‘I like her already,’ Hunter laughed.
‘I’ll arrange dinner at my place sometime.’
Hunter could sense his partner’s anguish. ‘When I got to the sight of the first-ever Crucifix killing, it took me just thirty seconds to be sick,’ Hunter said in a low voice. ‘After so many years as a detective I thought I could handle anything this city could throw at me . . . I was wrong. The nightmares started almost immediately, and they’ve never stopped.’
‘Not even when you thought you had the killer?’
Hunter shook his head. ‘Catching the killer will soothe the pain, but it won’t erase what you’ve seen.’
An uncomfortable silence came between them.
‘On that first killing, one of the first officers to arrive at the scene was a rookie, brand new into the police force, no more than two months,’ Hunter recalled. ‘He didn’t handle it. After months with the police psychologist he ended up quitting the force.’
‘How do you handle it?’ Garcia asked.
‘Day by day, nightmare by nightmare. I fight a day at a time,’ he replied with sad eyes.
Forty-Three
She had to confess she was nervous. Maybe more nervous than she thought she’d be. Becky had spent most of the day with one eye on her computer screen and the other on the clock. She wasn’t sure if it was apprehension or excitement, but the butterflies in her stomach had been flying around since she’d got out of bed this morning. She’d barely been able to concentrate on her work, taking more breaks today than any other day, but today wasn’t like any other day, at least not for Becky.
She’d left her office at the main branch of The Union Bank of California in South Figueroa Street at around 5:30 p.m., not her usual leaving time. As a financial adviser, her job had always demanded a lot from her. It wasn’t unusual for Becky to stay behind until seven or eight in the evening. Today, even her boss had given her some advice in what she should and shouldn’t do, and he was happy to see her leave a little earlier than normal.
Even with traffic as bad as it was, Becky still had enough time to drop by her apartment and grab a quick shower. She also wanted to try out the little black number she’d bought this afternoon during her lunch hour especially for tonight’s occasion. As she thought about her new dress and how she should wear her hair, she found herself feeling anxious again. She turned on the radio and hoped the music would help calm her down.
How difficult could this be? She was sure things hadn’t changed that much since the last time she had a date, but that had been almost five years ago. She could remember it vividly. How could she forget it? The man she’d dated that night had become her husband.
Becky met Ian Tasker through the bank. A charming six-foot-one, curly blond-haired playboy who had just inherited a considerable amount of money after the death of his property millionaire father. An only child, and with his mother having passed away when he was only five years old, he’d become the sole beneficiary of his father’s estate.
Ian had never been very good with money, and if it was up to him, he would’ve probably lost it all in Las Vegas or Atlantic City to the blackjack and roulette tables, but for some reason he’d decided to take his best friend’s advice and invest part of the money.
Ian was completely clueless about finances. He’d never saved a penny, never mind invested it, but his best friend came to his rescue once again and suggested he had a look at The Union Bank of California’s ‘wealth planning service'.
Given the amount of money he intended to invest, the bank was more than happy to assign Rebecca Morris as Ian’s personal financial adviser.
Their relationship had begun in a strictly professional way, but Ian’s financial naivety and charming light-blue eyes had struck a weak spot with Becky. The initial, somewhat subdued attraction was mutual. Ian found the sweet, five-foot-six brunette fascinating. She was funny, attractive, lively, very intelligent and her sense of humor was laser sharp. After only one week, Ian’s main interest had flipped from Becky’s financial expertise to Becky herself. He’d be on the phone to her daily, asking for market tips, financial suggestions, anything really, just for the pleasure of hearing her voice.
Despite Ian Tasker being an undeniable playboy and a self-proclaimed ladies’ man, his arrogance and self- confidence would disappear when Becky was around. She was different from all the other blood-sucking women he’d met. Her interest in his money seemed to be purely professional. It had taken him almost two weeks to gather enough courage to ask her out on their first date.
Becky had been asked out by bank clients many times before, most of them married men, and politely she’d rejected all their invitations. Even though Ian’s playboy ways were far from what she’d envisaged as dating material, she decided to break her own rule – ‘never date a client’.
That night had been as close to perfect as anyone could’ve dreamed of. Ian had chosen a small restaurant by the sea in Venice Beach, and, at first, Becky was unsure what to make of the fact that he’d hired out the entire place for the night. Was that just a trick to impress her or was it a sincere attempt at romanticism? As the night progressed she found herself sucked in, first by his boyish and lively personality, then by the surprising pleasure of his company. There was no doubt Ian loved himself, but he was also very witty, kind and entertaining.
Their first romantic night consequently ignited a string of new ones, and their relationship flourished with every new date. His irreverent manner swept her off her feet and when Ian popped the question live on national television during the interval of a Lakers game, Becky became the happiest woman in Los Angeles.
Against his will, she’d insisted on a prenuptial agreement saying she was in love with him, not his money.
Their marriage picked up from where their dating left off. Everything seemed perfect. Ian was a very attentive and caring husband and to Becky it all felt like a fairy-tale story. For two years Becky did live a dream. The dream of being happy, the dream of being with someone who cares, the dream of being loved. But things were about to take a drastic turn.
Just over two and a half years ago, by sheer bad luck, Ian had found himself in the proverbial wrong place at the wrong time. On his way home from his usual Friday afternoon golf game, Becky had called and asked him to drop by a liquor store to pick up a bottle of red wine.
As he looked through the unimpressive selection he failed to notice the two new customers that had just come in wearing ice-hockey masks. The store he was in had been burgled several times – twice in the last month alone. Its owner had had enough of what he called ‘police incompetence
Ian had finally chosen a bottle of Australian Shiraz when he heard loud shouts coming from the front of the store. At first he discarded it as a complaining customer having an argument with the store owner, but the argument heated up faster than usual. Sneakily he peeked around the aisle. The scene he saw was comically tragic. Both masked men were standing in front of the counter, guns drawn and aimed at the store owner who in turn had his double-barreled shotgun in hand and his aim moving back and forth from one masked man to another.
Instinctively Ian stepped backwards, trying to hide behind a brandy and whisky stand. Not able to contain his nervousness he stepped back too quickly, tripping, colliding with the stand and sending two bottles crashing to the floor. The unexpected noise caught everyone by surprise, spooking the two masked men who opened fire in Ian’s direction.
With both masked men’s attention diverted for a split second, the store owner saw his opportunity and quickly discharged his first shot at the man standing closer to the door. The powerful blast from the shotgun propelled its victim into the air, his head obliterated. Shards of glass from the now-demolished front door flew up like hailstones. Panic took over the second masked man as he saw the decapitated body of his partner hit the floor. Before the store owner had a chance to turn his weapon towards the second masked man, the man squeezed two quick shots in succession, both hitting their target in the stomach.
