The Crucifix Killer - Chris Carter [17]
Hunter still couldn’t read Mike Farloe. There were no variations in his tone of voice, no sudden movements, no change in facial expressions. His eyes remained deadly cold, devoid of any emotion. His hands remained still. There was no increase in perspiration on his forehead or hands. Hunter needed more time.
‘Do you believe in God, detective?’ Mike asked calmly. ‘Do you pray to repent your sins?’
‘I believe in God. What I don’t believe in is murder,’ Hunter replied evenly.
Mike Farloe’s eyes were on Hunter as if the roles had reversed, as if he were the one trying to read Hunter’s reactions. Hunter was about to pop another question when Farloe spoke first. ‘Detective, why don’t we cut the bullshit and go straight to the point? Ask me what you are here to ask me. Ask and you shall be answered.’
‘And what is that? What is it that I’m here to ask you?’
‘You wanna know if I committed those murders. You wanna know if I am who they call the Crucifix Killer.’
‘And are you?’
Farloe shifted his stare from Hunter for the first time. His eyes now rested on the two-way mirror on the north wall. He knew what was happening on the other side. The anticipation inside the observation room now growing to eruption point. Captain Bolter could swear that Farloe was staring straight at him.
‘I didn’t choose that name for myself, the media did.’ His eyes had returned to Hunter. ‘But yes, I freed their souls from their life of sin.’
‘I’ll be damned . . . we’ve got a confession.’ Captain Bolter could hardly hide his excitement.
‘Hell yeah! And it only took Hunter about ten minutes to get it out of him. That’s my boy,’ Scott replied with a smile.
‘If you are the Crucifix Killer, then you did choose your name,’ Hunter continued. ‘You branded the victims. You chose your mark.’
‘They needed to repent. The symbol of our Lord freed their souls.’
‘But you are no God. You don’t have the power to free anyone. Thou shall not kill, isn’t that one of the commandments? Doesn’t killing these people make you a sinner?’
‘No sin shall be when done in the name of the divine. I was doing God’s work.’
‘Why? Did God call in sick that day? Why would God ask you to kill in his name? Isn’t God supposed to be a merciful being?’
Farloe let a smile grace his lips for the first time showing yellow cigarette-stained teeth. There was an evil air about him. Something different, something almost inhuman.
‘This guy gives me the creeps. Shouldn’t we just stop this interview, he’s already confessed, he’s done it, end of story,’ Scott said clearly irritated.
‘Not yet, give him a few more minutes,’ Doctor Martin replied.
‘Whatever . . . I’m out of here, I’ve heard enough.’ Scott opened the door and stepped into the narrow corridor on the third floor of the RHD building.
Hunter grabbed a piece of paper, wrote something on it and slid it towards Farloe over the table. ‘Do you know what this is?’
Farloe’s eyes moved down to the paper. He stared at it for about five seconds. By the movement of his eyes and imperceptible frown Hunter knew Farloe didn’t have a clue what the figure on the paper meant. Hunter got no answer.
‘OK, so let me ask you this . . .’
‘No, no more questions,’ Farloe cut in. ‘You know what I’ve done, detective. You’ve seen my work. You’ve heard what you wanted to hear. There’s no more need for questions. I’ve said my piece.’ Farloe closed his eyes, placed his hands together and began a whispered prayer.
‘Yes it’s true. I never believed he was our killer,’ Hunter finally answered Garcia’s question, snapping back from his memory flash.
Even though it was just past six in the morning the day was already warm. Hunter pressed the button on the passenger’s door and his window rolled down smoothly. The scenery had changed from the luxurious houses of Santa Clarita into noisy traffic as they drove down San Diego Freeway.
‘Do you want me to turn on the air con?’ Garcia asked fiddling with his dashboard.
Hunter’s car was an old Buick and it didn’t have any of the luxury gadgets of modern cars. No air conditioning, no