Hopkins. ‘I want you to run a search against the Missing Persons and the Homicide databases.’
‘Damn!’ Hopkins slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘That reminds me. You were right on the money when you suggested starting the missing person’s search for the Monica girl with Pennsylvania.’ He handed Hunter a black and white photograph printout. ‘This is what I got from the Pennsylvania Missing Persons archive.’
Hunter and Garcia analyzed the photo for just a few seconds.
‘Wow,’ Garcia said. ‘With the exception of her hair and that scar on her lips, she hasn’t changed much at all. Unless she’s got an identical twin.’
‘Not the case here,’ Hopkins confirmed, handing them a new sheet of paper.
The girl on the photo was Mollie Woods, born on Christmas Day, seventeen years ago in Huntingdon County, Pennsylvania. She’s been missing for almost four years. Her father, John Woods, reported her missing two days after her mother was run over by a drunk driver. She died instantly. John Woods moved from Huntingdon County to York, still in Pennsylvania, shortly after his wife’s death.
‘I haven’t tried to contact her father yet,’ Hopkins said as Hunter finished reading the report.
‘Don’t. At least not yet,’ he agreed.
Garcia looked concerned. ‘Don’t you think we should? He’s probably worried sick about his daughter. It’s been almost four years.’
‘There’s a reason why she ran away from home.’ Hunter gave Garcia a quick head shake. ‘She’s seventeen. If she wanted to get in touch with her father, she would’ve done it herself. In the interrogation room, I got a feeling she was really scared of something. And it wasn’t just her visions.’
Sixty-Two
The LACDC’s official public opening time is 8:00 a.m. Monday to Friday, but Hunter had no intention of waiting until then. Knowing that he was an early riser, Hunter rang Mike Brindle at around a quarter to seven. The forensics agent was already on his way to the coroner’s, and Hunter met him by the staff entry door at 7:00 a.m. Brindle was surprised by Hunter’s discovery of the two photographs, but he couldn’t hide his disappointment for his team not having found them.
Brindle told Hunter they’d already had a few results from the house in Malibu. The partial print they’d found in one of the rooms upstairs had yielded no matches against the National Fingerprint Database so far. The fibers retrieved from the vacuum cleaner found in the mansion’s utility room were too common to really give them any sort of lead. Dental records confirmed that the skull found in the fireplace belonged to Father Fabian, but the blood used to draw the number four on Amanda Reilly’s back, unlike the blood used on the priest, didn’t come from a pregnant woman.
‘So what have you got?’ Hunter asked.
Brindle handed him the lab report.
Hunter speed-read it and frowned. ‘It’s Father Fabian’s blood?’
Brindle nodded.
Mechanically, Hunter checked the number on the back of the two photographs they found on the fireplace. His thought process went from A to Z in two seconds flat. ‘The woman was number two,’ he said to himself, but Brindle picked up on it.
‘So what’re you thinking?’
Hunter quickly shook his head, as if snapping out of a trance. ‘The killer uses the blood of the previous victim to number his next one.’
Brindle pinched his bottom lip as he thought about it.
Hunter pointed to the woman’s photograph. ‘Number two; this is the pregnant woman whose blood was used to draw the number three on the priest’s chest. I’d bet on it.’
Brindle agreed it made sense. ‘I’ll get the blood used on the back of these photos analyzed straight away,’ he said. ‘You’ll have a result soon.’
Captain Blake was already waiting in Hunter’s office for their nine o’clock meeting when he arrived. Garcia had brought her up to speed on all that’d happened last night, and before he was able to get rid of his jacket there was a knock at the door and they were joined by Hopkins.
‘Do you think this is the real deal or could this killer be messing with us?’ the captain asked calmly, staring at the pictures on the corkboard.
‘Messing with us how?’
‘Giving us two unknown people to run after. I’m sure he’s well aware it will take us time to come up with their identities. Even longer to confirm they’re really dead. By placing these two pictures on the fireplace, he’s tied our hands together. He could be trying to slow us down, throwing us into a completely bogus investigation while he’s free to find his next victim.’
Hunter shook his head. ‘This killer’s actions seem to have more purpose than that. I don’t think he’s interested in diverting us. The reason he gave us the photos of the first two victims is because he wants to make sure we know they were killed by him.’
‘Why?’ Captain Blake sounded irritated. ‘Is he saying we’re not competent enough to find that out on our own?’
‘If for some reason the numbers have washed off the victims, maybe we wouldn’t be able to find out on our own, captain,’ Hunter agreed, to the captain’s surprise. ‘Take the two last victims, for example. The only reason why we know Amanda Reilly was murdered by Father Fabian’s killer is because the killer wanted us to know. Take the numbering away, and her case would’ve been sitting on the desk of two detectives from the Sheriff’s Department in Malibu. At least until the skull found in the fire was processed and we got confirmation it belonged to Father Fabian.’
‘That’s true,’ Garcia agreed, leaning against his desk.
‘We thought Father Fabian was murdered by a ritualistic killer, remember? Everything pointed to it.’ Hunter turned to face the picture board. ‘Amanda Reilly’s murder has a completely different MO. Father Fabian was killed quickly with almost zero pain. One clean strike to the neck and he was dead instantly. Messy, I agree, but nothing indicates he was tortured. Amanda Reilly, on the other hand, was cooked alive. She suffered for hours. Half of her internal organs exploded inside her body, captain.’
Captain Blake grimaced and popped a mint in her mouth.
‘Without the numbering, not even Sherlock Holmes would’ve been able to attribute these two victims to the same killer.’ Hunter cleared his throat before continuing in a calm voice. ‘We’re dealing with a very different type of serial killer.’
‘How so?’ the captain asked.
‘Serial killers very rarely divert from an MO they’re comfortable with. When they do, it’s just a small deviation, mainly a steady progression into something crueler. This killer’s cool and organized enough to totally change his tactics from one victim to another without panicking.’
‘Aren’t serial killers usually after some sort of satisfaction?’ Hopkins asked.
‘Yes.’
‘What satisfaction is this one after?’
Hunter rubbed his face slowly, taking his time. ‘Their fears.’
Sixty-Three
‘Their fears?’ The captain echoed Hunter’s words.
‘You read Garcia’s report on what he found in Father Fabian’s journal, right?’ Hunter asked.
‘The dream thing?’
‘Yeah, the dream thing. It might seem crazy to all of us, but to the priest it was something that scared him
