The Crucifix Killer

behind held her head back while the camera zoomed in on her dying eyes. Laughs were the only sound track.

‘Holy shit . . . What the hell?’ Martin yelled hysterically.

Duane had now jumped to his feet as well. His horrified eyes were glued to the screen.

‘It’s a snuff movie? You got me a fucking snuff movie?’ Martin turned to face Duane.

‘I didn’t know,’ he replied, taking a step back. ‘They told me it was extreme BDSM, man,’ he said, feeling faint, his voice unsteady.

‘Extreme?’ Martin shouted. ‘She’s dead, Duane. Murdered right in front of our eyes. Yeah I’d say that qualifies as fucking extreme.’ Martin brought his shivering hands up to his face rubbing it as if trying to wipe away what he’d just seen. ‘Who are they?’

‘What?’ Duane looked confused.

‘You just said they told you it was extreme BDSM, who the hell are they? Who did you get this from?’

‘Just some contacts I have. You know the kind of people you can score drugs or girls from.’

‘Not my kind of people,’ Martin shouted nervously and walked over to the DVD player and retrieved the disk. His hands still shaking.

‘Why are you so fucking messed up about it anyway, man, it’s got nothing to do with us. Let’s just get rid of the disk and forget about it.’

‘I can’t, Duane.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I know who she is.’

Thirty-Seven

‘What? What do you mean you’ve seen it before? Where? When?’ Hunter’s voice rose a few decibels above normal.

‘I’m not sure, maybe three, four months ago,’ Isabella said casually. ‘Aren’t you gonna eat your breakfast?’

Hunter’s appetite had vanished. ‘Forget the breakfast. I need to know where you’ve seen this symbol before. I need to know when and I need to know now.’ He held her by the arms.

Isabella stared at him with fear in her eyes. ‘Robert, you’re scaring me. What the hell’s going on?’ She shifted her body trying to free herself from his grip.

Hunter let go of her realizing how crazy his actions looked. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, lifting his hands.

She stepped away from him as if moving away from a stranger. ‘What’s this all about? What the hell’s gotten into you?’ she asked scared.

Hunter paused and ran his fingers through his hair, taking his time to calm down. Isabella stood waiting for a reasonable explanation.

‘Please have a seat and I’ll explain it to you.’

‘I’m fine standing, thanks.’

Hunter took a deep breath. ‘I lied about the symbol meaning nothing at all.’

‘Yeah, I guessed that.’

Hunter proceeded to tell Isabella about the significance of the double-crucifix, being very careful to reveal only what he deemed necessary. He told her about the two latest killings, but none of the previous murders were mentioned. The symbol, according to Hunter, had been drawn into a piece of paper found at the scene of both crimes. There was no mention of it being carved into the victim’s flesh.

Isabella stood quiet and motionless for a minute, her eyes fixed on Hunter. When she spoke, her voice was unsteady.

‘So you’re talking about a serial killer? I could’ve been face to face with a serial killer?’

‘Not necessarily,’ he tried to calm her down. ‘The textbook definition of a serial killer is – “someone that kills three or more people in three or more separate events.” We’ve only had two murders so far,’ he lied again.

‘That doesn’t make him less of a psychopath.’

Hunter agreed but said nothing. ‘Isabella, I need you to tell me about that symbol. Where did you see it?’ He gently held her shaking hands.

‘I’m not sure. I’m too nervous to remember now.’

‘Please try.’

She let go of his hands and massaged her closed eyelids for a moment. ‘About two or three months ago,’ she finally said. ‘I was having a drink with a friend of mine in some bar.’ She reopened her eyes.

‘Can you remember which bar?’ Hunter asked.

A shake of the head.

‘It’s OK. We can come back to it later. What happened next?’

‘We were sitting at the bar and my friend had to go to the ladies’ room.’

‘So you were by yourself?’

‘For a minute or two, yes.’

‘Carry on.’

‘This guy approached me and asked me if he could buy me a drink.’

‘What did he look like, can you remember?’

She looked at the floor for a few seconds. ‘He was very tall, maybe six two, six three. Shaved head, looked quite strong and fit and his eyes . . .’ She paused for an instant.

‘What about his eyes?’

‘They seemed different.’

‘Different how?’

‘Cold . . . no emotion . . . scary even, like he hated me from the moment he saw me.’

‘What color were they?’

‘Green. I remember that very well.’

‘Contact lenses maybe?’

‘No, I don’t think so. They looked natural.’

‘OK, what did you say after he offered to buy you a drink?’

‘I said no thanks, I already had a drink.’

‘How about the symbol?’

‘He leant forward placing both of his arms on the bar and asked me if I was sure. He said something about it being just a friendly drink. Anyway, both of his sleeves hitched up revealing his wrists, and that’s when I saw them, he had it tattooed on both of them.’

‘On both of his wrists?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure it was the same symbol?’ Hunter showed her his rough sketch again.

‘Yeah, it was just like that. I even asked him about it.’

‘What did you ask him?’

‘I asked if the tattoos had something to do with the military. You know, sometimes Marines or army people like to brand themselves with special emblems, as if reaffirming their devotion.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He was very evasive. He quickly pulled his sleeves back down and said they were nothing, just something personal.’

‘Can you remember anything else?’

‘The tattoos didn’t look like they were done by a professional. They looked rough, like the ones you do yourself using a needle and some ink.’