‘It was already raining by the time you took these.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘Everyone had either a hood on or an open umbrella. If he is, we wouldn’t know.’
‘I messed up,’ Hopkins said, running his hand through his hair. ‘I should’ve gotten closer, shouldn’t I?’
Hunter turned and faced him. ‘It’s not your fault the rain came down, Officer…?’
‘Hopkins, sir. Ian Hopkins.’ He extended his hand and Hunter shook it firmly.
‘You did what I asked you to do, Officer Hopkins.’
Hopkins gave Hunter an unconvincing smile. He felt he should’ve done better.
‘How long have you been a cop, Ian?’ Hunter asked, studying Hopkins.
‘Three months this week, sir,’ he answered proudly.
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yes, very much.’
‘Yesterday, was that your first crime scene?’
‘No, sir. A couple of gang shootouts and an armed robbery. All of them with fatal victims.’
‘At the church yesterday,’ Hunter continued, ‘I know you were very curious to have a look at the crime scene. Why didn’t you?’
‘Because my orders were to stay outside and deal with the onlookers. And then to take some pictures of them.’ He gestured to the photos on Hunter’s desk.
Hunter glanced at Garcia and they exchanged an unspoken agreement. ‘OK, how’d you like to carry on helping with this investigation?’
Hopkins’s eyes lit up.
‘That’d be fantastic… sir.’ He couldn’t believe his luck. To police officers a serial-murder case is the champagne of homicides, and he’d just been given a VIP invitation to join the party.
‘OK. Captain Blake said she’d assign an officer to us. I’ll request you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I’m not sure thank you are the words you’ll be using in a week’s time.’ Hunter leaned back and interlaced his fingers behind his head. ‘This won’t be easy.’
‘I don’t like easy, sir.’
Hunter smiled. ‘Good, so let’s start with you dropping the “sir” crap. I’m Robert and this is Carlos.’ Hunter gestured towards Garcia. ‘Are you any good with computers? I mean, internet searching, research, that sort of stuff?’
‘Yeah, I’m very good at it.’
‘Great. I’ll introduce you to Jack Kerley, the main guy in our IT unit. He’ll get you set up.’
‘OK, that sounds great to me.’
‘One more thing,’ Hunter said, stopping Hopkins before he left the room. ‘This case and everything related to it is to be discussed with no one other than Carlos and myself, do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He nodded eagerly before reaching for the door.
The phone on Hunter’s desk rang.
‘Detective Hunter.’
It was Doctor Winston. ‘Robert, I’ve got the results of the autopsy together with a few of the lab tests. I can email them to you, but…’
Hunter sensed the uneasiness in the doctor’s voice. ‘It’s OK. We’ll be right over, doc.’
Twenty-One
In the Los Angeles lunchtime traffic, it took them over twenty-five minutes to cover the two miles between the RHD headquarters and the LACDC. Doctor Winston was waiting for them in room 2B, the same autopsy room they were in earlier.
‘So what have you got for us, doc?’ Hunter asked, covering his nose with his right hand.
‘Would you like a mask, Robert? We’ve got plenty,’ Doctor Winston said, reading Hunter’s discomfort.
‘No, I’m fine, but if we could speed this up, it’d be great.’
‘OK, follow me.’ The doctor walked up to the stainless-steel table. Hunter and Garcia followed. The headless priest’s body had been washed clean. The familiar Y incision that ran from the front of each shoulder to the pubic bone had already been sewn shut. Large black stitches stuck out of the ghostly-white flesh like poisonous thorns.
‘Fingerprints have confirmed that the victim is indeed Brett Stewart Nichols, aka Father Fabian. Time of death is estimated to be somewhere between 10:00 p.m. and midnight on Wednesday.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Closing time at the church.’
‘Except for where the head’s been severed, the body is clean of traumas,’ the doctor said, putting on a new pair of latex gloves. ‘Decapitation didn’t occur after death. In layman’s terms, it was the cause of death. Now here’s the interesting fact: there’s nothing to indicate that the victim’s been restrained. No abrasions or marks on the wrists or ankles.’
‘Was he sedated?’ Hunter asked, bending down to look at the neck stump.
A slight head shake. ‘Toxicology came back negative for any type of anesthetic.’
‘Why do you think he could’ve been sedated?’ Garcia turned to Hunter.
‘Most people would put up a fight if they were about to be beheaded.’
Doctor Winston agreed with a nod. ‘With no defensive wounds, we know the priest didn’t fight back. It’s not easy to decapitate a moving target.’
‘Could the priest have been knocked unconscious?’ Garcia asked.
‘That’s a possibility I’ve considered,’ Doctor Winston replied, circling the table to the other side. ‘Without the head, I won’t be able to confirm it.’
Garcia nodded.
‘There’s only one glitch with that possibility,’ the doctor continued, pointing to the neck stump. ‘The head was severed with a single, powerful strike. Undoubtedly a very sharp and precise weapon. No hacking, no sawing. According to the forensics team, there were no marks, no dents, nothing on the floor surrounding the body. If the victim was lying unconscious on the floor, a blow from a sharp, decapitating weapon would’ve surely left some sort of impression. The cut line on the neck suggests the priest was in an upright position, probably kneeling or sitting down. The blow came from above and from the victim’s left, suggesting the killer’s right-handed.’
Hunter considered the doctor’s words for several silent seconds. ‘I don’t believe the priest was knocked unconscious.’ He stepped away from the body and leaned against the microscope counter.
‘Why not?’ Garcia asked. ‘It would’ve made things a lot simpler for the killer.’
‘This killer isn’t after easy or simple. You saw the brutality of the crime scene. Sadistic killers rarely show compassion. Killing an unconscious victim would’ve given him no satisfaction. This killer wanted the victim’s fear. I bet he was looking straight into Father Fabian’s eyes when he delivered the fatal blow.’
Garcia felt a shudder run through his body. ‘So if he was conscious, why didn’t Father Fabian fight back? Or at least lift his hands to protect his face? It’s only natural.’
‘Too scared to move,’ Hunter offered.
‘Very possible,’ Doctor Winston admitted.
‘Are you suggesting that he just sat there like a statue while the killer took a swing at him?’
‘It happens.’ Doctor Winston nodded. ‘Depending on how terrified a victim is, it’s not uncommon for the brain to simply shut down. No motor stimuli get sent anywhere. And even though the victim might want to, he won’t be able to move.’
‘Hence the terms scared stiff and petrified.’ Hunter confirmed.
Garcia’s stare rested on the priest’s body once again. ‘Poor man. How about the weapon used, doc? An axe?’
‘An axe is an easy weapon to obtain, but very hard to handle and control,’ the doctor clarified. ‘It’s bulky, heavy and, contrary to what you might’ve seen in movies, the length of its blade isn’t ideal for decapitation. The killer would have to be a master lumberjack to achieve this sort of precision with a single swing.’
‘Any suggestions of what we should be looking for, doc?’ Both detectives faced Doctor Winston.
‘Because we haven’t found the head yet, I can only analyze the neck side of the cut. Judging by how smooth and precise it is, I’d say it’s very consistent with the type of cut achieved by a samurai sword.’