Chapter Sixty
Before continuing, Russell walked back to the table of instruments and reached for the bottle of water. He undid its cap and took a swig straight from the bottle.
‘Thirsty?’ he asked Garcia.
‘Not anymore,’ Garcia replied.
‘Suit yourself.’ Russell shrugged and took another swig before finally explaining. ‘Monday evening support group in Westchester, a week ago. You were wearing blue jeans, a black T-shirt and white sneakers. I was sitting two chairs to your left. I was the second person to share with the group.’
That had been Garcia’s first ever support-group meeting.
He searched his memory and what he found baffled him because he remembered it well – only four out of the eight members had shared accounts with the group that evening – three men and one woman. The second person to share had been a tall and overweight man, with long scraggly hair, thin eyebrows and plump cheeks. He looked absolutely nothing like Russell, or Trevor.
Right then, Garcia couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. Hunter had warned him about the possibility of the killer disguising himself as he moved from group to group.
Once again, Russell read the surprise in Garcia’s eyes.
‘Don’t blame yourself, Detective,’ he said, his tone proud. ‘Over the years, I’ve become somewhat of an expert when it comes to disguises.’ A pause, followed by a sideways look. ‘That night, I spotted you. I noticed the peculiar way in which you were looking at others. You looked to be paying particular attention to their arms… or hands – as if you were searching for something. That got me thinking. You could’ve been there for different reasons – maybe you had started dating someone who had been beaten up by her ex-husband, or father, or stepfather, or whatever… and you had decided to find him and teach him a lesson. Or maybe you could’ve been a watered-down version of me… of what I was doing – just looking to punish some of those freaks. I couldn’t really be sure, but I knew that you weren’t there seeking help. What it really looked like was that you were there searching for someone in particular… someone with some identifiable physical characteristic, like a tattoo… a birthmark…’ Russell swapped the scalpel from his left hand to his right one, so that he could wave the fingers of his left hand at Garcia. ‘…or oddly shaped fingers.’
Garcia did his best to show no reaction.
‘Then, once the meeting was over,’ Russell continued, ‘I saw you hanging out outside. There was definitely something a little weird about you, but then again, most people who attend those meetings are weird. It was when I saw you at the meeting in Watts that bells really started ringing. I kept my eyes on you the whole time. Very similar behavior to our first encounter, but you seemed to have taken quite an interest in the guy who came in late – George, that was what he said his name was, right?’
Anger began quickly gathering momentum inside Garcia. Anger at himself because he hadn’t noticed any of that.
‘But things really took a turn when I saw you outside,’ Russell confessed. ‘Checking out my truck, and I knew that you were there looking for me, but I gathered that you still didn’t quite know who I was. All you probably had were a few minor details – male, possibly attending domestic violence, or anger management support groups, a dark pickup truck, and crooked fingers. And then it dawned on me.’ He shook the scalpel at Garcia. ‘Of course crooked fingers. It matched your bullshit story about breaking your son’s fingers, didn’t it? You were probably looking for some sort of telltale reflex from someone in the group, right?’
Garcia was impressed. Russell wasn’t only an intelligent person with an analytical mind. He was also very perceptive.
Garcia stayed quiet.
Russell paused directly in front of him. ‘There’s no one coming for you, Detective.’ His voice was chilling. The scalpel returned to his left hand. ‘Just like no one came for any of them… ever… because no one knows who I am. Just like you didn’t. You were just lucky to spot my truck. That was all. You didn’t even know who was driving it.’
There was a long pause, where their heartbeats seemed to stutter together with anxiety.
‘The way I see it, all I really need to do is get rid of my truck and give the support groups in LA a break.’ He smiled. ‘But there are support groups outside LA as well, did you know that?’ Sarcasm dripped off Russell’s words. He walked over to Garcia and placed the scalpel against the detective’s neck. ‘But you were right, Detective. It is over. For you.’