The Crucifix Killer(13)

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.

‘Since we’re talking about the Crucifix murders, can I ask you something?’ Garcia ended the silence in the car.

‘Yeah, shoot,’ Hunter replied in a monotonous tone.

‘There were rumors going around that either you or your partner never believed that the guy you caught was the killer – despite all the evidence found in his car and despite his confession – is that true?’

Old images of Hunter’s only interrogation session with the so-called Crucifix Killer started playing in his mind.

Click . . .

‘Wednesday 15th of February – 10:30 a.m. Detective Robert Hunter initiating the interrogation of Mike Farloe concerning case 017632. The interviewee has declined the right to counsel,’ Hunter spoke into the old-fashioned tape recorder inside one of the eight interrogation rooms in the RHD building.

Opposite Hunter sat a thirty-four-year-old man with a strong jaw, protruding chin covered in three-day-old stubble and dark eyes as cold as black ice. His hairline was receding and the little black hair that remained was thin and combed back. His cuffed hands were placed over the broad metal table that sat between him and Hunter, palms down.