‘We can do that if you like.’
‘I think that would be better.’
‘So what would you like to sweet-talk about, Detective Hunter?’
‘You can call me Robert. It’s OK.’
‘So what would you like to sweet-talk about, Robert?’
‘Let’s start with this.’ He leaned forward, reached for her glass and poured its contents into his own. ‘What do you really drink?’
She regarded him for a second. ‘How do you know Scotch isn’t my drink?’ A tone of defiance in her voice.
Hunter cocked his eyebrows.
She held his gaze for a second before her lips broke into a new smile. ‘OK, you got me. Gin and tonic.’
A moment later Hunter came back to the table with a tall, icy glass of G &T.
‘Thanks,’ she said before sipping her drink. ‘Let’s try this again, shall we?’ She offered her hand. ‘I’m Claire.’
‘Oh, so you did give me your real name?’
She nodded.
Hunter made no effort to shake her hand this time. ‘So which paper are you with?’
Claire put her hand down without looking offended. ‘The LA Times.’ She thought about it for a second. ‘Actually, I’m on a trial period.’
‘Oh, I see. And you’re thinking that maybe a serial killer story would provide the key you need to cruise through your trial period with flying colors.’
‘It wouldn’t hinder my chances, let’s put it that way.’
Hunter had another sip of his drink. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t think I can help you.’
‘C’mon, Robert. I just need a little lead. Something that the other reporters don’t have. And that won’t be difficult since no one has anything.’
‘That’s because there’s nothing to have.’
‘Are you joking? Someone decapitated a priest and shoved a dog’s head down his neck. The killer practically painted the church with blood. That’s the behavior of a deranged psychopath, not a one-off killer, and you know it. The whole thing was well planned. I think he’s gonna do it again or he’s done it before. What do you think?’
Hunter smiled. ‘That’s clever. Trying to induce me into a comment by disguising the question as your own opinion. Did you learn that in journalism class?’
Claire ran her left hand through her hair. ‘Two semesters of psychology at Idaho State University.’
‘You’re from the potato state?’
‘There’s more to Idaho than just potatoes,’ she replied, unamused.
‘I’m sure there is.’
‘I’ve also read your book.’
Hunter looked up, allowing the silence to stretch. ‘I’ve never written a book,’ he shot back, shaking his head.
‘OK, your PhD thesis on criminal behavior and conduct. It was made into a book and it’s still mandatory reading at the FBI’s NCAVC.’ Claire noticed Hunter’s questioning look. ‘I dated an FBI trainee,’ she explained indifferently. ‘Your thesis makes for very intense reading, but it’s extremely good. No wonder every FBI profiler has to study it. I’m surprised they don’t have you as a lecturer.’
She’s switching tactics, Hunter thought. She’s gone for the flattering approach now.
‘I did a quick check-up on you as well,’ she continued. ‘A prodigy, a whiz kid. You attended Mirman School for the Gifted, sped through university and got your PhD when you were twenty-three – impressive. How does someone like you end up as a detective instead of a millionaire?’
Guns and Roses started playing on the jukebox.
‘My life story won’t make a bestseller.’
‘I’m not looking to write one,’ she replied casually. ‘But about your book, I’m intrigued. I was particularly fascinated by the part about ritualistic murderers. I really do believe your theories are right on the money, but there’s something that bothers me.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Unless you’ve drastically changed your mind, or you’re willing to contradict your own thesis, I know you don’t believe the church murder was a one-off. Am I right?’
‘See, there you go again,’ Hunter replied. ‘Pushing your thoughts onto me and expecting me to agree or disagree with them.’
‘C’mon, Robert. Let me work this story with you. I’ll do a great job. I can make you famous.’
Hunter chuckled, crossed his legs and let his arms slump down onto his knees. ‘Famous?’
‘You’re a great detective. I know it because I researched you. Your track record when it comes to catching criminals, especially tough ones, is outstanding, but no one except a handful of people knows that. You deserve recognition. Los Angeles is in desperate need of a hero.’
Hunter had a slow sip of his Scotch. Claire Anderson was certainly very good at the flattering game; he had to give her that. ‘I’m happy the way I am,’ he replied. ‘I don’t wanna be a hero. And I don’t need to be famous.’
‘You’re happy? I don’t buy that.’
Hunter crossed his arms. ‘I like my life the way it is. I like being-’
‘A loner?’
Hunter kept silent.
‘OK.’ Claire leaned forward and placed both elbows on the table. ‘Off the record, answer me this, not as a cop but as a criminal psychologist just to quench my curiosity.’
Hunter arched his left eyebrow with interest. ‘Off the record?’
‘Yes. I promise.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Let’s suppose you weren’t investigating this case, but simply studying it. If you had to create a profile of the killer judged solely on what you saw inside the Seven Saints church. Wouldn’t that profile indicate an UNSUB that’ll probably offend again, or has already offended in the past, or both?’
Hunter let out a constricted laugh. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘I wouldn’t be a good reporter if I did.’ The answer came with a wink.
Hunter finished his drink and placed the empty glass on the table with an emphatic smack. Claire did the same.
‘One more round?’ she asked.
Hunter glanced at his watch with a doubtful look.
‘C’mon, you don’t have a wife to go back home to, do you?’
‘Somehow I think you already know the answer to that question.’
She giggled. ‘As I said, I did check you out a little bit.’ She realized how crazy that sounded and was quick to reiterate. ‘Not in a psycho, stalker way. Research is part of being a journalist.’
Silence.
‘C’mon, it’s my round. Look, I promise I won’t ask any more questions about the case.’
Hunter pulled a face. ‘I sincerely doubt that.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Claire said, standing up. ‘I’ve gotta tab going at the bar. Order whatever you like and get me another gin and tonic while I go to the ladies. We’ll have one more drink here, and then maybe we can go someplace else. My flatmate is out of town for the weekend.’ Her lips stretched into a seductive smile.
Wow, she’s prepared to go all the way. Claire would be amazing in bed, Hunter decided, but her performance would be in direct proportion to the information her lover could provide. It was the information she was making love to, not the man.
‘Look, Claire. You’re a very attractive woman. I’m sure you know you could take your pick out of all the guys in this joint to take home.’
‘I pick you.’
Hunter laughed. ‘And I’m flattered. But this would be for the wrong reasons and you know it.’
‘Sometimes the wrong reasons are the best ones.’
‘And most nights I’d agree with that. But tonight I’ll have to take a rain check.’
‘You’re blowing me off?’ She sounded genuinely offended.
‘Not really.’ Hunter paused for a second. ‘Let’s do this. When this investigation is over, I’ll take you out for dinner. Let’s see if you still wanna take me back to your place for drinks then.’
Thirty-Three
Hunter managed to get only three and a half hours of sleep. Though he’d been up since 4:30 a.m., it was just past eight by the time he walked into his office. Garcia was at his desk reading one of Father Fabian’s journals. His eyes were bloodshot framed by dark circles.