The Crucifix Killer - Chris Carter [129]
‘What?’
‘On the back of Carlos’s neck . . . no carving. The killer didn’t mark him.’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘It means he wasn’t supposed to die.’
‘He wasn’t supposed to die? But you could’ve pressed the wrong button.’
Hunter had no answer. He tried to think but the thumping inside his head prevented him. He sat down on the bed as the room started spinning again.
‘You’re gonna have to brief Matt and Doyle on the case,’ the captain said, breaking the silence.
‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘I have to pull you off the investigation, Robert, you know the protocol. Matt and Doyle will take over. I want you to share everything you know, everything you have with them.’
‘Fuck protocol, Captain! That’s bullshit . . .’
‘You know I can’t let you carry on with this case. For some freaky reason this killer has gotten attached to you. Phone calls. Calling you by your first name. Killing games. Next thing you know you’re gonna be having drinks with him. It’s like he knows you too well now.’
‘Exactly, and if you pull me from the case it might enrage him further. Hell knows what he’ll do then.’
‘Hell knows what he does now, Robert. We have nothing on him and you know it. Three years of investigation and we have jack-shit to show for it. Maybe two fresh brains is what this investigation needs.’
‘What this investigation needs is for me to carry on from where I’ve left off. We are edging closer, Captain. Carlos and I were on the trail of something that we’re sure is gonna lead us to him.’
‘Good, so you can fill Matt and Doyle in on this trail of yours.’
‘This is my investigation, mine and Carlos’s.’
‘Are you concussed? Has the explosion affected your brain? Let me give you a quick reality check,’ the captain shot back aggressively. ‘Carlos is lying in intensive care in a half coma. He was crucified alive, Robert. A barbed-wire crown shoved so hard into his head that the thorns were scratching his cranium. Two six-inch nails driven through the palms of his hands. It’ll be some time before he’s able to hold a pen, never mind a gun. You are a psychologist, so you can probably guess what sort of traumas he’ll have to overcome to be able to get back to the job, if he gets back to the job. It was his first case.’
‘You think I don’t know that, Captain?’
‘At the moment you have no partner. I don’t have anyone else to assign to you and even if I did . . . I wouldn’t, not now.’
Hunter pointed a finger at Captain Bolter. ‘You said, just a few days ago that you wouldn’t make the same mistake you made with John Spencer’s case. You said you should’ve listened to me when I told everyone that he didn’t kill his wife. You said that you should’ve allowed me to carry on with the investigation . . .’
‘This isn’t John Spencer’s case, Robert,’ the captain cut him short. ‘We don’t have an innocent man in custody. We have no one in custody and that’s the problem. All we have are bodies. And they keep on fucking piling up.’
‘You’re making another mistake, Captain. Don’t pull me from this case.’
Captain Bolter took a deep breath. His stare finding refuge on the floor.
‘What the hell’s going on, Captain?’
‘Look, Robert. You know I trust your instincts. And I wish I’d trusted them more in the past. You’ve got some sort of sixth sense when it comes to that, but it’s out of my hands now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m having my ass chewed by everyone above me, from the Mayor to the Chief of Police. They want answers and I don’t have any. They are controlling this game now, I don’t have much of a say anymore. It’s gotten out of hand. They are talking about bringing the FBI into this. I’ll be lucky if I manage to keep my job.’
Hunter rubbed his face with both hands. ‘Taking me off the case is a mistake.’
‘Well, it won’t be the first mistake we made in this investigation, will it?’
The door opened and the petite, dark-haired nurse entered the room once again. ‘Gentlemen, this is a hospital, not a Lakers’ game. Maybe I should sedate you again,’ she turned to Hunter.
‘I don’t think so,’ Hunter said, jumping to his feet. ‘Where the hell are my