IX:

            Sofia exited the interrogation room just as Warrick and Greg had rounded the corner. Their animated conversation caught the detective’s attention, causing her to cast the two men a curious smile. She had brought in Parker Kopec for questioning concerning the Andrew Graves murder. From all accounts it appeared the two young men had been friends or acquaintances.

            “Found our man?” Warrick returned the leggy blonde’s smile.

            Cocking her head sideways, Sofia executed a small turn to glance through the window of the interrogation room. Parker Kopec didn’t appear overly happy to be in the police station but had thus far been cooperative. The young man had been relatively easy to rundown once she had determined who the Parker was on Andrew Graves’ calendar.

            “Yes, well, I think he was waiting for me,” Sofia told the two men observing Parker Kopec through the glass wall. “Ready?”

            Warrick puckered his lips and tilted his head while Greg gave her an eager nod. He was ready to get a little forward momentum going on the case. They had plenty of bits and pieces but no glue to stick it all together. We need some glue, Greg thought as he entered the interrogation room with Warrick and Sofia.

            “Mr. Kopec,” Sofia addressed the young man sitting at the table. “This is Warrick Brown and Greg Sanders. They are from the Vegas Crime Lab and are investigating Andrew Graves murder.”

            Dark hazel eyes swept over the two men, assessing their worth. “Do you know who did it?” Parker Kopec asked, his voice equal parts annoyance and anger.

            “Not yet, Mr. Kopec,” Warrick answered, taking the seat directly in front of the younger man.
           
            Parker Kopec reminded Warrick of a younger Greg Sanders. With a properly styled mess of a haircut and a multitude of braided bracelets adorning his wrists, Parker Kopec could have been on the cover of any fashion rag. His fingernails were painted black and he picked at the bracelets at his wrists as he waited for the questions to begin.

            “We’re hoping you can help us,” Greg added, placing his folder of the case on the table before him before pulling the photo of the calendar with Parker’s name on it. “We found this at Mr. Graves’ home and were wondering about this meeting.” Greg pointed to the date with Parker’s name on it.

            Parker gave a cursory glance at the photograph. “You guys really upset Adelaide,” he accused, leaning onto the table.

            “You know Adelaide Perrault then?” Warrick asked, making note to come back to Greg’s original question. It wasn’t uncommon for a suspect to try and throw an investigator’s line of questioning off and although Warrick didn’t get a duplicitous vibe off the young man before him, he knew how to do is job well.

            “Yes, I know Adelaide,” Kopec sighed. “We all went to school together, graduated together. I sometimes stayed with them at Andy’s townhouse when I didn’t feel like being at my parents.”

            “Mr. Kopec, I’ve seen your parents home. What could possibly not appeal to you there?” Sofia asked from her spot at the head of the table.

            Parker tilted his head and skewered the detective with a cold stare. “I know what you think. Spoiled little rich kid and I suppose I could be if that was what I wanted. My brother and sisters have it down to a science but I’m not like them,” Parker argued. “My grandfather took a small inheritance and made himself a multi-million dollar empire. My father tried to squander every dime he got on whores and gambling and my mother tried to keep a nice buzz going the whole time.”

            Parker paused to look at the three people sitting at the table with him.

            “I’m not bitching,” he declared. “I’m just telling you how it was and is. My grandfather cut us all down to an allowance which my family is willing to deal with…pissing and moaning the whole time, as long as they don’t have to get off their dead asses and get a job or do something with their lives.” Kopec looked at his hands. “I’m not going to be like that. I want my grandfather to have someone to be proud of. I’ll be in Pendleton next month for basic training.”

            “You joined the Marines?” Sofia asked.

            Kopec nodded. “You want to know if I had anything to do with Andy’s death? I couldn’t kill Andy. I was closer to him then my own brother. Sure we use to do stupid kid stuff together but Andy…Andy wasn’t born to money, his mom married and he could have bought into the whole wasted privileged youth scene but he didn’t and I respected him for it and wanted to be like him.”

            Parker’s voice broke slightly his emotions appearing genuine to those around him.

            “You find out who killed Andy…let me know and I’ll save the courts the trouble of a trial,” he promised, staring at Warrick and Greg with eyes glossy from unshed tears.

            Warrick glanced at Greg who repeated his original question. “Mr. Kopec about the night in question.” Greg tapped the photograph still lying on the table.

            “Andy called me that morning. He seemed kind of upset but I was working and really couldn’t talk to him at the time,” Parker said, a sad look passing like a cloud across his face. “I told him I had a girl I was meeting up with at the Revolution and to come by around ten if he wanted to talk. Andy said he would but he never showed. I tried calling his cell but he never answered. I even called the house…Adelaide answered but said he had left an hour or so earlier.”

            “What time did you call Adelaide?” Greg asked, his pen ready in his hand to jot down the time.

            “I got to the club a little before ten, I suppose it had to be 11:30 when I tried his cell, maybe twenty minutes later I talked with Adelaide,” Parker said frowning as he tried to recall the night’s events. “I know it was before the midnight rave. I remember because my date got her drink knocked on her.”

            “Alright, Mr. Kopec,” Warrick leaned back in his chair. “If we can get the name of your date and how we can get in contact with you, I think you’re free to go for now.”

            Parker Kopec nodded and gave Greg the information they wanted before slowly rising to his feet. “Andy was an awesome guy…he didn’t deserve this,” he told the two men still sitting at the table.

            “No one does,” Warrick said in agreement before Sofia led Kopec out of the interrogation room.

            With the door securely shut, Greg turned to Warrick. “What do you think?”

            Warrick rose gracefully from his seat, slipping his folder across the table before placing it at his hip. “It won’t be too hard to find out if he’s lying but my gut tells me he’s straight up. We’ll dump the logs on his phone and the Graves’ phones. Check with Adelaide Perrault and the date. If everything jives then I’d say he’s in the clear.”

            Greg arched his brows, approving of Warrick’s assessment.

            * * * * * * * * * *

            He laughed, his head thrown back. His muscles stretched beneath beautiful mocha colored skin. His young lean body heaved back and forth with his glee, nearly toppling himself from the stone retaining wall he and his friends sat upon. The Hunter was too far away to see his eyes at the moment but he had memorized them from another time; dark copper ringed by stunning black lashes almost as dark as the short dreadlocks adorning his head.

            It had originally been Dashawn Howards that had caught his eye. The young man’s full body laugh and constant bright smile had drawn his attention immediately as the Hunter stood in line at the local Sunny Sides picking up two dozen breakfast sandwiches. Jesse Burdette and a shorter redheaded boy had been with him but had been more like background noise at the time. There but not there, covered by the vibrant music of Dashawn Howards.

            If fate had not handed the Hunter Jesse Burdette gift wrapped and ready to open, it would have been Dashawn lying in the cold, sterile morgue. It would have been Dashawn with the  heavily stitched ‘Y’ incision marring his chest, his beautiful eyes clouded by death and no one to mourn him but a group of kids with broken hearts and bleak futures.

            The Hunter’s fingers itched to touch the flawless skin stretched over a body unchanged by approaching manhood, to feel the warmth of life pulse through the boy, to absorb his energy, his life. He sighed loudly in the confines of his car, hating the fact that he would soon have to leave his quarry. The only thing allowing him to swallow the bitter pill was the knowledge that he had already set in motion the events that would lead Dashawn Howards to him. It would not be long. He was a patient man, a very patient man.

            He watched as the group of friends broke in two. Dashawn would run the strip for a couple of hours with one or two of his friends looking to hustle a few lucky tourists out of a couple of bucks with a mesmerizing gaze and a sad tale. He had watched the boy for some time. He knew Dashawn’s haunts and habits and very soon he would know the boy himself.

            The Hunter bared his teeth, confident of his anonymity behind the early morning glare off his windshield. The city’s citizens went about their daily lives with tinted glasses that filtered out the creatures that hunted within their midst. He was cream on white, shadow on black; no one ever noticed his danger until they were beyond saving and could do little more than scream.

            With a deft twist of his wrist, the Hunter turned over his car and pulled into traffic. He inhaled several times and practiced his mask that would camouflage him from the many men and women he would meet during the day. The friendly smile that never completely reached his eyes but easily fooled the unsuspecting, slipping on and off his face several times as if it was an ill fitting Halloween mask.

            He hated the façade that he was forced to play out each day. Loving son, loving brother, loving father. He did not love these bland, lifeless people. They were copies of copies with no real substance, no light…pale and ugly! But he had learned to hide amongst the insipid waste-lings. He was an expert Hunter and blended with them well, waiting for that spark of life, that one person filled with such beauty and vibrant life that it hurt to look upon their splendor. He would wait a little while longer then…

            Dashawn Howards will be mine!

            * * * * * * * * * *

            Nick both hated and loved it when Grissom was in his zone. It was like watching a magician ply his craft but Nick always felt that he was a step or two behind. It could, at times, be annoying and at other times astonishing. Regardless as to whether he was amazed or aggravated, Nick always felt like he learned a little something when he worked with Grissom.

            The two men hustled through the lab in such haste that they had caught the curious eye of a number of lab technicians. Their tracked Grissom and Nick for as far as the glass walls would allow. Passing the break room and one of the conference rooms, Grissom rounded the corner to the layout room still displaying the photos from the cases Nick had uncovered.

            “This one,” Grissom rushed forward, tapping the crime scene photo of the their unknown Victim #2. “I think this is the boy Gabriel saw murdered.”

            After a moment Grissom turned to look at Nick. “Check the usual databases-“

            “I already ran a check on any reports-“ Nick interrupted only to be halted by Grissom’s held up hand.

            “I know,” Grissom explained. “I want you to see if anything will come up on a Luke Bayo. Go through the various possible spellings.”

            Grissom looked back at the photograph.

            “Okay, can do,” Nick told his boss. “Do you think that’s this kid’s name?”

            There was a long pause and for a moment Nick thought Grissom had zoned him out. “I hope so,” Grissom finally answered.

            Seeing that Grissom was lost in thought, Nick decided he would take his cue and leave. He would run the name in as many different spelling combinations as he could through the obvious and not so obvious databases. Sometimes a police record on something completely unrelated to the victim or the crime is a case breaker. Nick would check for domestic calls and complaints with the name Bayo, maybe the kid had run from an abusive home only to find himself in the hands of a cold-blooded killer.

            Grissom was only vaguely aware of Nick’s departure, his mind honed in on the case. “What’s your story, son?” Grissom asked softly.

            Looking at the other photos Grissom was reminded of the child’s severed tongue and Gabriel’s words of the killer’s rage. All of the other victim’s had been killed swiftly. The mutilation to their bodies had been kept to the chest cavity, where the heart had been removed

            Heart removed? Grissom contemplated the removal of the heart. Is it a trophy? Something the killer takes with him to remember his kill? “But why the tongue?” Grissom muttered, folding his arms across his chest. “What did you do that pissed him off?”

            Grissom sat on a stool, staring at the evidence board almost as if he was in a trance. His mind becoming saturated with every nuance of the crimes as he rolled them over again and again in his mind. So engrossed was Grissom in his own thoughts that he did not hear the initial ring of his cell phone. There was a spark of an idea taking bloom in the back of his mind, radiating outward.

            “You knew him!” Grissom hissed. His eyes widening as he connected with the victim and in a small way with the killer. “You knew him,” he repeated before snatching up the phone on his hip.

            “Sara!” Grissom blurted out, catching the caller’s i.d. on the phone’s display. “He knew him. Not like the others, not superficially. This kid truly knew him. There was more than victim and killer going on…hunh? What?”

            Grissom slowed his mad pacing and mach one speech. “Alright, yes. I’ll come get you.”

            Snapping the cell phone shut, Grissom stood a moment longer to look at the victim that had somehow gotten under the cold, deadly veneer of a serial killer and made him lose his poisonous control. “What was it?” Grissom wondered aloud before departing for the hospital and Sara.