Chris Carter - The Executioner

‘That’s why you quit the team,’ Garcia said, finally realizing it. ‘It wasn’t because of the accident itself. It was because of what this Martha girl told you.’

Anna didn’t admit to it, but Garcia knew he was right. ‘I never talked to Martha again. A few weeks later she left school.’

‘You never told me that.’

‘I never told anyone.’ She had another sip of her wine. ‘Somehow Martha knew it before it happened, Carlos. A whole day before it happened. I don’t know if she dreamed it or saw it in a vision or what. The fact is, she couldn’t have guessed it. No one could.’

Garcia let go of Anna’s hand and finished the rest of his wine in silence.

‘In answer to your question,’ she said, softly touching his arm. ‘I do believe there are some people out there who can see or sense things that the vast majority of us can’t. But not the ones you see advertised in the back of some magazines. People promising to tell you your future for a few hundred bucks. Those are just conmen. If they really could see the future, they’d all be living in Vegas making a killing at the casinos.’

Garcia smiled. ‘You do have a point there.’

‘What’s this about, babe?’

Garcia shook his head, his eyes averting hers. ‘It’s nothing really.’

Somehow, she knew that was all the answer she’d ever get.

Hunter rolled over in bed uncomfortably. No position was a good one. His eyes grazed the digital clock on the bedside table and he cursed under his breath. It was 4:55 a.m. and he’d managed less than two hours’ sleep. It was already hard enough falling asleep in his own bed; in a stranger’s bed it was damn near impossible.

He stretched his body and massaged his gritty eyes, but the sandy feeling just wouldn’t go away. The darkness of the room was spoiled by the weak light that came in from the corridor, courtesy of a small glass lamp on the telephone table.

Hunter had left his office late last night and hadn’t felt like going home straight away. He drove around for a while, welcoming the soothing effect the city’s Christmas lights and decorations had on him. On Hollywood Boulevard, where the decorations were certainly the most extravagant he’d seen so far, Hunter ended up in the L’Scorpion, a red and black gothic-themed bar with an impressive selection of tequilas and Scotch whiskeys. He didn’t intend to stay long, and that decision had been expedited when the tall, short-haired blond with incredibly seductive lips and an eye-grabbing figure bumped into him, spilling his and her drink all over his shirt. She couldn’t apologize enough, and after buying Hunter a new drink, one thing led to another and he was now lying next to her in her bed.

Hunter eased himself from under the covers and out of bed as quietly as he could. His clothes were scattered all over the floor, and he gathered them together in a messy bunch. His shoes, though, were nowhere to be seen. He smiled as he remembered the urgency they’d both had in getting their clothes off. She’d ripped a couple of buttons off his shirt as she franticly pulled it over his head. Their time in bed had been wild and loud – very loud. Hunter figured that if the blond woman’s apartment didn’t have thick walls, she couldn’t be very popular with her neighbors.

He got down on his hands and knees and checked under the bed for his shoes, but it was too dark for him to see anything.

‘Did you lose something?’ Even though her voice was soft and sexy, it caught Hunter by surprise.

‘Sorry if I woke you,’ he whispered. ‘I was just looking for my shoes.’

She smiled and sat up, placing her back against the headboard. ‘They’re on this side.’ Her head tilted slightly to her right.

Hunter got back on his feet, and her eyes sparkled as they ran the length of his naked body. He circled the bed and as he bent down to collect his shoes, she slipped her right leg from under the covers and softly ran her small, delicate and perfectly pedicured foot against his arm. He looked up and they locked eyes.

‘You don’t really have to go right this minute, do you?’

Most of her makeup had rubbed off, but she was still stunningly attractive. Her eyes were as blue as Hunter’s. Her petite nose was sprinkled with a handful of charming freckles, most of them hidden under her perfect tan. She noticed Hunter furtively checking the digital clock.

‘It’s still early. The sun isn’t even out yet,’ she whispered and smiled.

Hunter thought about it for a split second before leaning forward and kissing her softly. She moaned seductively and he kissed her again, a little harder and for a little longer. She pushed the covers off the bed and pulled Hunter onto her, her moans getting louder by the second.

Captain Blake had to postpone their daily meeting until later that afternoon. She was tied up in a press conference on another case. This time regarding the Slasher investigation.

Hunter decided to go back to the Seven Saints church and the house in Malibu. He hoped that being alone at the murder scenes for a while would help him understand some of the reasons behind the brutality, behind the rage and anger. Most crime scenes, if you know how to read them, are like witnesses, revealing secrets about the victim, the perpetrator and what really happened. Hunter was in a class of his own when it came to understanding murder scenes. He could sense things and read signs most detectives couldn’t. But these crime scenes were silent, with the exception of one word, and they shouted it – FEAR.

Hunter also took some time to go over Amanda Reilly’s apartment on Sunset Strip one more time. He went through all three bedrooms, the living room, the kitchen and the reception room. He looked in every drawer, every storage box, every cupboard and wardrobe in the apartment. He wasn’t sure of what he was hoping to find. Maybe a diary or old pictures of her and her friends, but Amanda kept nothing. A beautifully decorated apartment with delicate furniture, stylish paintings on the walls and expensive-looking rugs, but devoid of any memories. Not even a single family portrait. The only knowledge Hunter came away with was that Amanda Reilly was very proud, very organized and she’d rather not be reminded of her past.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Hunter made it back to the RHD. The Investigative Analysis Unit (IAS) of the LAPD is confined to a large basement room in Parker Center. Hopkins was gathering a few printouts together when Hunter and Garcia entered the room.

‘I was just about to go up and see you guys,’ Hopkins said, waving the sheets in his hands.

‘I guess we beat you to it,’ Hunter said, looking around the young officer’s working space.

Hopkins’s tiny desk was in the far corner of the room. It was just big enough to hold his keyboard, computer monitor and a telephone.

‘I can see they gave you the child’s desk.’ Hunter’s gaze fell on Jack Kerley, the IT Unit supervisor.

‘Hey, it’s the best we could do with such short notice,’ Jack replied, getting up and firmly shaking Hunter and Garcia’s hands. His shaved head shone as if it had been waxed just moments ago. ‘How’re you doing, Robert?’

Hunter nodded but didn’t voice a reply.

Jack placed a hand on Hopkins’s left shoulder. ‘He’s a good kid. Fast learner. We could do with more like him down here. We’ve got work coming out of our fucking asses.’

The phone on his desk rang.

‘See what I mean? That’ll certainly be a new request.’ He returned to his desk.

‘Did we get anything on Father Fabian and Amanda Reilly’s backgrounds?’ Hunter faced Hopkins, who was already flipping through the printouts.