Sixty

Hunter stepped out of the cab and looked up at the RHD building. His whole body ached. He needed a rest, but he knew there was no way he could’ve spent the night in that hospital room.

A guilty feeling started to torment him. He should’ve stayed with Garcia, he should’ve stayed with his partner, but what good would that have done? His wife was with him – he was in good hands. He would be back there first thing in the morning.

The dizziness had subsided but not enough to allow him to drive home just yet. Maybe what he needed was a strong cup of coffee.

He allowed the door to close slowly behind him and stared at an empty office. His gaze fell on the photo-covered board. Nine victims staring back at him. Nine victims that he couldn’t help and he’d been a button push away from making it eleven.

Memories of the old laundry room came back and all of a sudden the room felt cold. The realization of how close to death he and Garcia had been made him shiver. A dry knot formed in his throat.

Slowly he prepared a pot of coffee just the way Garcia had taught him, triggering a new barrage of memories.

Why Carlos? Why go for a cop? Why go for his partner and not him? And no carving, no trademark double-crucifix on the back of the neck. Why? Maybe Garcia wasn’t really supposed to die or maybe there was no point in marking the victim if the explosion would’ve disintegrated the room anyway. Hunter was sure this killer had an agenda set from the beginning and maybe the captain was right, the killer had achieved whatever he’d set out to achieve and Hunter was the last piece of the puzzle.

He poured himself a large coffee and sat back at his desk maybe for the last time. The new patients’ list that he’d acquired from the hospital only that morning was still sitting on his desk. On any other day he’d fire up his computer and start looking for a match against the police database, but today wasn’t any other day, he’d been defeated. The killer had won. No matter what happened from here on, even if the two new detectives managed to catch the killer, Robert Hunter had lost. The killer had been too good for him.

He touched his lower lip and felt it pulsating against the tips of his fingers. He leaned back and rested his head on the back of his chair closing his eyes. He needed some rest but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep. Maybe tonight was the night to get hammered drunk, he thought, that would definitely help the pain.

He massaged his temples wondering what to do next. He needed some fresh air, he needed to get out of the office. Maybe going back into the RHD building hadn’t been such a great idea after all – not tonight.

His thoughts were disrupted by his mobile ringtone.

‘Detective Hunter speaking,’ he said unenthusiastically.

‘Hunter, it’s Steven.’

Hunter had forgotten about the tail they’d placed on D-King. Steven was one of the three-man team that had D-King under twenty-four-hour surveillance.

‘Oh God, Steven!’ Hunter said, closing his eyes. ‘I forgot to call off the team. You can drop the surveillance. It was a cold lead.’

‘Thanks for telling me now,’ Steven replied a little irritated.

‘Sorry, man, but it’s been a fairly eventful day, haven’t had a lot of time to do much.’

‘So you don’t wanna know about what’s happening tonight?’

‘What’s happening tonight?’ Hunter asked with renewed interest.

‘I’m not sure, but whatever it is, is something big.’