surprise.
‘Youth has come a long way since we were kids, detective,’ the doctor replied, patting Garcia on the back.
‘How about the cause of death?’ Hunter asked.
‘Heart, liver and kidney failure. Her body just couldn’t cope anymore. A combination of the tremendous pain she’d suffered together with dehydration and starvation. If she hadn’t been in such good physical condition she would’ve probably lasted only a few hours.’
‘How long did she last?’
‘Anywhere between ten and sixteen hours. She died sometime between 8:00 p.m. on Sunday evening and 1:00 a.m. Monday morning.’
‘She was tortured for almost sixteen hours? Jesus Christ!’ Garcia commented.
The room went quiet for a moment. Doctor Winston was the first to speak again. ‘We have also analyzed the rope that was used to tie her to the posts.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing special there either. Regular nylon rope; it could’ve been bought in any hardware store.’
‘How about the mirror on the bedroom door, it looked new; did we get anything from it?’
‘Not really. We found very old traces of chemicals consistent with mirror adhesives.’
‘So what does that mean?’ Garcia asked.
‘That the killer didn’t buy that mirror – he took it from another door somewhere. I don’t think anyone would’ve reported a stolen door mirror, so tracking it down would be almost impossible,’ Hunter said.
‘And the vinegar in the jar?’
‘Your most common type of vinegar, found in any supermarket.’
‘In other words, we’ve got absolutely nothing,’ Hunter concluded dryly.
‘Oh we’ve got something alright, but you’re not gonna like it . . . let me show you.’ Doctor Winston walked over to the east end of the room where a few photographs were scattered over a small desk, Hunter and Garcia right behind him.
‘This is the carving on our victim’s neck.’ The doctor pointed to the first picture on the left. ‘All the other pictures you see here are from the Crucifix Killer’s case. The carvings are consistent, I’d say with a fair degree of confidence that they were made by the same person, probably with the same sharp instrument.’
The small ounce of hope Hunter had of a copycat killer was crushed. The photographs brought back a hurricane of memories.
This was the first time Garcia had seen any of the forensic evidence of the original Crucifix Killer’s case. He could easily see the similarities in all the photographs.
‘Can you tell us anything about the skinning of her face?’ Garcia asked.
‘Yes, this is where the killer shows us how good he really is, it’s surgically precise – the way the skin had been cut away, the way the lean tissue and ligaments had been left intact – fantastic work. He must’ve spent a fair amount of time operating on her face. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if whoever did this was a surgeon or something along those lines. But then again, we knew that much about the Crucifix Killer.’
‘What do you mean?’ Garcia looked confused.
‘The Crucifix Killer always removed a body part from his victims – an eye, a finger, an ear – human trophies in a way,’ Hunter explained. ‘It’s one of his signatures, together with the carving on the back of the neck and the stripping of the victim. According to the doctor, the removal of the body parts was always surgically precise, and apparently they had always been done while the victims were still alive.’
‘It seems the killer’s got better at it,’ Doctor Winston concluded.
‘Why would the killer take a part of a victim’s body?’ Garcia asked.
‘To remind him of the victim,’ Hunter replied. ‘It’s quite common when it comes to serial killers. Their victims mean a lot to them. Most of the time the killer feels there’s some sort of bond between him and the victim. Some killers prefer to take a piece of clothing, usually an intimate piece of clothing. Some go for a body part.’
Garcia studied the photographs. ‘I’m assuming the original investigation checked for doctors as probable suspects.’
‘And medical students, nurses, and so on and so forth. It didn’t lead us to anyone,’ Hunter answered.
Garcia moved back towards the body. ‘You said there are no birthmarks, no tattoos. Is there anything that can help us identify the body?’
‘We can try her face.’
Garcia stared at Doctor Winston sullenly. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘This is the twenty-first century, detective,’ the doctor said, his mouth twisted in what might’ve been a trace of a smile. ‘Computers can perform miracles nowadays. They’ve already been working on it upstairs for an hour and we shall have some sort of computer image ready any minute now. If we’re lucky you can pick it up on your way out.’
‘Judging by how much effort she put into her appearance I’d say she was either a model or an aspiring actress,’ Hunter suggested.
‘Or a high-class hooker, perhaps even a porn actress. They can make a lot of money you know,’ Garcia complemented Hunter’s suggestion.
‘How do you know? Dated a porn star recently, have you?’ Hunter smiled.
‘Um . . . it’s common knowledge.’
‘Of course it is. So who’s your favorite star?’
‘I’m married.’
‘Oh yeah. That makes a difference, I forgot. Married men don’t watch porn. Let me guess. You probably like Briana Banks.’
‘She
‘You walked straight into that one,’ Doctor Winston said padding him on the back.
Both detectives regarded the body in front of them for a while. She looked different now. Her skin seemed rubbery and paler and her mutilated face looked like a mask – a well-made-up actress ready to shoot a horror scene in some Hollywood production – an image of almost pure evil.
‘We’d better go check up on that computer image, doc, or is there anything else you’d like to show us?’
‘No, Robert, I’m afraid there isn’t much else I can tell you about her.’
‘Are you keeping her in this room?’
‘As requested by your captain . . . yes, we have our own cooling chamber in here. Let’s just hope we don’t have to fill it up with any more bodies.’
Hunter and Garcia buzzed themselves out of the autopsy room and walked up to the computer tech lab in silence.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Garcia asked.
‘Shoot.’
‘How come no one believed you when you told them that Mike Farloe wasn’t the Crucifix Killer?’
‘I never said that. In the end Captain Bolter and my ex-partner, Scott, saw my reasoning. But with all the evidence found in Farloe’s car, coupled up with him confessing to the murders, there wasn’t much we could do. It was in the DA’s hands. And they didn’t wanna hear any reasoning.’ Hunter looked down debating if he should carry on. ‘Maybe the truth is that we all wanted it to end,’ he finally said. ‘It had gone on for too long. Deep inside I secretly wished Farloe was the real killer. And now the nightmare is back.’
For Garcia the nightmare was just starting. For Hunter this was the worst kind, a recurring one.
Twelve
Excluding children’s and psychiatric, there were eight hospitals in total in the central Los Angeles area, but
