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‘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, A
A
‘So what would you like to do on your day off?’ she asked him, returning his smile. A
‘Whatever you want to do,’ Garcia replied. ‘Do you have anything pla
‘I was thinking about going for a run after breakfast.’
‘Down at the park?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘That sounds great. Mind if I come along?’
A
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, A
‘A
A
‘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 A
‘Oh my God.’ A
‘Call for an ambulance, now.’
‘My phone is at home.’
Garcia quickly reached into his pocket for his cellphone and handed it to A
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 ru
‘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.