The Crucifix Killer

*

Hunter arrived at the RHD building at eight o’clock to find Garcia already sitting at his desk. They spent the morning faxing photos to model and acting agencies and trying to gather all the information they could about D- King. Hunter knew from experience never to interrogate anyone unprepared, especially if that someone was a self- proclaimed crime lord.

‘Yeah, it looks like we’re gonna be dealing with one tough sonofabitch here,’ Garcia said, holding the fax he’d just received.

‘I knew that, but what do you have?’

‘As you’ve said before it seems like our guy deals in just about anything you’d like, drugs, guns, prostitution, stolen goods . . .’ Garcia made a movement with his hand indicating that the list went on and on. ‘And you were right when you said he was very slick. He’s been taken to court a few times . . .’

‘Let me guess, walked every time.’

‘Free as a bird.’

‘That figures. Where did that information come from?’

‘The District Attorney’s office.’

‘And that’s all they sent us?’ Hunter arched his eyebrows.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Get back onto them and see if they can send us the whole file. They usually do a very good job of gathering information on the people they’re after.’

‘I’m on it.’ Garcia started searching his desk for the DA’s office number. He knew he had it just a minute ago.

Hunter felt the vibration of the cell phone in his pocket before he heard its sound alert – ‘12:30 call Isabella’.

‘I’ll be right back, gotta make a quick personal call.’ He stepped into the empty corridor and closed the door behind him, leaving Garcia still looking for the DA’s phone number.

He selected Isabella’s number from his phone’s address book, pressed the dial button and heard it ring three times.

‘Hello!’

‘Hi . . . Isabella?’

‘Yes, this is Isabella.’

‘Hi, this is Robert Hunter.’ He couldn’t remember if he’d told her his name or not. ‘We met over the weekend at the Hideout bar.’

‘This past weekend?’ she sounded uncertain.

‘Yeah, I ended up in your apartment. Had to rush out at three in the morning, remember?’

She laughed. ‘Yes, I remember you – teddy-bear underwear man who thought I was a prostitute right?’

Hunter contorted his face as if he’d been punched in the stomach. ‘Yep, that’d be me.’

‘Did you call to apologize again?’ she asked half laughing.

‘Actually I called to ask if you’d like to get together again sometime, maybe lunch . . . or dinner.’ Hunter found it easier to get straight to the point.

‘Well, that’s a big leap. From thinking I was a hooker and rushing off in the middle of the night to asking me out on a date. Surprising.’

‘I guess I’m full of surprises,’ Hunter joked.

‘Aren’t you just?’

‘Look, I acted like a jerk before and I’m sorry. I was half drunk, half asleep and you looked too good to be true.’ Hunter bit his bottom lip and hoped the flattering worked.

‘Was that a compliment or are you telling me that the only attractive women you go to bed with are hookers?’

‘Noooo. Wow, this conversation has gone all wrong.’ Hunter heard her laugh. ‘What do you say we completely erase that first night?’

Several silent seconds went by. ‘OK,’ she finally replied. ‘Give me just a second.’ Hunter heard the faint sound of pages turning. ‘I’ve got a few things coming up, but I could do a quick lunch tomorrow if that’s OK with you.’

‘Lunch tomorrow sounds fine,’ Hunter answered casually. ‘One o’clock OK?’

‘Yeah, that’s perfect.’

‘Since it sounds like you’re on a tight schedule maybe we could meet closer to where you work.’

‘Sure. I work at the University. Do you like Italian food?’

‘Yeah, Italian is tasty.’

‘I guess that’s one way of putting it.’ She giggled. ‘There’s a great little Italian restaurant called Pancetta in Weyburn Avenue, just a block away from the University. How about I meet you there at one o’clock?’

‘Looking forward to it.’ Hunter placed his cell phone back in his pocket. ‘Italian is tasty?’ he said out loud shaking his head. ‘What the hell was I thinking?’

Twenty-One

‘They do have a file on D-King and they said they’d be glad to share it with us on one condition,’ Garcia said as Hunter walked back into the office.

‘And what condition is that?’

‘That we do the same. We tell them whatever we find out about him.’

‘Well, that sounds easy enough.’

‘That’s what I thought, so I told them they had a deal and we’ll be dropping by to collect the file this afternoon.’

‘That’s fine.’

Hunter felt his cell phone vibrate once again followed by its ringtone.

‘Hello, Detective Hunter speaking.’

‘Hello Robert.’ Hunter’s throat knotted and he immediately snapped his fingers twice at his partner to get his attention. Garcia knew exactly who was on the other end of the line.

‘I’m gonna give you a chance to make a difference today.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I’m sure you are. Are you a gambling man, Robert?’

‘Not if I can avoid it.’ Hunter sounded calm.

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone to help you. Maybe your new partner.’

Hunter frowned. ‘How do you know I have a . . .’

The metallic voice cut Hunter short. ‘In about four minutes there will be a greyhound race starting at the Jefferson County Kennel Club. I want you to pick me the winner.’

‘Greyhounds?’

‘That’s right, Robert. I’m putting someone’s life in your hands. You pick the wrong dog and he dies.’

Hunter exchanged a tense and confused look with Garcia.

‘I will call you back twenty seconds before the race starts to get your selection . . . be ready.’

‘Wait!’ but the line had already gone dead.

‘What did he say?’ Garcia demanded anxiously even before Hunter had a chance to close his phone.

‘Do you understand anything about greyhound racing?’ There was a desperate tone in Hunter’s voice.

‘What?’

‘Dog racing . . . do you know anything about it, do you bet?’ he shouted nervously.