‘Mr. Anderson, are you still with me?’
‘Call me Stephen, and yes, I’m still here,’ he said. ‘Twenty years ago . . . That must be the Harper family murder tragedy.’
‘That’s right.’
A new brief silence. ‘You said my article flagged up in an LAPD investigation search. I’m guessing, a homicide investigation?’
‘That’s correct.’
Hunter heard the sound of a lighter being flicked a couple of times.
‘You have a victim over there that’s been stitched up?’
This time the silence came from Hunter. Anderson was quick on the uptake. Hunter chose his next words carefully.
‘It sounds like there could be similarities between the Harper case and one of our ongoing investigations, yes, but as I said, your article doesn’t describe what happened in great detail.’
‘And those similarities would be the stitching of the victim’s body?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Oh, c’mon, Detective, I spent thirty-five years as a reporter. I know that the similarities you’re referring to couldn’t just be a jealousy-fueled family murder/suicide, or someone blowing his head off with a shotgun. You’re an LA cop – the city where the freaks come out to play. You probably have crimes like those happening on your doorstep every week. From my article, the only unusual aspect about the Harpers incident is the mentioning of stitches.’
There was no doubt about it, Anderson was quick on the uptake. Hunter conceded.
‘Yes, we have a case here where stitches have been applied to the victim’s body.’
The silence returned to the line for a moment.
‘Do you remember any more details?’ Hunter pushed. ‘Or is the reason why your article was so brief with no follow-ups was because that was all the information you ever had on the case?’
‘Do you know anything about Sonoma County, Detective?’
‘The biggest wine production county in California,’ Hunter replied.
‘That’s correct.’ Anderson coughed a couple of times to clear his throat. ‘You see, Detective, Sonoma lives off its wine production county status in every possible aspect – not only by producing great wine. There are special events every month of the year all around the county which pull in the crowds. Agricultural festivals, holiday celebrations, street fairs, music carnivals and more. There’s always something happening somewhere.’
Hunter could already see where Anderson was going with this.
‘We can’t compare to Los Angeles or Vegas, but we have our share of tourists. Publicizing something as horrific as what happened that day would’ve benefited no one. The Tribune wouldn’t have sold any more copies than it did on a day-to-day basis either.’ Anderson coughed again, a lot heavier this time. ‘I didn’t get to see the scene, but yes, I did find out the details. On that same day I was approached by Chief Cooper and Mayor Taylor. We talked for a long time, and it was decided that it would be in the town’s best interests if the paper didn’t sensationalize the story, and by that I mean I agreed to play it down. So between the police, the mayor and the paper, a very heavy lid was placed over the whole incident.’
‘We really need to know those details, Stephen.’
The pause that followed felt laden.
‘You’re not gonna be breaking your promise to the police chief or the mayor,’ Hunter insisted. ‘None of what you tell me will go any further, but I do need to know those details. It could save lives.’
‘It’s been twenty years, I guess,’ Anderson said after taking a long drag of his cigarette. ‘Where would you like me to start?’
Eighty-Seven
‘I knew the Harpers quite well,’ Anderson began. ‘You have to understand that Healdsburg isn’t a big town, even today. Back then we didn’t have more than maybe nine thousand people living here. Ray Harper was a shoemaker and his wife, Emily, was a teacher in the primary school. They’d been married for over fifteen years, and I guess, like in so many longstanding marriages, things weren’t a bed of roses any more.’
Hunter was busy taking notes.
‘Emily started sleeping with another schoolteacher, Nathan Gardner, which in a city this small, isn’t a very smart idea, unless you think you’re invisible.’
Hunter heard Anderson take another drag of his cigarette.
‘Somehow Ray found out during that year’s winter school break. Now Ray had always been a very calm person. I’d never known him to lose his head. Actually, I’d never known him to even raise his voice. He was just your regular, everyday, church-going, quiet kinda guy. And that’s what was so out of character about what he did.’
Garcia looked like he was about to ask something but Hunter lifted his hand, stopping him. He didn’t want to rush Anderson.
‘Well, that day Ray completely lost control, as if he was possessed. He went over to Nathan’s apartment and killed him first, before going back to his house and killing his kid, his wife, and then splattering his brains all over the walls with a double-barreled shotgun.’
Anderson coughed and Hunter waited as he heard the cigarette lighter being flicked on again.
‘How did he kill them?’
‘That was the reason why Chief Cooper and Mayor Taylor asked to talk to me that day. Because of the way Ray went about his killing business. Ted Bundy is a boy scout compared to what he did.’ Anderson paused. ‘In Nathan’s apartment, Ray tied him down and used a meat cleaver to cut his . . . penis off.’ A longer pause this time. ‘That was it. Nothing else. Ray simply left him there to bleed to death. Now, you might ask – how come Nathan didn’t scream his head off and alert the whole neighborhood. Well, the reason would be because Ray used a shoe needle and thread to stitch Nathan’s mouth shut.’
Garcia’s eyes flickered towards Hunter.
‘Ray went from Nathan’s apartment back to his house . . .’ Anderson continued, ‘. . . killed his kid inside his truck, and then did the same thing he did to Nathan to his wife, Emily. He stitched her mouth shut too.’
Hunter had stopped writing.
‘But it didn’t end there.’
Hunter and Garcia waited.
‘Ray took what he’d cut off Nathan with him, shoved it inside his wife, and stitched her shut as well.’
Garcia flinched but Hunter’s face remained neutral. His blue eyes locked onto a blank page in his notebook.
‘I still can’t believe that Ray did what he did. Not the Ray Harper we knew. It just couldn’t have been the same person. As I said, it was like he was possessed.’
A short pause, a new cigarette drag.
‘After stitching his wife shut, Ray sat on the floor in front of her and blew his brains all over the room with his shotgun.’
‘And you’re sure those facts are correct?’ Hunter asked. ‘You said you never saw the crime scene for yourself.’
A nervous chuckle.
‘Yes, I’m sure. I didn’t see the crime scene, but I saw the pictures with my own eyes. Those images will be imprinted in my brain forever. Sometimes I still have nightmares about them. And the words . . .’
‘Words?’ Hunter cocked his head forward.
There was no response.
‘Stephen?’ Hunter called. ‘Are you still there? What words?’
‘Ray left his wife tied to their bed all stitched up. But before blowing his head off, he used blood to write something on the wall.’
‘And what did he write?’ Garcia asked.
‘He wrote the words – He’s inside you.’