The Crucifix Killer Part 43

He stepped into his empty apartment and closed the door behind him, resting his throbbing body against it. The devastating solitude of his living room saddened him even further.

With his brain half numb he slowly walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge and stared at it blankly for a few seconds. His body should be screaming for food as he hadn't eaten anything all day, but he didn't feel at all hungry. In reality he was dying for a shower. It would help relax his tense muscles, but that would have to come second. His primary need was for a double Scotch.

He struggled to make a decision, staring at the bottles in his small bar for a few seconds. He smiled as he decided to go for something strong Aberlour thirty years. He filled his gla.s.s halfway and opted for no ice this time. ' 'The stronger the better,' he told himself, collapsing into his beat-up sofa. The effect of the strong liquid as it touched his lips was invigorating. It burned against the small cuts that surrounded his mouth, but he welcomed the sensation enjoyable pain.

He rested his head against the sofa backrest, but forced himself not to close his eyes. He feared the images that hid behind his eyelids. He spent a couple of minutes staring at the ceiling, allowing the st.u.r.dy taste of his single malt to numb his tongue and mouth. Soon he knew it would numb his entire body.

He got up and walked to the window. Outside, the street looked quiet. He turned to face the empty living room once again. His body was slowly relaxing. He had another sip of his whisky and checked his cell phone once again pressing a few keys to make sure it was working OK.

In the kitchen he placed his gla.s.s on the table and sat down. Leaning back on the uncomfortable wooden chair he rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. As he did so, he heard a faint creaking sound coming from the corridor that led to his room. A s.h.i.+ver of fear raced through his body with extraordinary speed. Someone was there.

Hunter jumped to his feet and immediately felt the kitchen spinning around him. His legs started losing their strength and he held on to the worktop for balance. As confusion set in, his eyes rested on the empty whisky gla.s.s on the table. Drugged. Drugged.

Before he collapsed onto the kitchen floor his unfocused eyes registered a dark figure moving towards him.

Sixty-Seven.

Slowly he opened his eyes, but it made no difference. The darkness was unconditional. He felt dizzy and very light-headed. Whatever drug he'd taken with his whisky had knocked him out in minutes. The first thing he realized was that he was sitting down, bound to some sort of uncomfortable chair. His hands were tied behind his back, his ankles tied to the chair's legs. He tried breaking free but his efforts were in vain. His body hurt even more now but he was sure he had no broken bones at least not yet. He felt thirsty very thirsty.

Hunter had no idea how long he'd been out. Slowly and painfully his memory began to fill him in on what had happened. He tried to calm himself down and a familiar feeling came over him. He looked around in darkness and even though he couldn't see, he knew where he was. He'd never left his apartment. He was sitting in his living room.

He tried moving again, but his hands and legs had been bound too tight. He made an effort to scream but his voice barely made a sound. It surprised him how weak he felt. Suddenly he sensed a chilling presence behind him.

'I can hear you're awake.'

The same robotic voice that had tormented him for over three years echoed through the room, catching him by surprise and startling him stiff. It came from behind him, some sort of speaker set up. Hunter felt a strange sensation run through him. He was finally in the presence of the killer. The Crucifix Killer.

Hunter tried turning, rotating his neck as far as it would go, but darkness prevented him from seeing his a.s.sailant.

'Don't rush it, Robert. This is the final chapter. For you at least. It'll all end tonight. Right here. You're the last one.'

The last one. Hunter's findings in his office were now confirmed. This had all been about revenge.

He suddenly heard the sound of metal against metal. Surgical instruments he presumed. Instinctively his body went rigid with fear, but consciously he forced himself to stay calm. Hunter understood the psychology of killers, especially serial killers. The one thing they want more than anything else is to be understood. To them their killings have meaning, they serve a purpose and they want their victims to know they aren't dying in vain. Before the kill, there's always the explanation.

'Tonight you'll pay for what you've done.'

Those last words sent a judder of recognition through Hunter's body. The voice that came from behind him was loud and clear not robotic not metallic no distortion box. Hunter didn't need to search his memory, he didn't need to think about it. He knew that voice and he knew it well. All of a sudden the darkness disappeared. Hunter squeezed his eyes as uneven circles of light blurred his vision. His pupils contracted trying to get used to the brightness. As the blurriness dissipated a familiar shape took form in front of his eyes.

Sixty-Eight.

The blurriness seemed to have taken forever to subside, but once his eyes regained focus he knew he'd been right. Strangely enough he didn't want to believe it. His eyes fixed on the person standing before him.

'By the look on your face I can see you're surprised,' she said, her voice as sweet as it'd always been.

Hunter had hoped he'd been wrong. But now, staring at her, it all fell into place. He managed to whisper only one word. 'Isabella.'

She smiled at him. The same smile he'd seen so many times, but this time her smile carried something else, something it'd never carried before. A hidden evil.

'I thought you'd be happy to see me.' Her Italian accent was gone. In fact, everything about her was different. As if the Isabella he knew had vanished, replaced by a total stranger.

Hunter's expression remained immutable. His brain was finally piecing together the last of the puzzle.

'You deserve an Oscar. Your Italian accent was perfect.'

She bowed down acknowledging the compliment.

'Very clever trick with that phone call at the restaurant too. A perfect alibi,' Hunter said, remembering the call he'd received from the killer when he was having lunch with her for the first time. 'A recorded message with a timer. Simple, but very effective.'

A hint of a smile creased her lips. 'Allow me to introduce myself . . .' she said steadily.

'Brenda . . .' Hunter interrupted in a hoa.r.s.e and weak voice. 'Brenda Spencer . . . John Spencer's sister. The record producer.'

She shot him a surprised and uncomfortable look. 'Doctor Brenda Spencer if you don't mind,' she corrected him.

'A medical doctor,' Hunter a.s.serted.

'If you must know . . . a surgeon.' A new malevolent smile.

'This has all been about revenge for your brother's death?' Hunter asked, already knowing the answer.

'Very good, Robert,' she said overenthusiastically clapping her hands together like a child who'd just been given another unexpected present.

The ghostly silence that followed seemed to go on forever.

'He committed suicide in his cell,' Hunter finally offered.

'He committed suicide because you failed to do your f.u.c.king job.' The anger in her voice was undeniable. 'To protect and to serve, what a joke. He was innocent and you knew it.' She paused, letting her words float through the room. 'He'd told you many times that he would've never hurt Linda. He loved her, the sort of love you'd never understand.' She took a moment to collect herself again. 'You interviewed him. You knew he was innocent and still you let them sentence him. You could've done something, but instead you let them sentence an innocent man to death.'

Hunter remembered the dinner he had at Isabella's. She'd lied about everything to do with her life, but she did mention a dead brother. That had been a mistake, a slip-up. She was fast to cover it up with the Marine story, saying her brother died serving his country. A bulls.h.i.+t story, but Hunter didn't pick it up. What he saw in her eyes that night wasn't sadness. It was rage.

'It was out of my hands.' He thought about telling her how he'd tried to convince others of his opinion about her brother's case, but there was no point now. It wouldn't make a difference.

'If you had run the investigation how it should've been run you would've found the real killer sooner, before my brother lost his mind, before he hanged himself. But you stopped searching.'

'You can't blame the police for your brother's suicide.'

'I'm not blaming the police. I'm blaming you.'

'We would've found the real killer eventually and your brother would've walked free.'

'No, you wouldn't have.' Her voice was angry once again. 'How would you have found the real killer if you weren't looking? You'd given up on the investigation because the initial, superficial evidence pointed to John and that was good enough for you and your partner. No need to find the truth. One more successful conviction for the two star detectives. You got to be praised once again and that's all that mattered. He was convicted of murder, Robert. He was given the death penalty for something he didn't do. No one gave him the benefit of the doubt, no one including that pathetic excuse for a jury. My brother was cla.s.sed as a monster. A jealous, murderous monster.' She paused to take a deep breath. 'And I lost my entire family because of you, your partner and that f.u.c.king, useless, waste-of-s.p.a.ce jury. They couldn't see the truth if it'd danced naked in front of them.' Her eyes burned with rage.

Hunter gave her a puzzled look.

'Twenty days after John committed suicide my mother pa.s.sed away from heart sorrow. Do you know what that is?'

Hunter didn't answer.

'She didn't eat, didn't speak, didn't move. She simply sat in her room staring out the window with John's picture in her hands. Tears rolling down her face until she had none left to cry. The anguish and pain in her heart eating her away from the inside until she was too weak to fight back.'

Hunter kept silent, his eyes following her as she slowly paced around the room.

'It didn't end there.' Brenda's voice was now dark and somber. 'Thirty-five years, Robert. My parents had been married for thirty-five years. After losing his son and his wife in such a short s.p.a.ce of time, my father started to succ.u.mb to a never-ending sadness.'

Hunter already guessed the end to this story.

'Twenty-two days after burying my mother. After the real killer was finally caught, his depression got the best of him and my father followed my brother's way out. I was alone . . . again.' The anger in her was almost palpable.

'So you decided to take your revenge on the jury,' Hunter said, his voice still weak.

'You finally figured it out,' she replied calmly. 'It took you long enough. Maybe the great Robert Hunter isn't so great after all.'

'But you didn't go after the jurors themselves. You killed someone close to them. Someone they loved,' Hunter continued.

'Isn't revenge sweet?' she said with a frightening comfortable smile. 'An eye for an eye, Robert. I gave them back what they'd given me. Heartache, loneliness, emptiness, sadness. I wanted them to feel a loss so great that every day would become a struggle.'

Not all the victims had been directly related to one of the jurors from John Spencer's case, but it was easy to figure out why. Some of them were lovers. Forbidden lovers, illicit affairs, even gay lovers. Hidden relations.h.i.+ps that were impossible to trace back to any of the jurors. A loved one nevertheless.

'I dedicated my life to finding the right person. The one they loved the most. I took my time following them. I studied their routines. I found out everything there was to know about them. Places they liked to hang out. Secrets about their past. I even went to some filthy s.e.x parties just to get closer to one of them. I must admit though, watching the jurors suffer with every new murder was reinvigorating.'

Hunter threw her a worried look.

'Oh yes, I took the time to observe them after every kill,' she explained. 'I wanted to see them suffer. Their pain gave me strength.' She paused for a moment. 'Three of the jurors committed suicide, did you know that? They couldn't take the loss. They couldn't take the pain, just like my parents couldn't.' She laughed an evil laugh that darkened the room. 'Just to prove how incompetent the police are, I left a clue with every victim, and you still couldn't catch me,' she continued.

'The double-crucifix on the victims' necks,' Hunter confirmed.

She gave him a malicious nod.

'Like the tattoo your brother had on the back of his neck?'

Another surprised look from Brenda.

'I checked your brother's records after I found out about the jurors. I remembered that on the arresting report, under identifying marks, the officer in charge had noted down several tattoos, but he never fully described them. I had to check the autopsy report to find out what they were. A double-arm crucifix to the back of the neck was one of them. You were giving every victim your brother's mark.'

'Aren't you clever? I tattooed the double-crucifix on my brother's neck myself,' she said proudly. 'John loved the pain.'

Hunter felt the air inside his living room go cold. As Brenda recalled putting her own brother through pain, the pleasure in her voice was chilling.

'But why frame Mike Farloe? He had nothing to do with your brother's case,' Hunter asked, trying to fill in one of the gaps he still didn't have an answer to.

'He'd always been part of the plan,' she shot back matter-of-factly. 'Frame someone believable after the last kill and no one would've carried on snooping around. The case gets closed and everybody's happy,' she said grinning. 'But unfortunately I ran into a small problem. The framing had to be put forward.'

'The seventh victim!' Hunter said.

'Wow. You are are quick.' She put on an impressed face. quick.' She put on an impressed face.

Mike Farloe had been arrested just after the seventh victim was found. An aspiring young lawyer, daughter to one of the jurors. The closest relation to a juror out of all the victims. With just a little more time Hunter and Wilson would surely have hit upon it, but why try to establish a link between victims when they already had a self-confessed killer in custody? With Mike's arrest everything about the Crucifix Killer's investigation came to a halt.

'She was supposed to be my last victim,' Brenda snorted. 'But how was I to know she had a photographic memory? She recognized me from the courtroom when I first approached her. She even remembered the clothes I wore. She became an immediate threat, so I had no choice but to move her up on my list. After that I needed time to reorganize my plan. Framing somebody at the end of it all was always my intention. I found Mike Farloe preaching the gospel on the streets just after I killed that piece of s.h.i.+t accountant.'

The fifth victim, Hunter thought.

'Mike was easy. A sick pedophile who idolized the Crucifix Killer. I prepped Mike for months, feeding him all the necessary information. Just enough for him to sound convincing when caught. I knew he was ready.' She shrugged her shoulders. 'I wasn't counting on him confessing though, that was just a bonus. It completely stopped the investigation dead. Just what I needed,' she said with a chuckle. 'But with his arrest came the opportunity for me to get to someone else on my list. One of the main protagonists of my suffering . . . your stupid f.u.c.king partner.'

Hunter's eyes filled with sudden horror.

'Oh, I forgot,' she said with a frozen smile. 'You didn't know that was my doing, did you?'

'What was your doing?' Hunter asked with a trembling voice.

'That little boat explosion.'

Hunter felt his stomach churn.

'With the end of the Crucifix Killer's case I wasn't surprised when you and your partner decided to take a break. It was only fair after such a lengthy investigation. All I had to do was follow him.' She paused and watched as Hunter battled with his own repugnance. 'You know, they invited me up onto their boat. You can always count on a cop to help someone in need, especially a woman. Once on board, the killing was child's play. I had him tied up, just like you are now, and then I made him watch. I made him watch while I made the little b.i.t.c.h suffer. There was so much blood, Robert.' She stared at Hunter for a moment, savoring his pain. 'And yes, I knew she was your only cousin. That gave me even more pleasure.'

Hunter felt nauseous, a sick taste regurgitated into his mouth.

'He begged for her life. He offered me his in exchange for hers. The ultimate love sacrifice, but that was no good to me. I had his life in my hands anyway.' A short silence followed before she continued. 'She died slowly while he cried like a baby. I didn't kill him straight away you know. I left him for a few hours so he could soak in the pain of her death. After that, the only thing left for me to do was bring some fuel barrels from my boat onto his, create a little leak, set some timers and . . . boom. The fire would destroy any evidence I missed.'

The pleasure in her voice was arctic.

'The greatest thing after that was watching you take the ride straight to rock bottom, it was beautiful. After their deaths I thought you would do it. I thought you would give in and blow your brains out. You were close to doing it.'

Hunter could voice no reply.

'But then you were given a new partner and it looked like you were starting to bounce back. I still had two more on my list, not counting you, so I figured it was time for us to start playing our game again.' She ran her hand through her hair in an overly casual way. 'You were a tough one to get to. A real loner. No wife, no girlfriend, no children, no lover and no family. So I created Isabella, the s.l.u.t. The one who'd pick you up from a sleazy bar. The one who'd make you fall in love with her.' Her arrogance was majestic.

'Do you have any idea what it's like to go to bed with someone you despise? To allow that someone to touch you, to kiss you?' She contorted her face into a disgusted look. 'Every second we were together made my skin crawl. Every time you touched me I felt violated. Every time you left I'd wash myself clean for hours, scrubbing my skin until it was red raw.' She took a deep breath to calm herself. 'You were supposed to fall in love with her. She was the one you were supposed to risk your life for. She was the one who'd rip your heart from you before killing you. Can you see the irony, Robert?'

Hunter didn't shy away from her stare.

'But you ran away from romance like the devil from a cross,' she continued in a calm voice. 'You couldn't see how special she was, could you? Were you too good for her? Is that what you think? The great Robert Hunter was too good for little, fragile Isabella, is that it?' she said, mockingly putting on a sad child's face.

'That was my mistake. I should've spent more time with Isabella.'