The Executioner

Thirty-Seven

The girl was in her late teens. She sat alone in one of the interrogation rooms on the second floor. Hunter and Garcia were watching her from the other side of the two-way mirror in the adjacent observation room.

She could’ve been attractive, but it was clear her appearance wasn’t the most important thing in her life. Her disheveled brown hair fell over her shoulders in an overly casual way. Her beautiful, big brown eyes were bloodshot. She wore no makeup and her face was pale. The long winter coat she had on had certainly seen better days.

‘She’s just a kid,’ Hunter said, frowning. ‘Who’s she again?’ he asked the police officer who had initially talked to the girl and brought her up to the room.

‘She said her name is Monica, but you don’t need to be an expert to figure out that’s made up.’

‘And she said she had information on the Seven Saints Catholic Church murder?’

The officer nodded. ‘She said she’d only speak to the detectives in charge. I tried taking a statement downstairs, but she refused.’ He looked unsure for a moment.

‘Anything else?’ Hunter asked, sensing the officer’s uneasiness.

‘Something about her-’ he looked from one detective to the other ‘-gave me the creeps.’

Garcia stepped closer to the mirror, his eyes scrutinizing the girl. She looked frightened.

Monica lifted her eyes as both detectives entered the room. Her stare bypassed Garcia and settled on Hunter.

‘Hello,’ Hunter said with a warm smile, extending his hand. ‘I’m Detective Hunter and this is Detective Garcia.’

She stood up, smiled back and shook their hands, holding Hunter’s just a little longer than she did Garcia’s. ‘I’m Monica.’ Her voice was soft but padded with grief.

‘Just Monica?’ Garcia asked, his eyebrows arching slightly.

She bit her bottom lip, and her worried eyes reverted back to Hunter.

‘It’s OK,’ he said in a comforting tone. ‘I’m Robert and that’s Carlos.’ He tilted his head towards his partner. ‘I also prefer when people call me by my first name. It’s much less formal, isn’t it?’

She smiled thinly.

‘Could we get you a drink of something? Water, coffee, soda…?’

‘Some water would be great, thank you,’ she said as she sat back down.

‘I’ll get it,’ Garcia offered, already reaching for the door.

Hunter pulled a chair and sat across the table from the girl. Her hands were clenched, and she was rubbing her thumbs against each other.

‘These rooms are very intimidating, aren’t they?’ Hunter said in a relaxed tone. ‘The bland walls, the metal table and chairs, the big mirrored window… Some say we could do with an internal decorator, a few flowers, maybe some incense. I tend to agree. What do you say?’

Her mouth didn’t move.

‘I’d offer to talk in my office, but I’m afraid it looks even worse than this. If you can imagine such a place.’

Her mouth twitched with a possible smile.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?’

She hesitated for a second. ‘I’m nineteen.’

Hunter nodded. She knew he hadn’t bought her lie. Despite her young age, Hunter saw something in her eyes that told him that she was forced to mature faster than most.

The door opened and Garcia walked in with an aluminum jug of icy water on a metal tray. He placed it on the table before pouring her a glass.

‘Have a seat, Carlos,’ Hunter said, pointing to the chair next to him.

‘It’s OK, I’ll stand. I don’t mind.’

‘I do,’ Hunter hit back.

If Monica was a suspect in an ongoing investigation, Hunter would’ve stood up himself. Interrogations demand a certain degree of intimidation. Standing up, being able to move around freely and looking down on a subject who’s restricted to his or her chair puts the detective in a psychologically authoritative position. One thing Hunter definitely didn’t want was for Monica to feel any more intimidated than she already was.

Garcia pulled a chair and sat down.

‘We were told you might have information that could be of some value to us,’ Hunter said.

Monica had a sip of her water before locking eyes with him. ‘I saw something.’

‘You saw something?’ Garcia’s voice raised half an octave as he leaned forward. ‘You were inside the church on Wednesday night?’

Monica gave Garcia a subtle head shake.

‘Did you see anyone leaving the church late that night? Were you walking by or something?’

‘No. It wasn’t like that.’ She held Garcia’s gaze for a couple of silent seconds. ‘I saw it in a vision.’

Garcia’s posture stiffened defensively and he shook his head as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. Hunter didn’t react.

‘I’m sorry?’ Garcia frowned.

Monica took a deep breath to steady her voice. ‘I know how this might sound, but please just listen to me for five minutes. I’m not crazy. I’m not a clairvoyant. I can’t see the future. I don’t read minds or talk to spirits either. But unfortunately I can sense certain things deeper than most people.’

Garcia glanced at Hunter, who was sitting back in his chair. His legs were crossed casually with his hands resting on his lap. He was concentrating on the girl.

‘What sort of things?’ Garcia asked.

Monica nervously pulled a loose strand of hair from her face and hooked it behind her ear. Even though Garcia had asked the question, she stared at Hunter before answering.

‘Pain.’

‘You can sense pain?’ Garcia asked with a dubious expression.

‘I can sense other people’s pain,’ she explained.

Garcia shifted his weight in his chair. Almost without fail, every time a high-profile case hits the news, the police get tens of people dropping in or calling and saying they can help with the investigation because they had a dream or a vision. He knew it was only a matter of time before it happened in this case, but he wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.

Since Garcia took point on questioning, Hunter had limited himself to listen and observe. He was taking in the girl’s reactions, analyzing her eyes and physical movements together with voice intonation and quivers. Experience told him that when people walked in from the streets claiming they had a vision that could help the police catch a criminal, they usually fell into one of five categories – a lonely person looking for attention – a drug user who had hallucinations – someone with mental problems, most probably schizophrenia – a charlatan looking for money and/or publicity – or they had been involved in the crime themselves. Monica, so far, gave no indication of any.

Garcia once again glanced at Hunter, half hoping for some sort of reaction. When he didn’t get one, he checked his watch before leaning forward and placing both elbows on the table.

‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Monica,’ he said calmly. ‘I hope you understand that at the moment we’re stretched thin and really pressed for time. But I’ll ask an officer to take down what you think you saw, and if you leave us your details we’ll get in touch if we have any questions…’

‘I’m not trying to waste your time, detective,’ she said firmly, reading Garcia’s reluctance to believe her.

‘And we appreciate that,’ he replied in the same tone, but she didn’t break stride.

‘Whether you believe it or not, detective, it happens. Unfortunately, it happens to me. I see other people’s suffering. I see their pain and tears and what makes them sad. It’s not a gift; it’s a curse that makes me scared of closing my eyes every night. I don’t wanna be here either. I’ve never done this before, but I really think I can help.’

Monica went back to staring at Hunter. Something shifted in her eyes.

‘Helen…’ she whispered, ‘… it wasn’t your fault.’

Hunter raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You just wanted the crying to stop. She just wanted the pain to go away. You did what you thought was right. What she asked you to do. You freed her from the pain.’ She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

Hunter stiffened. His eyes fixed on the brunette in front of him. He felt his mouth go dry and his stomach churn as images of a long time ago flooded his memory.

Garcia sensed the change in Hunter, but before he could say anything the door to the interrogation room was pushed open by Captain Blake.

‘You guys better wrap it up in here,’ she said, ignoring Monica. ‘It looks like he claimed another one.’

Hunter looked up. ‘Our man?’

Captain Blake nodded. ‘In Malibu.’

Garcia jetted out of his chair. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said before hurrying out of the room.

Hunter turned and faced Monica. ‘I’ll get an officer to write down your details.’ He quickly placed one of his cards on the table in front of her.

‘Detective,’ she called as Hunter got to the door.

‘He knew about the fire. He knew what scared her.’