The Crucifix Killer

them not family at all. Without a hint he would’ve never found it. Without D-King he would’ve never thought of it.

Robert started pacing the room once again and stopped in front of Garcia’s desk. A sudden overwhelming sadness brought a tight knot to his throat. His partner was lying in hospital in a semi-coma and there was nothing he could do. He remembered Anna’s sad eyes. How she sat next to her husband’s bed waiting for a sign of life. She loved him more than anything. There’s no love stronger than family love, Hunter thought and then stopped dead. The hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

‘Holy shit!’

He rushed back to his computer and for the next hour he devoured every result page he came across with astounding eagerness and surprise. Slowly, everything was falling into place.

The arrest files . . . the tattoos, he remembered. A few minutes later, after searching the RHD’s own database, he was staring at the arrest records from the old case.

‘This can’t be . . .’ he stuttered the words catatonically. A mixture of excitement and fear sucked the heat out of his body. Suddenly, he remembered what he’d seen just a few weeks ago and his stomach knotted. ‘How blind have I been?’ he murmured before turning to his computer for one last search. A name that could bring everything together. It took him less than a minute to find it.

‘I had it right in front of me,’ he whispered, staring blankly at his computer screen. ‘I had the answer right in front of me.’

He needed one final confirmation and it had to come from the San Francisco Police Department. After speaking to Lieutenant Morris from the SFPD over the phone he waited impatiently for Morris to fax him an arrest file. When the file came through half an hour later Hunter stared at it soundless. His mind battling reality. It was an old photograph, but there was no doubt in his mind – he knew who that person was.

Proof. That’s what every investigation comes down to and Hunter had none. There was no way he could link the person on that photograph to any of the Crucifix Killings and he knew it. No matter how sure he was, without proof he had nothing. He checked his watch one more time before reaching for the phone and placing one last call.

Sixty-Six

Hunter drove slowly, taking no notice as the other drivers sped past him shouting profanities out of their windows.

He parked in front of his apartment building and rested his head on the steering wheel for a moment. His headache, if anything, had worsened and he knew tablets would have no effect. Before leaving the car he checked his cell phone for missed calls or messages. A futile exercise as he was sure he didn’t have any. He’d left instructions with everyone at the hospital that he should be informed the second Garcia regained consciousness, but something told him that wouldn’t happen tonight.

He stepped into his empty apartment and closed the door behind him, resting his throbbing body against it. The devastating solitude of his living room saddened him even further.

With his brain half numb he slowly walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge and stared at it blankly for a few seconds. His body should be screaming for food as he hadn’t eaten anything all day, but he didn’t feel at all hungry. In reality he was dying for a shower. It would help relax his tense muscles, but that would have to come second. His primary need was for a double Scotch.

He struggled to make a decision, staring at the bottles in his small bar for a few seconds. He smiled as he decided to go for something strong – Aberlour thirty years. He filled his glass halfway and opted for no ice this time. ‘The stronger the better,’ he told himself, collapsing into his beat-up sofa. The effect of the strong liquid as it touched his lips was invigorating. It burned against the small cuts that surrounded his mouth, but he welcomed the sensation – enjoyable pain.

He rested his head against the sofa backrest, but forced himself not to close his eyes. He feared the images that hid behind his eyelids. He spent a couple of minutes staring at the ceiling, allowing the sturdy taste of his single malt to numb his tongue and mouth. Soon he knew it would numb his entire body.

He got up and walked to the window. Outside, the street looked quiet. He turned to face the empty living room once again. His body was slowly relaxing. He had another sip of his whisky and checked his cell phone once again pressing a few keys to make sure it was working OK.

In the kitchen he placed his glass on the table and sat down. Leaning back on the uncomfortable wooden chair he rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. As he did so, he heard a faint creaking sound coming from the corridor that led to his room. A shiver of fear raced through his body with extraordinary speed. Someone was there.

Hunter jumped to his feet and immediately felt the kitchen spinning around him. His legs started losing their strength and he held on to the worktop for balance. As confusion set in, his eyes rested on the empty whisky glass on the table. Drugged.

Before he collapsed onto the kitchen floor his unfocused eyes registered a dark figure moving towards him.

Sixty-Seven

Slowly he opened his eyes, but it made no difference. The darkness was unconditional. He felt dizzy and very light-headed. Whatever drug he’d taken with his whisky had knocked him out in minutes. The first thing he realized was that he was sitting down, bound to some sort of uncomfortable chair. His hands were tied behind his back, his ankles tied to the chair’s legs. He tried breaking free but his efforts were in vain. His body hurt even more now but he was sure he had no broken bones – at least not yet. He felt thirsty – very thirsty.

Hunter had no idea how long he’d been out. Slowly and painfully his memory began to fill him in on what had happened. He tried to calm himself down and a familiar feeling came over him. He looked around in darkness and even though he couldn’t see, he knew where he was. He’d never left his apartment. He was sitting in his living room.

He tried moving again, but his hands and legs had been bound too tight. He made an effort to scream but his voice barely made a sound. It surprised him how weak he felt. Suddenly he sensed a chilling presence behind him.

‘I can hear you’re awake.’

The same robotic voice that had tormented him for over three years echoed through the room, catching him by surprise and startling him stiff. It came from behind him, some sort of speaker set up. Hunter felt a strange sensation run through him. He was finally in the presence of the killer. The Crucifix Killer.

Hunter tried turning, rotating his neck as far as it would go, but darkness prevented him from seeing his assailant.

‘Don’t rush it, Robert. This is the final chapter. For you at least. It’ll all end tonight. Right here. You’re the last one.’

The last one. Hunter’s findings in his office were now confirmed. This had all been about revenge.

He suddenly heard the sound of metal against metal. Surgical instruments he presumed. Instinctively his body