To Hunter the room had just gotten darker, the air heavier. His headache now hammering his brain made it hard for him to think. He rubbed his gritty eyes in a last hope that this had all been just a bad dream.
‘You’d better fill your partner in, Hunter,’ Captain Bolter said bringing Hunter’s senses crashing back to the room.
‘Thank you,’ Garcia said, relieved to have found an ally.
Hunter still paid Garcia no attention. ‘You know what this means, Captain?’
‘I know what it looks like, yes.’
Hunter ran his fingers through his hair. ‘The media will have a field day when they get hold of this,’ he continued.
‘For now the media won’t get hold of anything, I will take care of that,’ the captain reassured him, ‘but you better find out if this is the real deal.’
‘What real deal?’ Garcia shouted.
Doctor Winston cut in. ‘Well, whatever you have to do, could you do it outside. I need to get the boys in here so they can start processing this room. I don’t really wanna lose any more time on this.’
‘How long to process this place? How long until we know something?’ Hunter asked.
‘I’m not sure, but judging from the size of this house, most of the day, maybe even into the night.’
Hunter knew the procedure well, there was nothing he could do but wait.
‘On your way out, tell the crime lab team to come in will you?’ the doctor asked, walking towards the victim’s body.
‘Yeah, we’ll do that,’ Hunter said nodding at Garcia who was still looking like a lost kid.
‘Nobody’s told me shit yet,’ he protested.
‘C’mon, if you drop me by my car we can talk on the way there.’
Hunter had one more look at the mutilated body tied to the wooden posts. It was hard to imagine that only a few days ago that body had belonged to a woman full of life. Hunter opened the door and stepped out of the room, Garcia right on his heels.
Outside the house Hunter still looked unsettled as they approached Garcia’s car. ‘So where is your car?’ Garcia said opening the door to his Honda Civic.
‘What?’ Hunter’s thoughts seemed to be someplace else.
‘Your car? Where is it?’
‘Oh! In Santa Monica.’
‘Santa Monica! Damn that’s all the way across town.’
‘Do you have anything else to do?’
‘Not anymore,’ Garcia replied with a foolish look. ‘Where exactly did you leave it?’
‘Do you know the Hideout bar?’
‘Yeah, I know it. What the hell were you doing there?’
‘I don’t even remember,’ Hunter replied with a slight shake of the head.
‘It’s gonna take us around two hours to make it to Santa Monica from here. At least we’ll have plenty of time to talk.’
‘Two hours?’ Hunter sounded surprised. ‘What do you have under that hood? A scooter engine?’
‘Did you notice the bumpy roads all around this place? This is a new car. I ain’t screwing my suspension up, so until we clear the lunar surface-like roads, we’ll be going real slow.’
‘Whatever.’ Hunter got into the car and buckled up. He looked around at an obsessive compulsive cleaner’s paradise. The car’s interior was spotless. No potato chip bags on the floor, no coffee spills on the carpet or seats, no donut smudges, nothing.
‘Damn rookie, do you clean this car every day?’
‘I like my car clean, it’s better than a pigsty of a car, don’t you think?’ Garcia sounded proud.
‘And what the hell is this smell? It’s like… tutti frutti.’
‘It’s called air freshener. You should try one inside that old beater of yours.’
‘Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my car. Old yes, but built like a fortress. Not like these cheap imports.’
‘This car wasn’t cheap.’
‘Yeah right,’ Hunter replied with a short laugh. ‘Anyway, I’m impressed. Do you clean houses as well? There is a big market out there in Beverly Hills if you ever decide to pack up the detective’s job.’
Garcia ignored Hunter’s comment, started the engine and maneuvered through the few police units that were still parked in front of the old house. He tried his best to avoid brushing his car against the dense shrubs bordering the narrow path and cursed when he heard the sound of wood scraping against metal. Garcia drove slowly at first, trying to minimize the bumpy ride. They were both silent until they reached the main road.
Hunter had driven along Little Tujunga Canyon Road many times. If you are looking to unwind it’s an astonishing drive with heart-warming views.
‘OK, I’m all ears,’ Garcia broke the silence. ‘Enough with the bullshit. What the hell does that weird carving on the back of the victim’s neck mean? You’ve obviously seen it before, judging by your reaction.’
Hunter searched for the correct words as old images came into his mind. He was about to bring Garcia into a nightmare – one he was trying to forget.
‘Have you ever heard of the Crucifix Killer?’
Garcia cocked an eyebrow and looked inquisitively at Hunter. ‘Are you joking?’
Hunter shook his head.
‘Yeah, of course I have. Everyone in LA has heard of the Crucifix Killer. Damn, everyone in the entire USA has heard of the Crucifix Killer. I actually followed the case as closely as I could. Why?’
‘What do you know about him? What do you know about the case?’
‘Are you trying to brag now?’ he asked with an uncomfortable smile as if waiting for the obvious answer – he got none. ‘Are you serious? You want me to talk to you about the case?’
‘Humor me.’
‘OK,’ Garcia replied with a whatever head movement. ‘It was probably your biggest case. Seven horrific homicides over a two-year period. Some crazy, religious fanatic. You and your ex-partner caught the guy about a year and a half ago. He was picked up driving out of LA. If I’m not mistaken, he had a shitload of evidence inside the car with him, victim’s belongings and stuff like that. Apparently even his interrogation didn’t take that long; he confessed straight away, didn’t he?’
‘How do you know about his interrogation?’
‘I’m still a cop remember? We get some good inside information. Anyway, he got the death penalty and the lethal shot about a year ago, one of the quickest executed sentences in history. Even the president got involved right? It was all over the news.’
Hunter studied his partner for a moment. Garcia knew the story as it’d been told by the press.
‘Is that all you know? Do you know why the press called him the Crucifix Killer?’
It was now Garcia’s turn to study his partner for a quick second. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Not for a few hours,’ Hunter said instinctively checking his watch.
‘Yes, everyone knows why. As I’ve said he was a religious fanatic. He thought he was ridding the world of sinners or some crap like that. You know – prostitutes, drug addicts – whoever the little voices in his sick mind told him to kill. Anyway, the reason he was called the Crucifix Killer was because he branded a crucifix on the back of every victim’s left hand.’
Hunter sat in silence for a moment.
‘Wait a second! Do you think this is a copycat case? I mean – carving that strange symbol on the back of that woman’s neck. It did look like some sort of crucifix if you think about it,’ Garcia said, picking up on Hunter’s hint.
Hunter didn’t answer back. Silence took over for another two or three minutes. They’d now reached Sand Canyon Road, an exclusive neighborhood in Santa Clarita and the view had changed to large houses with impeccably treated lawns. Hunter was glad to be back in civilization again. Traffic was getting a little busier as people made their way into work. Hunter could see businessmen and women stepping out of their front doors in their nice suits ready for another day at the office. The first rays of sunlight had just graced the sky in what was already promising to be another scorching hot day.