Chris Carter - The Crucifix Killer

‘This is sick, boss. Somebody’s playing a practical joke on you,’ Jerome said, turning his face away from the screen and getting ready to leave the luxurious car.

‘Wait a second.’ D-King stopped his bodyguard before he had a chance to open the door. Something wasn’t right, D-King could feel it. He reached for the fast-forward button once again allowing the disk to skip ahead several minutes. When he resumed play the movie carried on showing more violence and abuse.

‘Ah damn. Turn it off, boss, it’s making me feel ill,’ Jerome pleaded.

D-King raised his hand signaling Jerome to be quiet for a second. He advanced the film one more time stopping it just short of the last scene.

As the two other mysterious characters in the film positioned themselves for the film’s climax, D-King realized what was about to happen. Jerome still looked clueless to what was really going on, but his attention was still on the screen. They both watched as her blindfold was torn away from her face.

‘What the fuck!’ Jerome yelled, jerking backwards. The camera focused on the girl’s face. ‘That’s Jenny.’ His voice half stating the obvious, half asking a question.

D-King had realized who the girl was a full minute before Jerome did. His anger oozed through every pore in his body. They observed in morbid silence as the knife sliced through her neck like a Bushido sword through rice paper. The camera zoomed in on her helpless and dying eyes and then on the blood spilling from the fatal wound on her neck.

‘What the hell is going on, boss?’ Jerome’s voice was an excited shout.

D-King remained silent until the DVD reached its end. When he spoke, his voice was ice cold. ‘What do you think is going on, Jerome? We just saw how they tortured and killed Jenny.’

‘But that’s wrong. The detectives said that she had no bullet or knife wounds, that she’d been skinned alive. We just saw someone slice her neck open.’

‘The detectives said the girl on the picture they showed us had been skinned alive. We thought that girl was Jenny. We were wrong.’

Jerome brought both hands to his face. ‘This is fucked up, boss.’

‘Listen to me.’ D-King snapped his fingers twice to get Jerome’s attention back to him. ‘The fucking gloves are off. I want those two in the video,’ he said with so much rage it made Jerome shiver. ‘I want the sonofabitch behind the camera, I want whoever owns that shithole of a place and I want the person responsible for that whole motherfucking operation, do you hear me?’

‘I hear you, boss,’ Jerome said regaining his composure.

‘Don’t get the word out on the streets. I don’t want to scare these fucks away. Use only reliable people. I want them fast and I want them alive if possible. It doesn’t matter who you pay. It doesn’t matter how much you pay. It doesn’t matter what it takes.’

‘How about the cops?’ Jerome asked. ‘I think we should tell them that the girl on the photo is not Jenny.’

D-King pondered the idea for an instant. ‘You’re right, but I wanna get these guys first. After that, I’ll get in touch with them.’

It’d been several days and their bar and club search hadn’t produced any results yet. They’d covered Santa Monica in its entirety and had moved to the bars and clubs in Long Beach, but the response had been the same everywhere. The rest of their investigation was also moving at no pace. Just like the original Crucifix killings they were yet to establish any definite links between the victims. There was the possibility Jenny and George knew each other from one of the sex parties they’d attended, but they still hadn’t managed to positively identify their first victim. No one could confirm the faceless woman’s body was indeed Jenny Farnborough’s. Carlos was yet to find her family in Idaho or Utah. Assumption was the only thing they had to go on and Captain Bolter hated assumptions. He wanted facts.

With every resultless day that went by they knew they were a day closer to receiving another phone call – another victim. Everybody’s patience was wearing thin, including the Chief of Police. He demanded results from Captain Bolter who, in turn, demanded results from his two detectives.

The investigation was slowly consuming everyone. Garcia had barely seen Anna in the past few days. Hunter had spoken to Isabella over the phone a couple of times, but he had no time for romantic meetings. Time was wearing thin and they knew it.

Hunter arrived early at the RHD to once again find Garcia already at his desk.

‘We’ve got some news,’ Garcia said the instant Hunter walked through the door.

‘Make me smile, tell me that someone has recognized our sketched suspect.’

‘Well, it’s good news, but not that good,’ Garcia said a little less excited.

‘OK then, tell me?’

‘Doctor Winston just sent me the result of the DNA test from the hair strand found in George Slater’s car.’

‘Finally, and?’

‘No DNA could be obtained from the hair as it had no skin follicles.’

‘So the hair didn’t fall naturally. It’s been cut instead of being pulled out.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘So we’ve got nothing?’ Hunter’s asked, unimpressed.

‘No, no, there were chemicals on the hair and that allowed the lab to find out where it came from.’

‘And?’

‘It’s European hair.’

‘From a wig?’ Hunter’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘How do you know European hair is wig hair?’

‘I read a lot.’

‘Oh that’s right. I forgot about that,’ Garcia said with a cynical nod. ‘So disregarding synthetic hair wigs, the three best types of wigs you can buy are: real hair, human hair and European hair. In the wig-making industry, real hair and human hair refer to Asian hair which has been processed, bleached from its original color and then dyed to match European hair colors. This process damages the hair, but it’s very readily available and inexpensive. But European hair…’ Garcia shook his head ‘… is almost unprocessed hair. It comes mainly from Eastern Europe. No hair dyeing is used although it’s coated with a high-grade conditioner for longevity. It’s the closest to naturally grown hair you can get.’

‘But that comes at a price,’ Hunter concluded.

‘Get a load of this – prices start at a mere four thousand dollars.’

‘Phew,’ Hunter whistled as he sat down.

‘Exactly. These wigs are made to order. It can take anywhere between one to two months for them to be ready and that means that whoever ordered it has to leave an address or a contact number.’ Garcia smiled enthusiastically. ‘There can’t be that many places in Los Angeles that sell European hair wigs.’

‘Catherine?’

‘What?’

‘Have you checked with Catherine Slater? Maybe she wears wigs. A lot of women do these days. She could definitely afford them.’

‘No, not yet.’ Garcia’s enthusiasm was half damped. ‘I’ll get on it straight away, but if she doesn’t wear wigs, don’t you think it’s worth getting in touch with all wigmakers in LA that sell European hair wigs?’

Hunter scratched his chin. ‘Yeah, we can give it a try. I just think our killer is too smart for that.’

‘Too smart for what?’

‘You said these wigs are made to order?’

‘Correct.’

‘But I bet if you walk into a wigmaker they would have one or two on display, like a showcase. Our killer wouldn’t be stupid enough to order a wig and leave behind a paper trail. He would simply take whatever the wigmaker had on display, pay cash for it and that would be that. Remember, the killer isn’t buying the wig for its looks, so any one would do.’ Hunter got up and walked over to the coffee machine. ‘There’s one more thing.’