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can start is with the Missing Persons files and those pictures,’ Hunter said, clicking away on his computer. ‘The two of us will have to go through them manually until we get something from the composite drawing team.’
    ‘The two of us? Manually? Are you serious? Do you know how many people get reported missing in LA every week?’
    Hunter nodded. ‘On average eight hundred, but we can narrow the search down using what we already know – Caucasian woman, brunette, hazel eyes, age between twenty-seven and thirty-three. Judging by the length of the counter and the position the body was left, I’d say she was somewhere between five five and five eight. Let’s start the search with women who have been missing for anywhere up to two weeks. If we get nothing, we’ll go back further.’
    ‘I’ll get right on it.’
    ‘How about her fingerprints?’
    Garcia quickly shook his head. ‘I’ve checked with Forensics. They’ve been running them against the National Automated Fingerprint ID System since last night. So far no matches. She doesn’t seem to be in the system.’
    Hunter had a feeling she wouldn’t be.
    Garcia poured himself some coffee from the machine on the counter. ‘Any clues from the butcher’s shop?’
    Hunter had emailed himself the photo of the ceiling he’d taken with his cell phone last night. When the file downloaded, he hit the print button.
    ‘Yes, this.’ He showed Garcia the printout.
    ‘Graffiti?’ Garcia asked after studying the photograph for a moment.
    Hunter nodded. ‘I took this picture while lying on the counter in the same position the victim was found.’
    Garcia raised an eyebrow. ‘You lay on that?’ He pointed to the photograph of the dirty metal counter on the pictures board, but didn’t wait for a reply. ‘What exactly am I looking at here?’
    ‘Blended with the graffiti colors, Carlos. Look for the different lettering.’
    A moment later Garcia saw it and his whole body tensed. ‘Well, I’ll be dipped in shit.’
    Hidden amongst the colors and shapes, a line of small spray-painted black letters seemed out of place. It read: IT’S INSIDE YOU.

 
Twelve
     
    Before Garcia could ask anything further, Captain Blake entered the room without knocking.
    Barbara Blake had taken over the Los Angeles Robbery Homicide Division’s leadership after the retirement of its long-standing captain, William Bolter, two years earlier. Her name had been put forward for captaincy by Bolter himself, upsetting a long list of candidates. She was an intriguing woman – elegant, attractive, with long black hair and mysterious dark eyes that never gave anything away. Despite reservations by some at the division, she had quickly gained a reputation for being a no-nonsense, iron-fist captain. She wasn’t easily intimidated, took shit from no one, and she didn’t mind upsetting high-powered politicians or government officials if it meant sticking to what she believed was right. In just a few months she had earned the trust and respect of every detective under her command.
    Captain Blake and Doctor Winston’s friendship went back a long way – over twenty years. The news of his death had hit her like a sucker punch to the gut, and she wanted answers.
    As she stepped into the room, she instantly picked up on the tension coming from Garcia. Her eyebrows rose. ‘What happened? Have we got something already?’
    Garcia handed her the printout. ‘From the butcher’s shop.’
    Just like Garcia, she didn’t see it at first. ‘What the hell am I looking at?’
    Garcia pointed at the letters.
    The captain’s eyes shot in Hunter’s direction. ‘This was on the wall in the shop?’
    ‘On the ceiling. Directly above where the victim was left.’
    ‘But the ceiling is covered in graffiti. Why do you think these words have anything to do with our victim?’
    ‘Two reasons. One, that’s not graffiti like the rest of the ceiling, that’s a handwritten message. Two, the paint was more vivid