Chris Carter - The Crucifix Killer

Hunter gave Garcia a quick smile and finished the rest of his beer in one go. ‘Boat accident.’

‘What?’

‘Scott and his wife died in a boat accident, right after Mike Farloe was sentenced.’ Hunter’s statement caught Garcia by surprise. He wasn’t sure if he should say something or not and took another swig of his beer instead.

‘We were both due a vacation,’ Hunter continued. ‘We’d been working on the case for too long. It’d taken over our lives and we were literally losing our minds. The pressure had gotten to everyone. It was affecting our logical thought process. We were doubting our abilities and depression was setting in fast. When Mike confessed to the crucifix killings we were ordered to take some time off. For our own sanity.’ Hunter toyed with his empty beer bottle, scraping off the label.

‘I think I’ll take that single malt now, do you want one?’ Garcia said making a head movement towards the bar.

‘Sure, why not, if they have any.’

A couple of minutes later Garcia came back with two single shots. ‘The best they could manage was Arran eight years, and the prices in here are a joke.’ He placed a glass in front of Hunter and sat down.

‘Thanks… to good health,’ Hunter said raising his glass. He had a sip of the brownish liquid and let its strong taste engulf his entire mouth. ‘Much better than beer I’d say.’

Garcia agreed with a smile.

‘I live alone, I always have, but Scott had a wife… Amanda. They’d been married for only three and a half years.’ Hunter’s eyes were fixed on his glass.

Garcia could tell this wasn’t easy for Hunter.

‘The case had put a lot of pressure on their marriage. Sometimes he’d go for days without going home. It was hard for Amanda. They started arguing a lot. Scott had become obsessed with the case and so had I,’ Hunter said having another sip of his single malt. ‘We were sure there had to be some sort of bond, something that would link all the victims together. We were waiting for the killer to slip up. Sooner or later they all do, no one could be that thorough.’

‘Did you check with the FBI?’

‘Yeah, we were given clearance to their database and library. We spent days… weeks looking for something that could help us.’ Hunter paused for a few seconds. ‘There’s always something. It doesn’t matter how evil or crazy someone is, there’s always a reason for murder. Most of the time it’s an illogical one, but a reason nevertheless. We were going crazy; we were checking the most absurd possibilities.’

‘Like what?’ Garcia asked curiously.

‘Oh, we checked things like if they all had the same childhood diseases, holiday destinations, allergies – anything really, and then…’

‘And then you got your break.’

‘And then we got our break – we arrested Mike Farloe. For Scott, that was a blessing.’

‘I can see why.’

‘I’m sure if the case had gone on for a few more months, Amanda would’ve walked out on him and Scott would’ve ended up in a crazy house.’

‘So what happened after the arrest?’

‘We were ordered to go on a vacation, not that we needed any persuasion,’ Hunter said with a shy smile.

‘I bet you didn’t.’

‘Scott’s big passion was this boat of his. He’d saved for years to be able to afford it.’ Another sip. ‘He needed to spend time with Amanda, you know, just the two of them to try and patch things up. A sailing vacation sounded like a great idea.’

‘It was a sailboat?’ Garcia’s interest grew.

‘Yeah, something like… Catarina 30.’

Garcia laughed. ‘Catalina 30, you mean.’

Hunter’s eyes met Garcia’s. ‘Yeah, that’s it, how do you know?’

‘I grew up with sailboats. My father was obsessed with them.’

‘Huh! How about that? Anyway, there was some sort of fuel leak on board. Something ignited it causing it to blow. They died in their sleep.’

‘A fuel leak?’ Garcia sounded surprised.

‘That’s right,’ Hunter replied, noticing Garcia’s skeptical look. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

Garcia raised his eyebrows.

‘Sailboats don’t carry that much fuel. Why would they, right? They are sailboats. And it would’ve had to have been a massive leak to cause the boat to explode.’

Garcia nodded.

‘Yeah, that didn’t sit right with me either so I tried carrying out my own private investigation. I don’t believe someone as thorough as Scott would’ve overlooked any sort of problem with his most prized possession, no matter how small. Scott was a very proud man.’ Hunter had another sip of his whisky. ‘The leak didn’t come from the engine. It came from the fuel barrows.’

‘Fuel barrows?’

‘For some reason that I’ll never find out, Scott took more fuel onboard than usual. A few barrows.’

‘Was he planning a longer trip?’

‘I don’t know, and as I’ve said, I’ll never find out.’

Garcia looked pensive for a long minute and watched Hunter drink the rest of his whisky in silence. ‘Did Scott smoke?’

‘Both of them did, but I don’t buy it. That’s what the official report tried to blame it on.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘There’s no way I’ll ever believe that some sort of cigarette accident caused the boat to blow. Not with Scott on board. He wouldn’t make that sort of mistake.’

They stared at each other without saying a word.

‘I was only told about it two weeks after it’d happened, when I got back to the RHD.’

Garcia could sense real pain in his partner. ‘I take it that the case’s been closed.’

Hunter nodded. ‘They saw no reason to investigate it any further.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘If I’d lost a partner to the job, then maybe…’ Hunter paused, moving his index finger around the rim of his now empty glass. ‘But that just felt wrong – a freak accident and suddenly I’d lost two very important people in my life.’

‘Two?’

Hunter rubbed his eyes, taking his time to respond. ‘Amanda was my only cousin. I had introduced them to each other.’ His voice was sad. It was obvious Hunter was battling with his emotions. This was the first time he’d talked about what had happened to anyone, and in a way, it made him feel better. Hunter noticed that Garcia looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe something to try and comfort him, but he knew that in situations like these words would make no difference.

Garcia bit his lip and said nothing.

It took Hunter a few more seconds to gather himself again. ‘We better get going,’ he finally said then got up.

‘Yeah, sure.’ Garcia finished his whisky in one big gulp.

Outside the warm air felt a little uncomfortable.

‘Maybe we should just call police rescue,’ Garcia said as they reached Hunter’s car once again.

‘No need.’ Hunter turned the key in the ignition and the engine started straight away.

‘I’ll be damned!’

‘I told you, great car, just a little temperamental.’ Hunter had a proud smile on his lips as he drove away.

Hunter’s shirt was drenched in sweat when he woke up from another vivid and disturbing dream at five in the morning.

He sat in bed, breathing heavily, his forehead wet with perspiration, his whole body shaking. When would these dreams leave him? Since Scott’s death they’d become a constant part of his nights. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now. He walked into the bathroom and splashed some icy-cold water on his face. His breathing had slowed down but his hands were still shaking. The reflection in the mirror disturbed him. The bags under his eyes seemed heavier, his complexion too pale.

He moved to the kitchen and sat in the dark for a few minutes nursing his anxiety. His eyes grazed the kitchen’s noticeboard and he saw the note he’d pinned up a few days ago – Isabella.