One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2). Страница 27

‘Maybe she was a customer,’ Garcia pushed. ‘Maybe you saw her in the shop.’

Emilio considered it for a moment. ‘It’s possible. Can I show this to the other guys in the shop? If she’s a customer, maybe one of them might remember her better.’

‘Please do,’ Garcia said. ‘But let me ask you one more thing. These letters and numbers at the top here.’ He indicated on the printout. ‘Do they mean anything to you? SSV and 678?’

Emilio thought about it for a beat. ‘The only SSV I can think of is the SSV Normandy.’

‘The what?’

‘The SSV Normandy. It’s a starship that appears in a game called Mass Effect 2.’

‘A starship?’

‘That’s right. The game is a few years old now. It was first released in . . . 2010, I think. I completed it. It’s quite a good game.’

‘Did Kevin play it? Online with others, I mean?’

Emilio shook his head. ‘Mass Effect 2 doesn’t have a multiplayer option. It’s a solo game. You play against the computer.’

Garcia nodded. ‘How about the numbers? A game score, maybe?’

‘Not for Mass Effect 2,’ Emilio said. ‘There’s no scoring in the game. You simply finish a level and then move onto the next one until they’re all completed.’

Garcia looked at Hunter and they both shook their heads at the same time. Neither of them believed that SSV or 678 had anything to do with a videogame.

They returned to the shop’s main floor, and Emilio showed the printout to the three other employees on duty. Hunter and Garcia saw them one by one stare at the woman’s picture, frown, pouch, scratch their noses and then slowly shake their heads. If she had been a customer in that shop, no one seemed to remember her.

‘I still think there’s something familiar about her face,’ Emilio said, still staring at the printout.

Hunter and Garcia gave him a few more minutes.

Nothing.

Both detectives knew that forcing it was pointless.

‘It’s OK, Emilio,’ Garcia said, handing him one of his cards. ‘Why don’t you keep that picture? Give it a little break and then go back to it a few more times throughout the day. Memory works better that way. If you remember anything, no matter how small, give me a call, anytime. All my numbers are on the card.’

Thirty-Six

Despite being only seven days since their investigation had started, Hunter and Garcia had been on a fifteen-day stretch with no break. Captain Blake ordered both of them to take Sunday off.

They did.

Garcia finished drinking the rest of his coffee, and from across their small breakfast table he feebly smiled at his wife, Anna. They’d been together since their senior year in high school, and Garcia was certain she was some sort of angel, because he knew no human being could understand and put up with him the way she did.

Anna had been by his side from the beginning. From way before he decided to become a cop. She’d seen how hard he’d worked for it and how dedicated he was. But most important of all, she understood the commitment and the sacrifices that came with his job, and she’d accepted them, no complaints and no angry recriminations. She also understood that Garcia would never offer anything about his job or any of the investigations he was working on. She would never ask about them either. She knew that he just didn’t want to bring any of the madness of his professional life back home with him, and she admired him for that. But despite all her strength, Anna feared that the things Garcia saw on a day-to-day basis were changing him inside. She could feel they were.

‘So what would you like to do on your day off?’ she asked him, returning his smile. Anna had an unusual but enthralling kind of beauty. A delicate, heart-shaped face perfectly complemented by striking hazel eyes, short black hair and a smile that could melt a man. Her skin was creamy smooth, and she had the firm figure of a professional dancer.

‘Whatever you want to do,’ Garcia replied. ‘Do you have anything planned?’

‘I was thinking about going for a run after breakfast.’

‘Down at the park?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘That sounds great. Mind if I come along?’

Anna pulled a face at Garcia. He knew exactly what it meant.

In school, Garcia had been a great track and field athlete, especially at long-distance events. Since leaving school and becoming a cop, his fitness had actually improved. He’d run the Boston and the New York marathons three times each, always completing them in less than two hours and forty minutes.

‘I’ll run at your pace, I promise,’ he said. ‘If I get in front of you even once, you have my permission to trip me from behind and then kick me while I’m down.’

Montebello City Park was just a couple of blocks away from their apartment. A subtle breeze blew from the west, and not a single cloud spoiled the bright blue sky. The park was full of people jogging, cycling, rollerblading, walking their dogs or simply lying around lazily, enjoying the sun.

Despite never being an athlete, Anna was no pushover. Her running pace was strong and steady. Garcia kept to his word, always alongside or just a step behind his wife. They had just completed two out of their three intended laps of the park when Garcia heard a clattering noise just behind them. He quickly turned around and saw a man, who looked to be in his mid fifties, collapsed on the ground. His bicycle was carelessly dumped onto the jogging path a few feet in front of him. He wasn’t moving.

‘Anna, hold on,’ Garcia called.

Anna stopped and turned. Her eyes went straight to the man on the ground. ‘Oh my God. What happened?’

‘Not sure.’ Garcia was already rushing toward the man.

Another cyclist, younger, had slowed to a halt about six feet from where the man had fallen.

‘What happened?’ Garcia asked, kneeling down by the man’s side.

‘I don’t know,’ the cyclist replied. ‘He was just riding in front of me, when all of a sudden he started wavering all over the place and then, boom, dropped off his bike and hit the ground face first.’

More people were starting to gather around.

‘Do you know him?’ Garcia asked.

The cyclist shook his head. ‘I have no idea who he is, but he must be local. I’ve seen him cycling around the park a few times before.’

Garcia quickly turned the man over so he was lying on his back. His chest wasn’t moving. He had stopped breathing, a given sign that he had gone into cardiac arrest.

‘He’s having a heart attack,’ he said, looking at Anna.

‘Oh my God.’ Anna brought a shaking hand to her mouth. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Call for an ambulance, now.’

‘My phone is at home.’

Garcia quickly reached into his pocket for his cellphone and handed it to Anna.

A crowd of curious people had formed around the scene. Everyone was just standing there, looking on, wide-eyed. No one else offered to help.

In the past seven days Garcia had watched two people die before his eyes without being able to lift a finger to help them. Today there was no way on earth he would stand still like all those people. There was no way on earth he wouldn’t do all he could to help that man.

Garcia immediately began pumping the man’s chest with both hands, trying to artificially pump blood out of his heart and around his body.

‘What happened?’ a man dressed in running clothes with sweat dripping down his face called as he approached the group of onlookers.

‘Heart attack, I think,’ a woman replied.

‘Let me through,’ the man cried out. ‘I’m a doctor.’

A path cleared straightaway.

The man kneeled down next to Garcia. ‘How long has he been in cardiac arrest?’

‘Less than a minute.’ Garcia looked up, searching for the younger cyclist for confirmation. He was gone.