Chris Carter - The Executioner

The silence that followed as they stared at each other seemed interminable.

‘This could take a fucking long while, cop,’ Elder said, flipping open the yearbook and reaching for the crayon.

Hunter was on the phone to Doctor Winston as soon as he left CCI. The autopsy had confirmed their suspicions. Darnell Douglas had died of severe blood loss. Toxicology showed he’d been injected with succinylcholine, a paralyzing agent used for surgery that doesn’t affect the nervous system. The subject wouldn’t be able to move, but he’d still feel everything. The black Cadillac found outside the crime scene gave the forensic team nothing; not even Darnell’s prints were found. The killer had done a thorough job of wiping the car clean.

It took Hunter just short of two hours to drive back to LA. At Parker Center he went straight down to the basement and the Investigative Analysis Unit. Hopkins wasn’t at his desk and neither was Jack Kerley. Hunter called the young officer’s cell phone.

‘Ian, where the fuck are you?’

‘I’m at the morgue.’

‘What the hell are you doing there?’

‘Going over personal possessions’ inventories. They’re handwritten forms, remember? I can’t search them using a computer.’

‘Well, get someone else to go over the forms for now. I need you back at the RHD.’

‘OK, I’m on my way.’

Garcia was at his desk going over a few files when Hunter entered the office.

‘How did it go with Peter Elder?’ he asked eagerly.

Hunter quickly summarized his interview while checking the fax Doctor Winston had sent.

‘Debbie Howard’s case files only got here this morning from Lancaster,’ Garcia said, making a face and handing Hunter some of the documents he’d been studying for the past hour.

Hunter took them and sat at his desk, quickly flipping through the crime-scene pictures and frowning several times in the process.

‘Do we have an autopsy file?’

‘The green folder on your desk.’

Hunter scanned it. ‘According to the autopsy report, Debbie Howard drowned.’ He arched his eyebrows at his partner. ‘The crime-scene pictures show her inside an empty bathtub.’

Garcia handed him a new file. ‘Debbie’s husband, Jonathan Hale’s account of events. He found the body.’

Hunter read his statement in silence.

Jonathan Hale had been out of town for four days on an architects’ convention. His flight back from Dallas on 13 December was delayed by three hours, and by the time he made it home from the airport it was past midnight. He didn’t manage to get through to Debbie on the phone, but he left her a voice message explaining about the delay. Debbie worked late more nights than not, so finding the house quiet with the lights turned off didn’t come as a surprise to Jonathan. The burglar alarm was armed and there was no sign of a break-in. He spent some time in the kitchen preparing a sandwich and a cup of coffee before making his way up to their room. The room looked tidy and unperturbed. No sign of any struggle. He walked into the bathroom to get cleaned up and that’s when his life shattered.

Debbie Howard was naked, hanging from her feet upside down over their large bathtub. Only her head and shoulders were submerged in water. Jonathan panicked, jumping into the tub and trying to lift her lifeless body. He cut her down and sat hugging her for what must’ve been at least an hour before emptying the tub and calling the police.

‘By cutting her down and emptying the bathtub, Jonathan Hale completely destroyed most of the evidence from the crime scene,’ Garcia said as Hunter reached the end of the file.

‘It’s understandable, though,’ Hunter said, rubbing his eyes. ‘You come home to find your wife hanging upside down in your bathroom, her head submerged in water, what do you do?’

Garcia’s eyes saddened, and Hunter knew he was thinking of Anna.

‘Most people would do what Jonathan did. They’d go to her and hug her… and cry… and ask why. Preserving the crime scene didn’t even enter his mind.’

Garcia let out a deep, heartfelt sigh, and the room went silent for a short moment. ‘Check the autopsy report again,’ he said. ‘At the bottom of the first page.’

Hunter glanced at it. ‘She was pregnant.’

Garcia used his index finger to rub between his eyebrows. ‘Three weeks,’ he confirmed.

‘Has the lab tested her blood against the one used to draw the number three on Father Fabian’s chest?’

‘No. This was two weeks ago, and though the investigation is still ongoing, Jonathan Hale, with the support of the DA’s office, did everything he could to get the body released. She was cremated two days ago.’

‘Fantastic,’ Hunter said, running his fingers through his hair.

‘It doesn’t matter, Robert. She was pregnant just as you said the second victim would be,’ Garcia said in a more animated tone. ‘Her picture was left in Amanda Reilly’s crime scene by the killer, who drew the number two on the back of it. I don’t think there’s much doubt Debbie Howard was a victim of this same lunatic.’

‘It’s dismissive to think this killer is a lunatic. Don’t make that mistake, Carlos.’

Garcia picked up a new sheet of paper from his desk. ‘In a later interview, Jonathan Hale said Debbie was petrified of water. I mean, going into deep water. We live in a tropical weather city where the sun shines almost throughout the year. They were a very well-off family. Their house is massive, but it’s the only one in their street without a swimming pool. The reason for it is because Debbie never wanted one. She wouldn’t even go close to pools or the beach or anything. Apparently, she came this close to drowning when she was young.’ He brought his thumb and index finger close together. ‘Just like the other victims, Robert, she was killed in the way that scared her the most. As you said, this guy goes after their fears.’

Hunter thought about it for a second. ‘He cut her down,’ he whispered. ‘That’s why no one found the number two on her body.’ He stood up, approached the nonmagnetic marker board and started drawing on it.

‘Debbie is hanging upside down over her bathtub.’ He used a stickman to represent her. ‘Her husband comes in and finds her this way. He panics and cuts her down, but the bathtub is still full of water.’

Garcia took a step closer. ‘Jonathan allowed her body to splash into the tub.’

‘If there was a number drawn on her body, it got washed off.’

‘But why not just force her head into the tub and hold it there like we see it in the movies? Why take the time to hang her upside down and all? The drowning effect would’ve been the same.’

‘No, it wouldn’t,’ Hunter disagreed. ‘We have no pictures, but the report says that only her head and shoulders were submerged.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘If this killer goes after his victims’ fears, how would he exploit the fact that Debbie Howard was petrified of water? How could he really terrify her?’

Garcia rubbed his face as he stared at the crude stickman drawing. ‘Christ…’ He turned to face Hunter as he realized. ‘The tub was empty when he strung Debbie from the wooden beam on the ceiling.’

Hunter nodded. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘Shit. Debbie knew her head was way past the bathtub’s edge. She could see the water creeping up slowly. She felt it as it wet her hair and forehead and it just kept coming. She had to watch her worst nightmare slowly becoming a reality.’

‘The killer could’ve tortured her even more by stopping the water just as it reached the top of her nose-’ Hunter took over again ‘-forcing her to breathe only through her mouth for a while. But even a calm person in an upright position would’ve found that hard to do, never mind a terrified woman hanging upside down knowing she was about to die. Her drowning was slow and very painful.’