The Crucifix Killer - Chris Carter [72]
‘What a useless piece of shit he is. And we paid him for that?’
Jerome agreed with a nod.
‘Tell the girls we’ll be leaving soon, but before that get me that barman, the one Jenny used to talk to every once in a while, the long-haired one.’
‘Sure.’ Jerome watched D-King finish half a bottle of champagne in one swig. ‘Are you OK, boss?’
He threw the empty champagne bottle onto the table knocking over several glasses and attracting unwanted attention. ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ he yelled at the table closest to his. Its four occupants quickly turned away to mind their own business.
‘No, I’m not OK,’ D-King said, turning to face Jerome. ‘As a matter of fact I’m pretty damn far from OK, Jerome. Someone snatched one of my girls right from under my nose. If what the detectives said is true she was tortured and killed.’ He looked disgusted. ‘Skinned alive, Jerome. Now you tell me, what sort of stupid motherfucker would be crazy enough to do that to one of my girls?’
Jerome could offer no answer but a shrug of his shoulders.
‘I’ll tell you who . . . a fucking dead one. I want this guy, do you feel me? I want him alive so I can show him what torture really is.’ He put his right arm around Jerome’s neck and pulled his face within an inch of his own. ‘Whatever it takes, nigga, do you understand me? Whatever it fucking takes.’
Thirty-Two
The realization that the killer had been in the Vanguard Club only a few days ago made Hunter’s blood boil. He decided they should stick around for a while longer. The killer had been here, he had touched things, allowed other people to look at him, maybe even talk to him. Somehow he’d managed to drug Jenny between the VIP area and the ladies’ room and then drag her out of the club without looking suspicious – or did he?
Hunter touched Garcia’s arm to get his attention and pointed to the low ceiling. ‘Do you see what I see?’
Garcia looked up, following Hunter’s extended index finger. ‘CCTV!’
‘Bingo.’
‘Excuse me!’ Hunter said, approaching the bouncer standing next to the fire exit. ‘Where is your CCTV control room?’ he asked, showing the muscle man his badge.
‘Upstairs, next to the manager’s office.’
‘Can you show me where it is? I need to take a look at some of your tapes.’
The two detectives followed the bouncer back through the dancing crowd to the western side of the club. A narrow staircase led them up to the next level and into a small corridor. They approached the second door on the right where the sign read ‘CONTROL ROOM’. Inside a solitary guard sat surrounded by small TV screens. He was holding a newspaper neatly folded in four with the crossword section showing. Hunter noticed he had yet to complete a single word.
‘Hi there, Stu,’ the bouncer said.
The guard didn’t look up. ‘Emotional shock, six letters beginning with T, do you have any idea what it could be?’ The top of the ballpoint pen he was holding in his right hand had been completely chewed off.
‘Trauma.’ The answer came from Hunter.
The guard finally lifted his eyes from the paper with a surprised look, only then realizing Tarik wasn’t alone. He put down the newspaper and straightened himself in his chair. Hunter took care of the introductions and badge-displaying ritual.
‘I need to clear it with the manager first,’ Stu said reaching for the phone after Hunter had explained the reason for their unannounced visit. Hunter made no objection and listened as the guard quickly explained the situation over the phone to one of his superiors.
‘OK, sir. We’ll wait,’ he said, putting the phone down.
‘So?’ Hunter asked.
‘He’s coming over.’
Hunter scanned the small TV monitors in front of Stu’s desk. ‘How many cameras in total?’
‘One over each bar, one over the dance floor entrance, one above the fire exit, two out on the patio, one over the club entrance, one in each of the two corridors that lead to the bathrooms, three over the dance floor and two over the VIP area,’ Stu said, pointing to a different monitor with each new camera he mentioned.
The door opened and a short man dressed in