One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) (читать книги бесплатно полные версии txt) 📗

‘Oh my God,’ Garcia said, bringing his closed right fist to his mouth. ‘He’s not bullshitting. He’s going to do it. He’s going to drown the guy, goddammit.’

The man kicked and wiggled ferociously inside the enclosure, but his restraints wouldn’t give an inch. He couldn’t break free no matter what he did. The chair was solidly bolted to the floor.

‘This is insane,’ Garcia said.

Hunter stood still, his eyes unblinking, staring at his computer screen. He knew that from their office there was absolutely nothing they could do – except maybe collect evidence. ‘Is there a way we can record this?’ he asked.

Garcia shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

Hunter reached for his phone again and got the LAPD switchboard.

‘Punch me through to the head of the Computer Crimes Unit, now. This is urgent.’

Two seconds later he heard a ringing tone. Four seconds after that the phone was answered by a baritone voice.

‘Dennis Baxter, LAPD Computer Crimes Unit.’

‘Dennis, this is Detective Hunter from Homicide Special.’

‘Hello, Detective, how can I assist you?’

‘Tell me, is there a way I can record a live webcam broadcast that I’m watching on my computer right now?’

Baxter laughed. ‘Wow, is she that hot?’

‘Is there a way or not, Dennis?’

Hunter’s tone knocked the play out of Baxter’s voice.

‘Not unless you have some sort of screen recording software installed on your computer,’ he answered.

‘Will I have one?’

‘On an LAPD office computer? Not as standard. You can put in a request and IT will install one for you in a day or two.’

‘No good. I need to capture what’s on my screen right now.’

A split-second pause.

‘Well, I can do it from here,’ Baxter said. ‘If you’re watching something live over the net, just give me the web address. I can log into the same website and capture it for you. How does that sound?’

‘Good enough. Let’s try it.’ Hunter gave Baxter the sequence of numbers the caller had given him minutes earlier.

‘An IP address?’ Baxter asked.

‘That’s right. Aren’t they traceable?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yes. That’s actually their main purpose. They work almost like a license number plate for every computer connected to the net. With that, I can pretty much tell you the exact location of the source computer.’

Hunter frowned. Could the caller have made such a silly mistake?

‘Do you want me to start a trace?’ Baxter asked.

‘Yes.’

‘OK. I’ll get back to you as soon as I get anything.’ He disconnected.

The water was already reaching the man’s waist. At that speed, Hunter calculated that the man would be completely submerged in another minute and a half, maybe two.

‘Operations said that there was no way they could trace the call?’ Hunter asked Garcia.

‘That’s right. He was bouncing the signal all over town.’

The water reached the man’s stomach. He was still trying to wiggle himself free, but he was steadily losing energy. He was shivering even more now. A combination of uncontrollable fear and the water temperature, Hunter guessed.

There was nothing Hunter or Garcia could say, so they both went eerily quiet, watching death rise inch by inch around the man on their computer screens.

The phone on Hunter’s desk rang again.

‘Detective, is this for real?’ Dennis Baxter asked.

‘Right now, I have no reason to believe it isn’t. Are you capturing it?’

‘Yeah, I’m recording it.’

‘Any luck with tracing it?’

‘Not yet. It can take a few minutes.’

‘Get back to me if you get anything.’

‘Sure.’

The water reached the man’s chest, and the camera slowly zoomed in on his face. He was sobbing. Hope had left his eyes. He was giving up.

‘I don’t think I can watch this,’ Garcia said, moving from behind his desk and pacing the room.

The water reached the man’s shoulders. In a minute it would be past his nose, and death would arrive with the next breath. He closed his eyes and waited. He wasn’t trying to break free anymore.

The water reached the underside of his chin, and then, without any warning, it stopped. Not a drop more came out of the pipes.

‘What the hell?’ Hunter and Garcia looked at each other for a second and then back at the screen. Surprise etched on both their faces.

‘It was a goddamn hoax,’ Garcia said, approaching Hunter. A nervous smile on his face. ‘Some nutcase pulling our chain.’

Hunter wasn’t so sure.

At that exact moment the phone on Hunter’s desk rang again.

Six

The sound of the phone ringing cut through the silence like thunder ripping through a night sky.

‘You are very clever, Detective Hunter,’ the caller said.

Hunter quickly signaled Garcia one more time, and within seconds the call was being recorded again.

‘You almost had me fooled,’ the caller carried on. ‘I thought your concern for the victim was quite touching. Once you realized there was no way you could save him, you picked what seemed to be the less sadistic, less painful and quicker death of the two choices I gave you. But that was only half of the story, wasn’t it?’

Garcia looked confused.

Hunter said nothing.

‘I figured out the hidden reason behind your choice, Detective.’

No reply.

‘You realized I was about to pick fire, and you quickly interrupted me and chose water.’ A self-assured laugh. ‘Water would’ve given you hope, right?’

‘Hope?’ Garcia mouthed the word, frowning at Hunter.

‘The hope that when, and if, you come across the body, maybe your—’ the caller put on a silly voice ‘—super-advanced, high-tech forensics lab could uncover something. Maybe on his skin, or hair, or a trace of something under his nails or inside his mouth. Who knows what microscopic clues I might have left behind, isn’t that right, Detective Hunter? But fire would’ve destroyed it all. It would’ve carbonized his entire body and everything else with it. No clues left, microscopic or not.’

Garcia hadn’t thought of that.

‘But if he drowns, the body is intact.’ The caller moved on. ‘Death comes from suffocation . . . skin, hair, nails . . . nothing gets destroyed. It’s all there ready to be analyzed.’ The caller paused for breath. ‘There might be a million things to find. Even the water in his lungs could provide you with some sort of clue. That’s why you chose water, isn’t it, Detective? If you can’t save him, do the next best thing.’ The caller let out an animated laugh. ‘Always thinking like a detective. Oh, you’re no fun.’

Hunter gave himself a subtle headshake. ‘You were right the first time around. My concern was the victim’s suffering.’

‘Of course it was. But . . . just in case I’m right, guess what? I was already prepared for it.’

The man on the screen had reopened his eyes. He was still shivering. Despite the darkness, he looked around himself, waiting . . . listening.

Nothing. Not a sound. The water had stopped.

Behind the gag his mouth twisted into a shy smile. A glimmer of hope returned to his eyes, as if it all had been just a bad dream . . . a sick joke. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes and tilted his head back, as if thanking God. Tears found their way through his closed eyelids and cascaded down his face.

‘Keep on watching, Detective.’ There was a proud ring to the caller’s voice. ‘Because you’re about to get the “Cirque du Soleil” of shows.’ He disconnected.

On the screen the water level started decreasing.

‘He’s draining the container,’ Garcia said.

Hunter nodded.

The water drained fast. In a matter of seconds its level had gone back down to the man’s chest.