The Crucifix Killer (40 page)

‘I’m saying it now.’

‘I don’t know about that man. I told you what I know, that was the deal. That’s worth the bags right?’

‘If you want the bags, you’ve gotta take me there.’

‘That ain’t fair, man, that wasn’t the deal.’

‘I’m changing the deal,’ Jerome said firmly.

Daryl knew he had no choice. He needed a hit – badly. ‘OK, man, but if those motherfuckers are there, I’m staying the fuck in the car.’

‘I just wanna see where it is.’

Darkness was absolute and wakening had come very slowly. The residue effect from the drug still lingered in his aching body. A throbbing invaded his head, reaching down into his neck and shoulder blades and even the smallest of movements felt like agony. He was trying to come to terms with what had happened and where he was, but his memory was still fuzzy.

Confusion reigned for several minutes before details started to emerge.

He remembered the store, the attractive blond shop assistant, choosing a bottle of wine and a bouquet of roses for Anna. Anna . . . he hadn’t called her to let her know he’d be coming home earlier than usual. She wouldn’t be expecting him.

He remembered someone’s dark reflection on his car window, but not being able to turn around quick enough, the sharp pain on his neck and then nothing.

Squinting in the darkness he tried to understand where he was but nothing made any sense. The air was humid and foul with a fetid odor.

He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He tried looking at his watch, but he couldn’t make out its hands.

‘Hello!’ He tried calling out. His voice was too feeble. ‘Hello!’ He tried once again and heard the sound reverberate off the walls. As he struggled to sit up he felt something grab at his right ankle. He tried to pull clear, but whatever it was it just snapped taut. He ran his fingers over it.

A chain.

A very thick chain attached to an iron ring on a brick wall. He tried pulling it as hard as he could to no avail.

‘Hello, is anyone there?’

Silence.

He took a deep breath trying to contain his nervousness. He needed to stay calm and think clearly.

What’d happened? Someone had attacked me, but why?

His gun was gone, but his wallet and detective badge were still with him. Suddenly the realization of who could’ve taken him made him shiver.

The killer – the Crucifix Killer.

If he was right, he knew he was as good as dead. No one would ever find him until the killer was done with him.

He closed his eyes and thought of Anna.

He’d never be able to tell her how much he really loved her, how much he would miss her. He wished he’d given her a better life. A life of not having to wait up wondering if her husband would come home or not. A life that wouldn’t have required her to play second best to his job.

‘Get a grip Carlos, you ain’t dead yet,’ he whispered to himself.

He needed to identify his surroundings, to understand where he was. He reached for the chain around his ankle once again and ran his finger over it to find out how much movement he had. Standing up for the first time he realized how weak his legs felt. He quickly grabbed hold of the wall closest to him. His legs ached with thousands of pinpricks. He stood there for a long moment waiting for the blood to resume its normal flow.

With his hands against the wall he started moving to his left. The wall bricks felt moist but solid. He managed to move only about five feet before he reached the next wall. He carried on moving left, but before he reached the end the chain on his ankle held him to a stop. He extended his arm and touched the third wall. Garcia turned and walked in the opposite direction. He reached what felt like a heavy wooden door. He pounded on it with his clenched fists but it produced nothing but muffled thuds. Wherever he was, it was certainly a very solid prison.

He started walking back to his starting point when his foot kicked something. He stumbled back on instinct and waited, but nothing else happened. He crouched down and felt for the object cautiously. He touched it with his fingers – a plastic bottle full of liquid.

He undid the lid and brought the bottle up to his nose. It smelled of nothing. He dipped his right index finger into it. The liquid felt light like water and that brought on the realization of how thirsty he felt. Warily he brought his finger up to his mouth and touched the tip of his tongue – no taste, just like water.

Maybe the killer didn’t want him dead, at least not yet. It wasn’t unheard of, killers keeping their victims alive for a period of time before killing them. If Garcia was to stand a chance in any kind of struggle against this killer, he needed all the strength he could muster. He dipped his finger into the bottle one more time and brought it back to his mouth. He was certain – it was water. Slowly he moved the bottle up to his lips and had a sip. He kept the liquid moving around in his mouth without swallowing it for a while, testing for any abnormal taste. He got none. Finally he let the liquid run down to his throat and it felt like heaven.

He waited about two minutes for any kind of stomach reaction but he got nothing. He quickly gulped down three or four mouthfuls. The water wasn’t cold, but it filled him with life.

He replaced the lid and sat facing the wooden door with the water bottle between his legs. That door was the only way in or out of the room and he hoped that sooner rather than later it would open. He needed a plan, but he had no time to hatch one.

Fifteen minutes later he started feeling drowsy. He slapped his face vigorously with both hands trying to keep himself awake, but it made no difference. Feeling faint, he reached for the water bottle and threw it against the wooden door. He knew what he’d done. He had willingly drugged himself.

Hunter got up at five o’clock after another troublesome night. He’d dozed off in uneven intervals and never for more than twenty minutes at a time. The double Scotch had helped but not enough. He sat in the kitchen nursing his early morning headache with a glass of orange juice and a couple of strong painkillers.

He was hoping for an early start, but not 5 a.m. He wanted to obtain at least one more patients’ list before meeting up with Garcia back at the RHD. The cross-referencing and picture search from last night had yielded no results, but there were still several hospitals and physiotherapy clinics to go and Hunter was trying to stay positive.

He’d figured he’d be doing a fair amount of walking today and that gave him the perfect opportunity to wear his new shoes in. They did feel a little on the tight side as he walked around in his living room, but he knew that one or two days walking around LA would definitely do the trick.

The visit to the next hospital on his list went as slowly as the ones from the day before. Another cramped little room, another filing system that seemed to need a cryptographer to get through it. ‘Why do hospitals have computers if no one knows how to use them?’ he cursed under his breath as he finally managed to get the list of patients he needed just in time to make it back to the RHD.

Hunter didn’t pay much attention to the fact that Garcia wasn’t at his desk when he walked in at a quarter past ten. He gathered his partner was probably downstairs running through the daily report with Captain Bolter.

He dropped the envelope with the new patients’ list on his desk and stared at the picture-covered corkboard for a minute. What he needed was a cup of Brazilian coffee before going downstairs. He noticed that Garcia hadn’t prepared it yet. Strange, he thought as it was always one of the first things his partner would do as soon as he walked through the door.

Hunter brewed the coffee himself.

‘Are those new shoes?’ Detective Lucas said as Hunter walked onto the detectives’ floor.

Hunter paid no attention to Lucas’s sarcasm.

Most of the other detectives lifted their eyes from their computer screens to have a look.

‘They are new, aren’t they, you big spender?’ Lucas insisted.

‘I buy a new pair of shoes every ten years and you’re giving me heat?’ Hunter answered with disdain.

Before Lucas could hit back, Hunter’s cell phone rang.

‘Hello, Detective Hunter speaking.’

‘
Hello, Robert, I have a surprise for you. Have you heard from your partner lately?
’

59, 58, 57 . . . Hunter’s eyes were fixed on the digital display just above Garcia’s head. His heart pounded against his chest like a sledgehammer. Despite the basement room feeling like a sauna, Hunter felt cold. A freezing cold that came from inside making him shiver.

Choose a color . . . any color, he thought. Black, white, blue or red. The colors flashed in front of his eyes like a psychedelic film. He looked at Garcia nailed to the cross. Blood dripping down his face from the barbed-wire crown that had been rammed into his head.

‘
This is a simple game
,’ as the metallic voice from the tape recorder had explained. Pick the correct color and the door on the bulletproof Perspex cage will open. Hunter would be able to get to Garcia and get the hell out of that place. Pick the wrong color and an uninterrupted high-voltage current will be sent directly to the crown on Garcia’s head. If that wasn’t sadistic enough, explosives placed behind the cage would detonate, blowing the whole room to high heaven if the monitor reading Garcia’s heartbeat displayed a flatline.

Garcia seemed to have passed out again.

‘Rookie, stay with me,’ Hunter shouted, hammering his fists against the cage’s door.

No movement – no response.

‘Carlos . . .’ The loud shout echoed across the basement room.

A slight head movement this time.

Hunter checked the heart monitor once again. The small ball of light was still peaking.

43, 42, 41 . . .

‘C’mon, rookie, stay with me,’ he pleaded before looking around the room for any clues, anything that could point him to a specific button. He found nothing.

Less than two months. Garcia had joined the RHD less than two months ago. Why did he have to be paired up with me? Hunter cursed. This shouldn’t have been his first case.

Garcia’s body convulsed slightly, forcing Hunter’s thoughts back to the basement room.

32, 31, 30 . . .

How much blood has he lost? Even if I get him out of here he might not make it. He hoped Garcia was stronger than he looked.

Just a few seconds to death. Hunter’s brain was working as fast as it could, but he knew he needed a miracle to figure out which button to go for. A guess was all he was left with. He felt mentally exhausted. He was sick and tired of playing these games. Games he knew he could never win because the killer had too much of an upper hand. Even now, he had no guarantees that the Crucifix Killer was telling the truth. Maybe none of the buttons would unlock the cage door. Maybe he was walking into certain death.

Hunter turned and faced the basement door. He could still get out of there alive.

‘If I stay here I’m as good as dead,’ he whispered.

For a split second he forgot everything he’d ever believed in and considered running for his life. The thought made him sick and ashamed.

‘What the fuck am I thinking? We ain’t dead yet.’

15, 14, 13 . . .

‘Shit!’ He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes as tight as he could. ‘This is it, pick a fucking button, Robert!’ he told himself. ‘Color coded, why color coded? The killer could’ve used numbers, why give them colors?’

He knew he was running out of time.

‘He’s playing a fucking game again, just like the dog race . . .’ He suddenly stopped in a fright. ‘The dog race . . . the winner, what color was it?’ He tried to think. He knew it was dog number two, but what color was its jacket?

‘Shit, what color was the winner?’ he shouted out loud.

His eyes lifted from the buttons and met Garcia’s who had regained consciousness again.

6, 5, 4 . . .

‘I’m sorry,’ Hunter said with sadness in his eyes. He was about to reach for one of the buttons when he saw Garcia’s lips move. They emitted no sound but Hunter could easily read them.

‘Blue . . .’

Hunter didn’t have time to hesitate. He pressed the blue button.

2 . . .

The digital display froze. The Perspex cage door emitted a humming sound and clicked open. Hunter’s face transformed into one huge smile. ‘I’ll be damned!’ He ran inside and lifted Garcia’s chin from his bloody chest. ‘Hang in there, buddy.’

Hunter quickly assessed the inside of the cage. Garcia’s hands had been nailed to the wooden cross. There was no way he’d be able to free him. He had to call for help.

‘C’mon, give me a fucking signal,’ he shouted as he tried his cell phone. It was no good, he had to go back up to ground level.

‘Hold on, rookie, I’m gonna go call for help. I’ll be right back.’ But Garcia had already drifted back into unconsciousness. Hunter stepped out of the cage and started towards the door but a beeping sound made him stop and turn back. His eyes widened in horror.