The Crucifix Killer

Garcia quickly checked his watch as he parked his car in front of his apartment building. ‘Past midnight once again.’ In the past two weeks not once had he managed to get home before the early hours of the morning. He knew there was nothing he could do. That’s what the job demanded and he was certainly prepared to give it. The same couldn’t be said about A

He sat in the darkness of the parking lot for a while. From his car he stared at the window of his first-floor apartment. The lights were still on in his living room. A

He’d told her not to worry, that the case they’d been working on was a complex one and he had to put a lot of extra hours into it, but he knew she wouldn’t listen. He knew she’d rather he’d been a lawyer or a doctor; anything really but a Homicide detective in Los Angeles.

He slowly made his way past the other cars on the lot, to the building and up to his apartment. Even though he was sure A

‘Hi there, honey,’ he said in a tired voice.

She sat up, crossing her legs underneath her. Her husband looked different. Every night when he came back home to her he looked a little older, more tired. He’d only been with the RHD less than a month, but in A

‘How are you, babe?’ she said softly.

‘I’m OK… tired though.’

‘Are you hungry? Did you eat? There’s food in the fridge. You’ve gotta eat something,’ she insisted.

Garcia didn’t feel hungry. In fact his appetite had been nonexistent since he walked into that old wooden house a few weeks ago, but he didn’t want to say no to A

They both walked into the kitchen. Garcia took a seat at the small breakfast table while A

‘Do you wa

‘Actually, a single malt would do me better.’

‘It won’t go with the food. Have a beer now and if you still want one later…’

She passed him an open bottle of Bud and sat across from him. The silence was broken by the microwave bell a

A

‘Is there something wrong with the chicken?’

‘No, babe. You know I love your cooking. I’m just not as hungry as I thought I was.’

Without any warning A

Garcia quickly moved towards her and kneeled in front of her chair. ‘A

It took her a few more seconds before she finally looked at him with eyes full of tears and sadness. ‘I’m scared.’

‘Scared? Scared of what?’ he asked concerned.

‘Of what this new job of yours is doing to you… what it’s doing to us.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Look at you. You haven’t slept properly in weeks. On the rare occasions when you do fall asleep it’s only a matter of minutes before you wake up in a cold sweat almost screaming. You haven’t been eating. You’ve lost so much weight you look ill, and me… you don’t even look at me anymore, never mind talk to me.’

‘I’m sorry, babe. You know I can’t talk to you about the cases I work on.’ He tried to hug her, but she pulled away.

‘I don’t want you to tell me the details of your investigation, but you have become a ghost around here. I never see you anymore. We never do anything together anymore. Even little things like having a meal together have become a luxury. You leave before the sun is out and you only come back at this godforsaken time. Every day I watch you come through that door looking like you’ve left a little bit of your life out there. We’re becoming strangers to each other. What will happen six months or a year down the line?’ she asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

An overwhelming sense of protectiveness rushed through Garcia. He wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her, but the truth was he also felt scared. Not for himself, but for everyone else. There was a killer out there that took pleasure in inflicting as much pain as the victim could possibly take. A killer that made no distinction of race, religion, social class or anything else for that matter. Anyone could be the next victim, anyone including A

‘Please don’t cry babe, everything will be OK,’ he said, softly touching A

‘I’m sorry,’ she said still tearful. ‘But no other case you’ve worked on has affected you this way.’

Garcia didn’t know what to say.

‘I’m scared of what this job may do to you. I don’t wa

‘You’re not go

A

‘C’mon, let’s go to bed,’ he said helping her up.

They both stood up slowly. She hugged him and they kissed. ‘Let me get the lights in the living room,’ she said.

‘OK, I’ll get the dishes into the dishwasher.’ Garcia cleared his plate and quickly ran it under the tap.

‘Jesus Christ!’ A

Garcia left his plate on top of the dishwasher and dashed out of the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, approaching A

‘There was somebody down there staring at me.’

‘What? Where?’ Garcia said, staring out the window at an empty street and parking lot.

‘Down there, just between those two cars,’ she pointed at two vehicles parked halfway down the street.

Garcia looked out the window again. ‘I can’t see anything, plus it’s quite dark down there. Are you sure you saw someone?’

‘Yes. I saw someone staring straight at me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. He was looking up at me.’

‘He? It was a he?’

‘I’m not sure. I think so.’

‘Maybe it was a cat or something.’

‘It was no cat, Carlos. Someone was staring into our apartment.’ A

‘Into our apartment? Maybe the person was just looking up at the building.’

‘He was looking straight at me, I know it, I felt it, it scared me.’

‘Maybe it was just one of the neighborhood kids. You know they’re always out and about until the early hours.’

‘The neighborhood kids don’t freak me out like that.’ Her eyes became tearful once again.

‘OK, do you want me to go downstairs and have a look around?’

‘No… please stay with me.’

Garcia hugged her and felt her body shivering against his. ‘I’m here, babe. You’re just tired and upset, I’m sure it was nothing. C’mon, let’s go to bed.’

From the parking lot, hidden in the shadows, the stranger watched with an evil smile as they hugged and moved away from the window.

Fifty

They had divided their tasks. Garcia was to go over Hunter and Scott’s initial investigation files, going back three months prior to Mike Farloe’s arrest. He was also in charge of checking with the wigmakers and physiotherapy clinics.

Hunter took over the hospital search. He thought about contacting them and requesting a list of patients who’d had an operation anywhere up to two months after Mike Farloe’s arrest. An operation that would’ve required a long recuperation period, especially physiotherapy. Through experience he knew that putting in a request, no matter how urgent it was, would still take weeks. To speed up the process he decided to check the hospitals in the downtown Los Angeles area himself and place a request for the remaining ones.