The Crucifix Killer(126)

‘I can hear you’re awake.’

The same robotic voice that had tormented him for over three years echoed through the room, catching him by surprise and startling him stiff. It came from behind him, some sort of speaker set up. Hunter felt a strange sensation run through him. He was finally in the presence of the killer. The Crucifix Killer.

Hunter tried turning, rotating his neck as far as it would go, but darkness prevented him from seeing his assailant.

‘Don’t rush it, Robert. This is the final chapter. For you at least. It’ll all end tonight. Right here. You’re the last one.’

The last one. Hunter’s findings in his office were now confirmed. This had all been about revenge.

He suddenly heard the sound of metal against metal. Surgical instruments he presumed. Instinctively his body went rigid with fear, but consciously he forced himself to stay calm. Hunter understood the psychology of killers, especially serial killers. The one thing they want more than anything else is to be understood. To them their killings have meaning, they serve a purpose and they want their victims to know they aren’t dying in vain. Before the kill, there’s always the explanation.

‘Tonight you’ll pay for what you’ve done.’

Those last words sent a judder of recognition through Hunter’s body. The voice that came from behind him was loud and clear – not robotic – not metallic – no distortion box. Hunter didn’t need to search his memory, he didn’t need to think about it. He knew that voice and he knew it well. All of a sudden the darkness disappeared. Hunter squeezed his eyes as uneven circles of light blurred his vision. His pupils contracted trying to get used to the brightness. As the blurriness dissipated a familiar shape took form in front of his eyes.





Sixty-Eight





The blurriness seemed to have taken forever to subside, but once his eyes regained focus he knew he’d been right. Strangely enough he didn’t want to believe it. His eyes fixed on the person standing before him.

‘By the look on your face I can see you’re surprised,’ she said, her voice as sweet as it’d always been.

Hunter had hoped he’d been wrong. But now, staring at her, it all fell into place. He managed to whisper only one word. ‘Isabella.’

She smiled at him. The same smile he’d seen so many times, but this time her smile carried something else, something it’d never carried before. A hidden evil.

‘I thought you’d be happy to see me.’ Her Italian accent was gone. In fact, everything about her was different. As if the Isabella he knew had vanished, replaced by a total stranger.

Hunter’s expression remained immutable. His brain was finally piecing together the last of the puzzle.

‘You deserve an Oscar. Your Italian accent was perfect.’

She bowed down acknowledging the compliment.

‘Very clever trick with that phone call at the restaurant too. A perfect alibi,’ Hunter said, remembering the call he’d received from the killer when he was having lunch with her for the first time. ‘A recorded message with a timer. Simple, but very effective.’

A hint of a smile creased her lips. ‘Allow me to introduce myself . . .’ she said steadily.

‘Brenda . . .’ Hunter interrupted in a hoarse and weak voice. ‘Brenda Spencer . . . John Spencer’s sister. The record producer.’

She shot him a surprised and uncomfortable look. ‘Doctor Brenda Spencer if you don’t mind,’ she corrected him.

‘A medical doctor,’ Hunter asserted.

‘If you must know . . . a surgeon.’ A new malevolent smile.

‘This has all been about revenge for your brother’s death?’ Hunter asked, already knowing the answer.

‘Very good, Robert,’ she said overenthusiastically clapping her hands together like a child who’d just been given another unexpected present.

The ghostly silence that followed seemed to go on forever.

‘He committed suicide in his cell,’ Hunter finally offered.

‘He committed suicide because you failed to do your fucking job.’ The anger in her voice was undeniable. ‘To protect and to serve, what a joke. He was innocent and you knew it.’ She paused, letting her words float through the room. ‘He’d told you many times that he would’ve never hurt Linda. He loved her, the sort of love you’d never understand.’ She took a moment to collect herself again. ‘You interviewed him. You knew he was innocent and still you let them sentence him. You could’ve done something, but instead you let them sentence an innocent man to death.’

Hunter remembered the dinner he had at Isabella’s. She’d lied about everything to do with her life, but she did mention a dead brother. That had been a mistake, a slip-up. She was fast to cover it up with the Marine story, saying her brother died serving his country. A bullshit story, but Hunter didn’t pick it up. What he saw in her eyes that night wasn’t sadness. It was rage.