The Executioner

Two

Christmas was a week or so away and Los Angeles was embracing the festive spirit. Streets and shop windows everywhere were decorated with colorful lights, Santa Clauses and fake snow. At 5:30 a.m. the drive through south Los Angeles felt eerily calm.

The white front of the small church glowed against the tall, naked California walnut trees on either side of the arched wooden doorway. Picture-postcard scenery. Except for the police officers swarming around the building and the yellow crime-scene tape that kept curious onlookers at a safe distance.

Dark clouds had started to gather as Robert Hunter stepped out of the car, stretched his body and blew onto his hands before zipping up his leather jacket. Bracing himself against the strengthening cold Pacific wind and studying the sky, Hunter knew that rain was no more than a few minutes away.

The Homicide Special Section (HSS) of the LAPD Robbery-Homicide Division is a specialized branch. It deals with serial killers and high-profile homicide cases requiring extensive time and expertise. Hunter was its most accomplished detective. His young partner, Carlos Garcia, had worked hard to make detective, and he’d done it faster than most. First assigned to the LAPD Central Bureau, he’d spent a few years busting gang members, armed robbers and drug pushers in northeast LA before he was offered a position with the HSS.

As Hunter clipped his badge onto his belt, he spotted Garcia talking to a young officer. Despite the early hour, Garcia looked bright and alert. His longish, dark brown hair was still damp from his morning shower.

‘Weren’t we supposed to have today off?’ Garcia said under his breath as Hunter approached them. ‘I made plans.’

Hunter nodded a silent ‘good morning’ at the officer, who returned the gesture. ‘We’re Homicide Special, Carlos.’ He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. ‘Words like “day off, pay rise, holiday and vacation” don’t apply to us. You should know that by now.’

‘I’m learning fast.’

‘You been inside yet?’ Hunter asked as his pale blue eyes focused on the church.

‘I just got here.’

Hunter faced the young officer. ‘You?’

Six foot two and well built, he ran a hand through his short-cropped black hair nervously under Hunter’s attentive eye. ‘I haven’t been inside either, sir, but apparently it isn’t a pretty sight. See those two over there?’ He pointed to two pale-faced police officers standing to the left of the church. ‘They were first response. I heard it took ’em less than twenty seconds to come running out puking their guts all over the place.’ He mechanically checked his watch. ‘I got here five minutes after they did.’

Hunter massaged the back of his neck, feeling the rough, lumpy scar on his nape. His eyes scanned the crowd already gathered behind the yellow tape. ‘Do you have a camera with you?’ he asked the officer, who shook his head, frowning.

‘How about a phone cam?’

‘Yeah, my personal cell phone’s got a cam. Why?’

‘I want you to take a few pictures of the crowd for me.’

‘The crowd?’ the officer asked, confused.

‘Yeah, but do it discreetly. Pretend you’re taking crime-scene pictures of the outside of the church or something. Try to get the whole crowd. And from different angles. You think you can do that?’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘Trust me,’ Hunter said calmly. ‘I’ll explain later.’

The officer nodded eagerly before reaching inside the police vehicle for his cell phone.