The 911 operator tried to get the man to wait, but he’d already hung up.
André shrugged. ‘Lots of fingerprints in her apartment, but ninety-nine percent are going to be family and friends. Quill loved to entertain,’ he finished wistfully. ‘She was a sweet lady.’
Rafe asked him to play the recording again, listening for anything that might give him insight into the caller, but all he got was scared kid. ‘That is not Ephraim Burton, aka Satan.’
‘No,’ Gideon murmured. ‘It’s definitely not. Who else was in New Orleans on Friday?’
‘I don’t know.’ André accepted a slice of bird’s milk cake with a grateful smile. ‘I was hoping you guys might know. Quill was found on the sofa and the place was just wrecked, but nothing major was missing. NOPD found ten grand hidden in various places in the house – under the mattress, in the freezer, at the bottom of her unmentionables drawer. It wasn’t hard to find, but her killer didn’t take it.’
‘You’re sure it was homicide?’ Irina asked. ‘If she was elderly, it’s possible she died of natural causes.’
‘Unlikely.’ André hesitated, then blew out a sigh. ‘I’m not supposed to even know this, but I’ve got friends in all kinds of places and I know you all want this solved as much as we do. Quill showed signs of suffocation. Rigor was starting to fade, so the time the guy says he found her sounds right.’
‘Cameras in the building?’ Gideon asked. ‘Please say my sister picked a building with security cameras.’
‘I’d like to, but no. It’s not a bad building, and it had a working camera at some point, but it was broken. The residents NOPD talked to were surprised to hear there was a camera at all.’
Rafe drummed his fingers on the table, then, following his gut, did a search on his phone. ‘What about this guy?’ He turned the phone to show the YouTube video he’d pulled up. ‘The asshole who wrote that damn article about Mercy.’
Gideon’s jaw tightened so hard that his teeth should have been dust. ‘Jeff Bunker,’ he hissed, fury in every line of his body.
Rafe shared the sentiment. ‘Let’s have a listen to Mr Bunker.’
‘Who looks like he’s sixteen,’ Sasha said, ‘because he is. Dad and I looked him up. Kid’s some kind of genius, already in his second year at Sac State.’
‘I don’t care if he’s a fucking Einstein,’ Gideon gritted out. ‘If I get my hands on him, he’ll wish he’d picked on someone else’s sister.’
Daisy laid her hand on Gideon’s arm. ‘Hey,’ she said soothingly. ‘I want to disembowel him with a rusty grapefruit spoon, but maybe we shouldn’t say that out loud with other cops in the room?’
Gideon huffed a laugh, then scrubbed his face with his palms. ‘Play it, Rafe. Please.’
Rafe did, and within seconds it was obvious that it was the same voice as the 911 call. The recorded Jeff Bunker was talking about the recent serial killer ‘situation’ in Sacramento, saying he wanted to focus on the survivors since other journalists were talking about the killer’s dead victims.
‘Hell of a way to focus,’ Rafe snarled, stopping the video. ‘Jesus, I want to fucking kill him.’
‘I think we all have received that message,’ Irina said, putting teacups on the table. She poured a cup for everyone, then returned to her seat to sip her tea. ‘But I’d like to hear where he was going with his story. If you boys can’t listen to him without dreaming up ways to commit homicide in ever-increasingly clever ways, then send me the link, Raphael, and I’ll listen on my own.’
Rafe slouched in his chair, chastised as she’d intended him to be. ‘You’re right, Mom. Sorry.’
‘Drink your tea. It’s calming.’
Rafe sniffed at the brew suspiciously. ‘How calming?’
She swatted at him. ‘Not that calming. I wish I’d never told you all that I drink my special tea for my arthritis. Now be quiet – if you can – and play the video.’
‘Busted,’ Sasha whispered loudly, making him snort out a laugh. Which his bratty but very sweet sister had also intended. ‘Take a breath, Rafe,’ she said, sobering. ‘You’re no good to Mercy going all He-Man and the Masters of the Universe on this kid’s ass.’
Rafe did as both women recommended, taking a breath and sipping his tea before hitting PLAY.
The video turned out to be a vlog of sorts with more than ten thousand views. Rafe figured that most of them had happened since the article was posted the night before. Jeff Bunker wanted to ‘know the survivors’ and to follow their ‘healing process’.
‘Sonofabitch,’ Rafe muttered. ‘He’s not interested in healing. He’s only interested in himself.’
‘Shh,’ his mother admonished. ‘Listen, son.’
Rafe and Gideon scowled at each other before turning back to his phone like they could summon Bunker or something. He had to hand it to the kid – he talked a good talk. Anyone who hadn’t actually read the hateful trash he’d written might see him as a stand-up, earnest college kid who wanted to change the world.
Rafe didn’t care what BS the little bastard was spewing. If he got his hands on Bunker, he’d tear him limb from limb.
He was saved from listening to any more when the doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ Rafe all but snarled, shoving away from the table, giving his phone one last look that he wished could kill. At least he was doing better than Gideon, who sat with his fists clenched, desperate rage stiffening his body.
Trying to calm himself, Rafe opened the door to find Erin. And a kid.
The kid. Jeffrey Fucking Bunker.
Fourteen
Granite Bay, California
Sunday, 16 April, 6.50 P.M.
Jeffrey Bunker, that sonofabitch. Rafe’s vision hazed with red and he’d fisted Bunker’s shirt before he could stop himself, lifting the kid to his toes. ‘You little fucking shit,’ he hissed through clenched teeth. ‘You dare show your face here? Are you insane?’ He gave Bunker a shake.
Then reality began to seep into the fog of his fury. Bunker was gasping for air and an older woman behind him was shouting for him to take his hands off her son.
But it was Erin’s calm voice that finally got through. ‘Put him down, Rafe. Now.’
He released Bunker, pushing him away with another snarl. ‘What. The. Fuck, Erin?’
Erin exhaled heavily. ‘Fucking hell, Rafe. What’s gotten into you?’
‘It’s him,’ Rafe spat. ‘Bunker. The guy who ruined Mercy’s life for a fucking story.’