‘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.’
‘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 out of his skin for over twenty years. In Amanda Reilly’s case, she was so petrified of fires she wouldn’t have a gas stove in her house.’ Hunter searched his desk for his report on their interview with Tania Riggs and handed it to Captain Blake.
‘Or candles,’ Garcia added.
‘She’s been that scared since she was a teenager.’ Hunter paused, allowing Captain Blake some time to reflect and scan the interview transcript.
‘There’s no way in hell the killer guessed that, right?’
Hunter gave her an almost imperceptible head shake.
‘So how does the killer know about their fears? Does he force them to tell him before killing them?’
‘I don’t know how yet, captain, but he knows about them beforehand,’ Hunter stated.
‘How can you be so sure?’ she challenged.
‘The amount of research and planning he puts into his kills.’ He tapped one of Father Fabian’s photos on the board. ‘To bring Father Fabian’s nightmare to life, the killer needed a sword and a dog’s head.’
‘Which he had with him,’ Garcia cut in.
‘In Malibu,’ Hunter continued, ‘the killer picked the perfect empty house where he wouldn’t be disturbed. A house with an intensity-controlled fireplace so big he could’ve cooked a hippo. This is LA, captain. Our winter sucks. Large fireplaces aren’t exactly a common residential feature in this city.’ He leaned shoulder first against the wall to the right of the photo board. ‘The killer knew them well.’
‘How well?’
‘That’s the money question. Tania Riggs told us that when the killer called to say he’d be late for his appointment with Amanda Reilly, he asked to speak to
Mandy
.’
The captain narrowed her eyes and searched the interview transcript in her hands. ‘That’s an affectionate nickname.’
‘Precisely,’ Hunter agreed. ‘Not your regular customer/client way of addressing each other. A slip of the tongue, maybe.’
‘Have we run the two new pictures against the Missing Persons and the California Homicide databases?’ She addressed Hopkins.
‘I started this morning. Nothing yet,’ he replied shyly, ‘but it’s still early.’
‘Dan Tyler, the owner of the Malibu house, has no idea who the two on the pictures could be. He never saw them before. I ran the pics by him.’ Hunter paused as his gaze locked onto the four faces pinned side by side on the corkboard.
Garcia recognized that look. ‘What have you got, Robert?’
Hunter lifted his hand in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture. ‘If the killer knew the victims well . . .’ He let his words float in the air for a moment.
‘There’s a chance they knew each other,’ Garcia deducted.
‘I think there’s a good possibility,’ Hunter confirmed.
‘But Amanda wouldn’t have known Father Fabian from the Seven Saints church,’ Garcia continued.
‘Why not?’ Captain Blake questioned.
‘Tania Riggs said Amanda wasn’t religious at all. She didn’t even believe in God. If she knew Father Fabian from somewhere, it wasn’t from his church.’
‘And that knowledge can save us some time,’ Hunter said.
‘How’s that?’
‘From what we found out so far, Father Fabian was some sort of recluse,’ Hunter clarified. ‘He lived for the church and its community, but that was all. His social life outside the Catholic Church was nonexistent.’
‘Yeah, so?’ The captain deposited the report back on Hunter’s desk.
‘So we know Amanda Reilly didn’t go to church. It will be easy to find out if she was a charitable person, linked to any of the charities Father Fabian was involved with.’ He tilted his head in Hopkins’s direction, who made a mental note of finding that out. ‘If not, then when would they have met?’
Nobody answered.
‘They didn’t live in the same part of town; they didn’t shop in the same stores,’ Hunter carried on. ‘I’m certain Father Fabian never rented or bought a house from Reilly’s real estate agency. Their paths had no reason to have crossed other than by extreme coincidence.’
‘So if they knew each other, they must’ve met a long time ago.’ The captain finally picked up on what Hunter was getting at.
He turned to Hopkins. ‘Find everything you can about Amanda Reilly and Brett Stewart Nichols.’
‘Who?’
‘Brett Stewart Nichols was Father Fabian’s real name,’ Garcia explained.
‘Find out where they lived, where they went to school, anything you can. Starting from when they were teenagers.’
‘I’m on it.’
Hunter’s cell phone rang. He returned to his desk and retrieved it from his jacket pocket – unknown caller. ‘Detective Hunter.’ The conversation was hurried and hushed. When he disconnected, Hunter had a surprised look on his face.
‘What’s wrong?’ Garcia asked.
‘I gotta go.’ He reached for his jacket.
‘Go where?’
But Hunter was already halfway down the corridor.
Hunter exited Parker Center, the eight-story building that housed the RHD offices in North Los Angeles Street, and turned left towards the large parking lot, Garcia right behind him. Before reaching the cars, though, he turned right in the direction of East First Street.
‘Where’re you going?’ Garcia asked, his car keys at the ready. ‘The car is right over there.’ He pointed to his spotlessly clean metallic-blue Honda Civic parked at the north end of the lot.
Hunter disregarded the question and hurried his step, crossing to the other side of the road. Garcia had to wait for a gap in traffic before dashing across to join his partner.
‘Are we going somewhere in particular or are we just playing follow the leader here?’
‘Starbucks.’
‘You mysteriously rushed out of the office to get a coffee?’ Garcia joked, waiting for the real answer.
‘We’re meeting someone,’ Hunter said as they turned the corner.
There were a few dark clouds hovering over them; though the unmistakable smell of wet soil filled the air, rain hadn’t started yet. A crisp cold wind made sure that the many tables in the European-style square that fronted the coffee shop were empty. All but one. Garcia spotted her first.
‘Is that the Monica or Mollie girl?’
Hunter nodded. ‘She was the one who called me a minute ago,’ he explained.
Garcia slowed his step. ‘Shouldn’t we have told the captain?’ he asked, uncertain. ‘Doesn’t she want this to go by the book?’
Hunter nodded but didn’t break stride.
‘How’s this telling the captain?’ Garcia whispered before rushing after Hunter.
They approached the small table at the far end of the square. The brunette girl didn’t notice them until they were right beside her.
‘Hello,’ Hunter said in a kind voice, offering her his warmest smile.
She looked up and both detectives did a double take. Her brown hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail. Her delicate makeup expertly highlighted her impressive brown eyes, adding maturity and a charming sparkle to her face that wasn’t there the first time they met. The scar on her fleshy lips was barely noticeable. Her shabby clothes were also gone, substituted by a white T-shirt with a cropped black jacket, faded blue jeans and black cowboy boots. She looked totally different.
‘Thanks for calling. I really appreciate you getting in contact with us again.’
She returned the smile, but hers had a nervous edge to it. Hunter noticed that the cup of coffee on the table was empty. ‘Let me get you another one,’ he offered. ‘What’re you having?’
‘Hot chocolate.’
‘I’ll have an espresso,’ Hunter said, facing Garcia, who hesitated for a moment before shaking his head and making towards the shop.
Hunter took the seat across the table from the girl and zipped up his jacket. ‘Aren’t you a little cold sitting out here?’
She shook her head.
Hunter crossed his arms over his chest in a tight hug. ‘I’m freezing.’
She pulled a face and he cringed.
‘Wow, I just sounded like a big girl then, didn’t I?’ He chuckled. ‘That’s what you get when you live in a hot place all your life. As soon as the temperature drops under fifty-nine, we’re covering ourselves with the thickest coats we can find.’
Garcia returned with the coffees and the hot chocolate. ‘Are you sure you wanna stay out here?’ He shuddered, nodding towards the coffee shop. ‘It’s nice and warm in there.’
‘See what I mean?’ Hunter smiled.
‘Did I say something funny?’ he asked, handing the girl her drink.
‘Carlos here was born in Brazil. He moved to LA when he was just a kid. This is arctic temperature for him.’ Hunter tried to break the tension.