missile, his hand shot in the direction of the phone on his desk.

Four days earlier

The man sitting in seat 9A was, by cabin crew standards, the perfect passenger. As he boarded the plane, he smiled politely at all the attendants and then waited patiently for
the passengers crowding the aisle in front of him to place their hand luggage inside the appropriate compartments. There was no trace of annoyance from him, no exasperated folding of the arms, no
irritated ‘excuse me’s, and no uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot. Once he’d taken his seat, he hadn’t asked for a single thing, not even a glass of water.

Despite all the stewardesses onboard flight number 387 from Sacramento to Los Angeles being young and very attractive, there had also been no flirtatious looks from passenger 9A, nor any awkward
attempts at cheesy pickup lines.

The man had caught the attention of Sharon Barnard, the youngest of the three stewardesses on board, and she was curious about what he did for a living. His clothes gave little away; a dark-gray
suit and a crisp white shirt with a perfectly knotted black-and-white tie. He could’ve been just another businessman, like half the passengers on that early morning flight, but he was missing
all the typical gadgets – the briefcase, the laptop computer or tablet, and the smartphone.

While some passengers read, some slept, some worked, some played games on their tablets or listened to music, passenger 9A did nothing. He kept his seat in the upright position, his hands
together in his lap and his eyes forward, staring straight ahead. At first Sharon wondered if he was meditating, but when she walked past his seat and asked him if he’d like anything to
drink, he answered her immediately and courteously, saying that he was all right. She asked him if he was going to Los Angeles on business, and he replied that he was returning from business. He
lived in Los Angeles.

That had brought a smile to Sharon’s lips.

‘Tom,’ Sharon said to the head steward, who was also her best friend and housemate. ‘What do you think of that guy in seat 9A?’

Tom smiled at her teasingly. ‘Are you asking me if he’s gay, darling?’

Tom Hobbs was twenty-three years old, very attractive, single and gay. One of his biggest talents was his sixth sense for spotting other gay males without even speaking to them. He stepped out
from behind the partition and casually looked down the aisle.

‘Yep, he’s one hundred percent hot,’ he replied. ‘I clocked him as soon as he stepped on to the aircraft.’ Tom smiled again, then pouted his lips at Sharon.
‘And I can see that so did you.’

Sharon didn’t look embarrassed. ‘As you’ve said,’ she replied, ‘he’s hot.’

‘No doubt there, and you might just be in luck, honey,’ Tom continued. ‘Because he’s definitely straight.’

Sharon smiled. ‘You really think so? He hasn’t looked at any of us girls.’

‘Oh, I’m positive, darling.’ Tom glanced at 9A again. ‘Yep, that man likes pussy.’

‘No wedding band either,’ Sharon said.

Tom grinned at her. ‘Look at you, you vixen, scouting the customers and all, way ahead of the competition. I
like
your style.’

‘You better, I’ve learned it from you.’

Tom lifted his hand for a high-five.

Sharon slapped it.

‘Though,’ she said, ‘I can’t help thinking that he looks familiar somehow.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Maybe it’s the eyes, or that strong chin, but I keep on thinking that I have seen him before. Do you remember seeing him on a previous flight at all?’

Tom looked at passenger 9A once again. ‘Umm, no darling. A hunk like that, I would definitely remember if I had.’

Sharon also didn’t think that she had seen him on a previous flight, but she was almost certain that she had seen him before somewhere.

‘OK,’ she said, moving things along. ‘So what do you think he does for a living?’

When flying together, Tom and Sharon sometimes played a guessing game over a few chosen passengers. It helped pass the time.

‘Umm.’ Tom wiggled his head from side to side for a second. ‘He definitely works out. You can tell by his arms. His biceps are about to rip through his sleeves. But he also
comes across as the calm type. Nothing seems to bother him, and he has one hell of an intense stare. Have you checked those big brown eyes?’

Sharon nodded. ‘Oh yes.’

Tom smiled again. ‘Silly me for asking. Well, I’d say he’s either a psychologist, or some sort of therapist . . . maybe sports.’ He then mimed a shiver. ‘Ooh no,
even better, I’d say he’s a sexual therapist.’

‘Psychologist.’ Sharon liked that thought.

‘Cabin crew, please take your seats for landing,’ the announcement came through the speakers.

Less than ten minutes later the Boeing 757 touched down on runway two at Los Angeles International Airport.

Once again, passenger 9A waited patiently for all the other passengers in front of him to collect their hand luggage and clear the aisle. As he walked past the crew at the front of the plane, he
gave them all a single courteous nod and mouthed the words ‘thank you’. His eyes sought no one in particular and Sharon felt a little disappointed. She had a special smile, coupled with
a sexy wink prepared just for him. All she could do was watch as he walked away. She really would’ve liked to get to know him a little better.

What she had no way of knowing was that passenger 9A already knew everything he needed to know about Sharon Barnard.

Hunter’s cellphone rang less then ten seconds after he had stepped back into his office at the Police Administration Building.

‘Robert, where are you?’ Captain Blake said as soon as he answered.

‘Just got back to the PAB, Captain, why?’

‘Is Carlos with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I need to see you both in my office – right now.’

When Hunter and Garcia got to the captain’s office, she was sitting behind her desk, attentively looking at something that was lying flat on her desktop. From where they
were standing, neither detective could tell what it was.

‘OK,’ she said, finally lifting her stare to meet theirs. ‘First question – are we really dealing with some sort of ritualistic killer here?’

‘It’s too soon to tell, Captain,’ Garcia replied. ‘As things stand, there’s not enough evidence to say for certain either way.’

‘How about the positioning of the body?’ she countered. ‘Set out to look like a five-point human star? Isn’t a five-point star a pentagram? And aren’t pentagrams
widely known to be associated with devil worshiping and all?’

‘Not exactly, Captain,’ Hunter replied.

Captain Blake looked at him and waited. He said nothing else.

‘What do you mean, Robert?’ she asked finally.