Sixty-Four
D-King picked up his shotgun and approached Jerome by the open door. He stood rigid. His eyes carefully scanning the new room. ‘What the fuck?’ he whispered,. ‘Hunter, come and have a look at this.’
Hunter cautiously joined them.
The new room was in much better shape than the one they were in. The ceiling had been painted blue and decorated with what looked like a million fluorescent stars. The walls were even more colorful, displaying a tremendous variety of drawings – dragons, wizards, horses, leprechauns . . . On the far wall a series of wooden shelves held an impressive collection of toys – dolls, cars, action figures with even more toys scattered all over the floor. A large rocking horse sat to the left of the door. Against the west wall a video camera had been placed on a tripod.
Hunter felt his chest knot around his heart. His eyes left the room and rested on D-King’s baffled face.
‘Kids,’ Hunter whispered. The anger in his voice as clear as a loud shout.
D-King’s eyes seemed glued to the room’s decoration. It took him another thirty seconds to face Hunter. ‘Kids?’ D-King’s voice trailed off. ‘Kids?’ This time a powerful cry as he stormed back into the first room. The sadness inside him had been replaced by pure rage.
‘This is fucked up, man,’ Jerome said, shaking his head.
‘You do this to kids? What kind of sick fucks are you?’ D-King demanded standing before the three bound men. His bravado met with silence, his eyes met by no one.
Hunter’s stare rested on the three naked men. He simply didn’t care anymore.
‘Let me tell you something, Detective Hunter.’ D-King’s voice quivered with anger. ‘I grew up on the streets. I’ve dealt with scum my whole life. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt is that out here we have our own way of dealing with things. Most motherfuckers aren’t scared of getting caught. Prison is like holiday camp. It’s their home away from home. In there they’ve got their gangs, their drugs and their bitches. It ain’t much different from outside. But they’d shit a brick if they thought street-law was knocking on their fucking door. Out here we’re the jury, the judge and the executioner. This doesn’t concern you or your law. They’ll pay for what they’ve done to Jenny and you ain’t coming between me and them.’
There was more to it than rage. Hunter knew he’d been right. To D-King Jenny had been a lot more than just one of the girls.
Hunter turned to face the three men tied to the metal chairs. They stared back at him with insolent smiles, like they knew he had to take them in, it was protocol, it was what cops had to do.
Hunter felt tired. He’d had enough. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. This had nothing to do with the Crucifix Killer. This was D-King’s problem.
‘Fuck protocol,’ Hunter whispered. ‘I was never here.’
D-King gave him a quick nod and watched as Hunter holstered his weapon and silently made for the door.
‘Wait!’ the tattooed man shouted. ‘You can’t just walk away. You’re a fucking cop. How about our human rights?’
Hunter didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back as he closed the door behind him.
‘Rights?’ D-King asked with an animated laugh. ‘We’ll give you your rights . . . your last rites.’
‘What do we do about this place . . . and them,’ Jerome tilted his head towards the men in the first room.
‘Torch the place, but we’ll take them with us. We still gotta get the name of their ringleader out of them.’
‘Do you think they’ll talk?’
‘Oh they’ll talk, I promise you. If it’s sodomizing pain they’re into, we’ll give it to them . . . over a ten-day period.’ The evil smile on D-King’s lips made even Jerome shudder.
Back in his car Hunter stared at his shaking hands, struggling with an agonizing and uneasy feeling. He was a detective. He was supposed to uphold the law and he’d just disregarded it. His heart told him he’d done the right thing, but his conscience didn’t agree. D-King’s words still echoed in his ears. Out here we’re the jury, the judge and the executioner. Suddenly Hunter stopped breathing.
‘That’s it,’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘That’s where I know him from.’