‘Yes,’ Father Malcolm said after several unsettling seconds. ‘After Fabian’s mother passed away, his faith was unbalanced.’
‘Were they close?’
‘He tried.’
‘Tried?’
‘Fabian never knew his father. His mother brought him up on her own, but she was a bitter woman. She expected her only son to become a lawyer or a doctor or something that would make him rich so he could pay her back.’
Hunter shifted on his seat.
The priest looked down at his clasped hands. ‘She had problems. She battled with alcoholism for many years. Even though she resented him for becoming a priest, he loved her. He prayed for her every day, for as long as I can remember. When she got ill, it all happened very fast. She was taken into hospital and within a week she passed away. He took it very badly.’
‘How badly?’
‘He was angry.’ Father Malcolm bit his lip and rethought his words. ‘No, I think the correct word would be
discontent
. He was discontent with God. He hoped that after so many years praying for the same thing, God would’ve listened. He kept on saying he never asked for a miracle. He only wanted God to give his mother a fighting chance. But instead, God took her away.’
Hunter sat motionless battling with his own memories. His eyes were fixed on the priest but unfocused. ‘
I know exactly how he felt
.’
Father Malcolm noticed pain in Hunter’s expression and leaned forward. ‘Can I ask you something, detective?’
‘Of course.’
‘Is it true what the papers said? About Fabian being decapitated? About the dog’s head?’
‘Yes.’
The priest let out a deep sigh. ‘You probably already know that Saint Fabian, who Father Fabian got his pseudonym from, was beheaded.’
Hunter nodded.
‘Do you think there’s a relation?’
‘It’s a possibility.’ Hunter leaned back again. ‘What do you think, father? Do you think the killer wanted Father Fabian to die the same way Saint Fabian did?’
The priest stood up and approached the bookcase next to his desk. ‘In years gone by, a great number of people who were misunderstood were arrested and tortured before being sentenced to death,’ he said, reaching for a book on the top shelf. ‘For centuries, most death sentences in the Western world meant decapitation.’
Hunter considered this. ‘So if Father Fabian had chosen any other saint’s name, death by decapitation would’ve probably matched the saint’s death anyway,’ he concluded.
A slow nod.
‘How about a dog’s head? Does it mean anything to you, or to the Catholic faith?’
The priest took a deep breath. ‘The devil,’ he replied. As he spoke a cold draft entered the room. Hunter instinctively pulled the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck.
Father Malcolm returned to his seat. ‘Without being insolent, detective, I think that maybe you’re going down the wrong path.’
‘How’s that, father?’ Hunter asked, meeting the priest’s eyes.
‘I believe that this has been an aggression against the Catholic Church. Someone who wants to hurt the Church as a whole, not an individual priest. Fabian was a tragic casualty. It could’ve been any of us. The killer could’ve chosen any of our churches for his act of anger.’ He paused as his next words worried him. ‘And something tells me he will kill again. Maybe he already has.’ The priest’s tone caused the tiny hairs on Hunter’s arms to rise.
Amanda Reilly felt incredibly cold and thirsty. Her head thumped with such ferocity that she thought her temples would explode. As she tried to move she realized she was tied down. Her wrists had been bound to the arms and her ankles to the legs of an uncomfortable metal armchair – so tight the wires were cutting into her skin.
Her eyelids felt heavy and sticky. As far as she could tell she wasn’t blindfolded, but something was keeping her from opening her eyes. She tried to scream but her lips wouldn’t come apart. There was a bitter and sickening taste in her mouth. Instinctively, she pushed her tongue against her lips and felt a rigid, thin layer of something unidentified between them. She tried forcing her mouth open and felt the tender skin on her lips start to tear.
Oh my God!
Shivering, she finally understood what’d happened.
Her mouth had been super-glued shut.
Panic took over and she jerked her body violently from side to side, kicking out, trying to free herself. Blood started dripping from where the wires had cut into her wrists and ankles.
The chair didn’t budge. It was either too heavy or it had been nailed to the floor. Her screams, muffled by her tightly shut lips, sounded like animal grunts.
An uncontrollable shudder came over her body, and she fought to keep her teeth from chattering.
Tears sprang in the corners of her closed eyes, forced their way through and started rolling down her face, washing away some of the sticky substance that had been smothered over her eyelids. She felt them coming unstuck. Very slowly, she managed to get them open. They stung as if burned by fire, forcing her into a blinking frenzy.
It took several minutes for the pain to subside and for her eyes to regain some focus. They were puffy and their whites had turned crimson. At first everything was blurred, but the candlelit room looked familiar. She recognized some of the furniture, but where from?
The thumping in her head had intensified, and her muddied thoughts weren’t making any sense. She took deep, steady breaths and forced herself to concentrate on her heartbeat. Her memory slowly started putting together images of what had happened.
She convulsed with fear as she finally remembered. The blurred image in front of her was that of the immense river rock fireplace in one of the properties on her roster.
She’d brought a prospective buyer here for a viewing.
What was his name?
‘How’s the head, Mandy?’ The voice that came from behind startled her rigid. Mature and firm like an army sergeant. ‘The thumping will go away soon enough.’
She started shivering again.
The focus in her eyes was almost back to normal. Amanda looked down and finally realized why she felt so cold. She was naked.
A tall figure stepped out from behind her and into her line of vision. It was the same man she’d brought to the house for a viewing, but she still couldn’t remember his name. He was dressed differently, though. Instead of the long overcoat and the professional tailored suit, he was wearing tight-fitting black sports clothes. His hands were still gloved, and his hair was now hidden under a knitted hat.
Once again she fought her restraints, franticly twisting her body and trying to kick her legs.
He calmly watched her in silence for a few minutes until she realized that her efforts were pointless.
‘Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be able to free yourself,’ he explained as he started pacing in front of her.
‘
Oh please. Why are you doing this to me?
’ She said the words in her mouth, but all that came out was an oscillating humming sound.
With his lips compressed tightly together and shaking his head from side to side, he mimicked the sound back to her before laughing.
‘If you wanna speak to me, you’re gonna have to try harder. C’mon, you can do it. Open your mouth.’
She stared at him, paralyzed. Her fear so intense she thought she would faint.
He bent down, his face just a few inches from hers.
‘OPEN YOUR MOUTH.’
The shout was so loud the air from his breath blew her hair away from her forehead.
Amanda lost control. She’d gone way beyond terrified. Every hair on her body was standing on end when she wet herself.
‘Oh, that’s disgusting,’ he said, standing up again and taking a step back from the puddle quickly forming on the floor under her chair.
‘Maybe I can help you open your mouth.’ He picked something up from the fireplace mantelpiece. ‘What do you say? Do you wanna give it a try?’
He showed her a glistening silver letter opener.
Amanda’s eyes widened in terror, and she jerked her head back as far as it would go. A new, high-pitched shriek came from her sealed lips.
‘It might rip your lips from your mouth, but, hey, who cares, right? Just nod and I’ll start tearing.’
Amanda shook her head fiercely.
‘Or maybe I should use this down there.’ He pointed to her groin. ‘It might stop you from being a dirty bitch and wetting the floor again. What do you say?’ He slowly ran his tongue along the length of the shining blade. ‘Shall I stick this inside you? I promise I’ll make you enjoy it first.’
Amanda’s body wrenched forward violently, and she felt the few contents of her stomach come rushing through her throat and into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she started to choke.
‘Did you just vomit into your mouth?’ he shouted, rushing towards her. ‘You filthy little whore.’ He pressed his hands against both of her cheeks, pushing her head back. ‘Swallow it back down. Swallow it back down, now,’ he ordered, applying more pressure to her cheeks.
Amanda tried shaking her head, but her attacker had it firmly between his hands in a tight vice-grip.
‘SWALLOW IT BACK DOWN,’ he shouted again.
She coughed, but the air pressure had nowhere to go except up through her nose. Bloody mucus spurted out of it, spraying the man’s gloves and sleeves.
‘You bitch,’ he said, massaging her throat. ‘You’re not gonna die on me like this.’
Amanda hadn’t had any food for several hours. Whatever her stomach had regurgitated into her mouth was little more than a soup spoon full. With her attacker applying pressure to her cheeks and massaging her throat, she finally swallowed her own sick back down.
‘Good girl,’ he said, retrieving a paper tissue from his pocket and attending to her nosebleed. He waited in silence for about five minutes while Amanda sat shivering.
‘I can see you’re cold,’ he finally said, his voice changing. He sounded serene. He stepped closer. ‘I have something to show you.’
From his pocket he pulled an old black and white photograph and held it in front of Amanda’s face.
‘Look at it. Do you remember?’
She was weak, dehydrated and feeling too dizzy to concentrate.
‘C’mon, Mandy.’ He snapped his fingers a couple of times. ‘Pay attention to the photo. Do you remember?’
Still feeling confused, she stared at it with unsteady eyes. Nothing was making sense.
And then she saw it.
‘
It can’t be
.’
‘Welcome to your fear, Mandy,’ he whispered. ‘I know what scares you to death.’
Some say Los Angeles Union Station is America’s last great railway station. Built in 1939 to consolidate passenger terminals from three different railways, the station still serves as a transit hub. Though its exterior is a successful merging of Spanish Mission, Moorish and Streamline Modern architectural styles, Los Angeles Union Station is best enjoyed from inside. It’s been carefully renovated, with original light fixtures, inlaid stone floors and tiled walls.
Beauty aside, the station is a constant hustle of passengers and tourists, but today it seemed busier than normal.
The girl ran as fast as she could, constantly swerving her body to avoid colliding with other commuters. People were coming from all directions, and everyone seemed to be in a hurry. After successfully negotiating her way around a large woman pushing a baby in a pram, she almost ran over a little girl in uniform, who seemed to have detached herself from her parents. By the time she reached the escalator going down to the station’s underground, she was puffing and sweating.
‘Excuse me, please,’ she called in a hurried voice as she squeezed her way through, skipping down the steps.
She saw the doors of the Red Line subway train closing as she stepped onto the platform.
‘Oh no, no!’
The train started to move away.
She dashed towards it, but she knew it was no good.
‘Late again . . . great,’ she whispered. ‘Just what I need.’
Her eyes searched for the noticeboard. At least fifteen minutes before the next Red Line service. Despite the departing train, the platform was still rammed.
Where the hell are all these people going today?
she thought, looking around. Her eyes rested on an empty glass poster box and she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Her long dark brown hair was still neatly tied back in a ponytail, but beads of sweat had formed on her forehead, and her nose looked pink from a combination of the cold outside and her running effort. She desperately needed a makeup retouch.
The main floor was heaving with people. Tourists were noisily walking around, marveling at the many twinkling lights and shining baubles. She hadn’t even noticed the colorful Christmas decorations until now. They reminded her of her hometown and of her parents’ house. Places and people she’d do anything to forget. She checked her watch before making her way towards the ladies’ room at the far end of the hall. No hurry this time. A tall, skinny man carrying a red leather briefcase gave her a malicious smile and her whole body shuddered.