The Crucifix Killer

Forty-Seven

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.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The internet,’ Hunter said.

Garcia frowned.

‘The internet can help us and hinder us at the same time,’ Hunter explained. ‘Maybe a few years ago it would’ve been a case of us checking the wigmakers and with just a little luck we would’ve come across something that could lead us to our killer, but today…’ He poured himself a cup of coffee. ‘Today the killer could order it over the internet from any country in the world and the wig would be with him in less than a week. He could’ve bought it from Japan or Australia or directly from Eastern Europe.’ He paused, another thought entering his mind. ‘And then we have eBay, where the killer could’ve bought it from a private owner and no one would ever know. This guy is too smart to leave a paper trail behind.’

Garcia had to admit Hunter had a point. Any half-clever person could buy almost anything over the internet these days and leave such a minuscule trail it would be almost impossible to trace it. It’s just a case of knowing where to shop.

‘We might get lucky, he might’ve taken us for granted and ordered a wig from a shop,’ Garcia said positively.

‘Maybe. I’m not discarding any possibilities. We’ll check with all wigmakers just in case.’

‘I just wanted to get at least one step closer to him before he adds another photograph to that damn board,’ Garcia said, pointing to the corkboard and drawing Hunter’s attention to it.

Hunter stood motionless for a while, his eyes fixed on the photographs.

‘Are you OK?’ Garcia asked after a minute of silence. ‘You’re not blinking.’

Hunter lifted his hand asking Garcia to wait a second. ‘We’re missing something there,’ he finally said.

Garcia turned and faced the board. All the pictures were there. Nothing had been moved, he was sure of it.

‘What are we missing?’

‘Another victim.’