Chris Carter: The Executioner

‘I’ve heard about this morning,’ the captain said in a more ominous tone. ‘By the look on your face, I can tell you don’t think this was a random killing, do you?’

Robert shook his head.

‘Religious hate?’

‘We don’t know yet, captain. There are some clues that point to a religious motive, or a religious psycho, but it’s too early to say.’

‘What do you have?’

‘At this point the only thing we know for sure is that the killer was extremely brutal, probably ritualistic.’

Hunter’s split-second hesitation was quickly picked up by Captain Bolter. ‘C’mon, Robert, I know you. There’s something else bothering you.’

Hunter sipped his Scotch and breathed in sharply. ‘They talked.’

‘Who talked? The priest and the killer?’

Hunter nodded.

‘How do you know that?’ the doctor asked.

‘The body was found a few feet from the confessional. Both doors were open and so was the small window on the partition that separates the two small cubicles.’ He paused for a second. ‘In the Catholic Church when a confessor is done confessing his sins and is given his penance, the priest always closes the partition window. Something about symbolizing that the door has been shut on those sins and the person’s been forgiven.’

‘Are you Catholic?’ Doctor Winston asked.

‘No, I just read a lot.’

Captain Bolter moved his cigar to the right edge of his mouth. ‘So you think the killer confessed before…’ He shook his head, giving Hunter a chance to fill in the blank.

‘Dragging the priest out of his cubicle and decapitating him.’

The captain closed his eyes, threw his head back and let out a slow and heartfelt sigh. ‘Forgive me, father, for I’ll rip your head off.’

‘Something like that.’

‘We all know what that means,’ the doctor said, taking another puff on his cigar.

‘That this is just the beginning,’ Captain Bolter said. ‘And if we don’t catch up with this killer soon, he’ll claim another victim.’

The wind had strengthened, and Doctor Winston pulled the collar of his suit blazer tighter around his neck before cocking a questioning eyebrow at the captain. ‘We?’

‘He’s right, captain.’ Hunter smiled. ‘From midnight tonight, you’re a retired man. You don’t have to worry anymore.’

‘Your work here is done, my son,’ Doctor Winston said in a low, Darth Vader-like voice.

‘It’s gotta feel good, hasn’t it?’

The captain gave Hunter an unconvincing smile. ‘Force of habit, I guess. I’ve given fifty years of my life to law-enforcement agencies in this city. It’s not something I can drop overnight, but I’ll get there.’

Hunter saw straight through the captain’s brave face. He was sad to be leaving.

‘So what’re you gonna do with your life now that you don’t have to worry about catching criminals anymore?’ Doctor Winston asked.

‘Beth wants to move.’

‘Really? Where to?’

‘Somewhere far away from here. She’s had enough of this city and I don’t blame her. LA has gotten too violent.’

‘I can vouch for that,’ Doctor Winston agreed. ‘As the years go by, what we see down at the morgue just gets more gruesome and sadistic. It’s like there’s no respect for life anymore. And the numbers are rising. We can barely keep up with our daily workload.’

Hunter quickly saw the need for a change of subject. ‘Maybe you won’t miss LA.’ He turned towards Captain Bolter. ‘But I know you’re gonna miss us.’

‘Like a hole in the head,’ he replied, puffing on his cigar.

They all laughed.

‘At least the new captain is a lot better looking than I am.’

‘That wouldn’t be hard,’ Hunter joked. ‘So, are you finally gonna end this goddamn mystery about who the new captain is?’

‘They don’t know it yet?’ Doctor Winston asked, biting his bottom lip.

‘Do you?’ Hunter asked, surprised.

‘Uh-huh.’

Hunter pinned Captain Bolter with a hawk-sharp gaze.

‘Don’t gimme that pissed-off housewife look,’ Captain Bolter said derisively. ‘I get enough of that at home, plus I wanted it to be a surprise.’ His grin made Hunter squint with a new worry.

‘Oh, she’ll surprise them alright,’ Doctor Winston laughed.

‘She?’ Hunter looked from one man to the other.

Captain Bolter held the suspense before conceding. ‘Her name’s Barbara Blake.’

‘You are kidding me, right?’ Hunter leaned back against the beechwood table.

‘Why? Because she’s a woman?’ the captain asked with a frown.

‘No, because her name’s Barbara. Are you telling me that the RHD will have Captain Barbie from now on?’

‘Ooh, don’t ever call her Barbie.’ Doctor Winston shook his head.

‘Definitely not,’ Captain Bolter added. ‘Unless you’ve grown tired of your balls. Don’t let the fact that she’s a woman fool you, Robert. She’s a great captain and a vicious bitch when she needs to be. She’s proven it many times. We were partners for two years before she asked to be transferred to Sacramento.’

Hunter detected sadness in the captain’s voice. ‘Just work partners?’ he asked as he finished the last of his single malt.

‘Don’t even think about psychoanalyzing me, Robert. Not anymore.’ Captain Bolter shook his head and pointed his cigar at Hunter.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘There you are, captain.’ Lieutenant Sheldon appeared at the door. ‘They’re calling for you. It’s speech time. And we all wanna know who’s taking over. No more suspense.’

‘I guess not.’

Hunter didn’t follow them in.

The main facility of the Los Angeles County Department of Coroner is located on North Mission Road, number 1104. The building is an outstanding piece of architecture with hints of Renaissance. Old-fashioned lampposts flank the extravagant entrance stairway. Terracotta bricks and light gray lintels fronted the large hospital-turned-morgue. The whole building looked like it should be part of a prestigious Oxford college.

Criminalistics students Nelson Fenton and Jamaal Jackson still had another hour to go before the end of their night shift. Despite their job being part time and relatively simple, it required a very strong stomach. As forensic technicians for the LACDC, they were expected to transport, undress, photograph, clean and prepare bodies for autopsies.

‘How many more bodies do we have on the list?’ Jamaal asked, pulling his surgical mask down from his mouth and letting it hang loosely around his neck. They’d just finished preparing the body of a sixty-five-year-old man who’d been stabbed fifty-two times by his own son.

‘Two.’ Nelson pointed to the two black polyethylene body bags on the steel tables at the far end of the room.

‘Let’s just get on with it, then.’

First they needed to undress the bodies before thoroughly hosing them down in preparation for the post-mortem. While Jamaal was adjusting the strap on his surgical mask, Nelson approached the larger of the two body bags and unzipped it.

‘Oh shit!’ Nelson said, lifting both hands to his mouth and taking a step back.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Have a look.’

Jamaal checked the unzipped body bag. ‘Oh crap.’ He made a face as if he’d just tasted something bitter. ‘Headless.’

Nelson nodded. ‘But have a look at what he’s wearing.’

Only then Jamaal noticed the priest’s cassock. ‘Oh man, that’s bad. Who the hell would do this to a priest?’

‘Someone with a lot of anger,’ Nelson said, stepping forward again.

‘I’m not Catholic or nothing, but this is just…’ Jamaal shook his head without finishing the sentence. ‘This city’s messed up, man. Violence everywhere.’