The Executioner (47 page)

Clunk
.

Hunter jumped to his feet. His senses on high alert. The noise had come from the small hallway next to the kitchen. Quickly and quietly he placed his back against the wall to the right of the corridor’s entrance, took a deep breath and rotated his body into it. His gun searching for a target. All was still, but something had changed. The door at the end of the hall was open. Hunter was sure it was closed when he’d entered the apartment. Weak, flickering lights illuminated the bedroom. Candles, Hunter decided. A trap, he was certain of it, but he had no choice.

He heard a choked whimper, and a shock of hope shot up his spine. He knew it was Mollie, but he sensed a second presence. She wasn’t alone.

As he took his first step into the hallway, Hunter’s head whooshed. He had no idea of how much blood he’d lost so far, but he was fast becoming light-headed and weak. He took a moment to regain his balance. All of a sudden, Mollie was dragged into his field of vision by a tall and well-built figure. A gun pressed firmly against her head. She was naked, terrified and crying.

‘Mollie,’ Hunter murmured. And though his protective instincts told him to go to her, he held his position. His gun trained at the mysterious figure hiding behind her.

‘Drop the gun, detective.’

Hunter hesitated.

The man pressed the barrel of his weapon hard against Mollie’s temple. ‘Drop the gun or she dies – right here, right now.’

‘OK.’ Hunter loosened his grip and his gun rotated around his trigger finger. ‘I’m putting my gun down. Let’s talk. No one has to die here.’

Mollie choked on her tears and her body jerked forward violently, but it was held by the man’s strong hand.

‘Put the gun on the floor and kick it this way with enough strength for it to reach me. If it doesn’t, she dies and then you die.’

Déjà vu
, Hunter thought and did as he was told.

As Hunter’s weapon slid across the floor, the man stepped from behind Mollie and stopped the gun with his right foot. His eyes moved down for a fraction of a second, not long enough for Hunter to react.

‘H&K USP Tactical?’ The man sounded impressed. ‘The favorite weapon of Navy Seals and special government operatives. Good choice. I can see you know your guns.’

‘So do you.’ Hunter shot back.

‘That I do.’ He smiled viciously.

Through the dim light, Hunter could finally make out the man’s features. A face marked by a hard and unhappy life. Deep lines, rough skin, cold and sad eyes and an ugly scar that ran from the top right-hand corner of his left eye to the middle of his forehead. Hunter didn’t need to search long to see the resemblance. There was something of him in Mollie. Maybe the mouth or the nose, but it was certainly there. He was her father.

John Woods kicked Hunter’s gun to one side.

Hunter kept his hands away from his body, around head height with his palms facing forward. Showing he was no threat.

John’s eyes settled on the bloody rag on Hunter’s left arm. ‘That looks painful and you look pale. I guess you lost a lot of blood, huh?’

Hunter didn’t reply.

‘Slowly, lift the edge of your trousers.’

‘I don’t have a backup weapon.’

‘I’ll check that for myself. Now lift them.’

Hunter did.

John grabbed Mollie by the hair and violently pushed her out of the way. She stumbled to the ground with a loud thump. ‘Go back to the corner, kneel and pray,’ he commanded. ‘I ain’t finished with you yet. Pray for your mother and for your sins, you little whore.’

Hunter could hear her desperate attempt to suppress her sobbing, as if the sound of her crying would enrage her father even more. John was too far away for Hunter to attempt any physical reaction at the moment. He had to think of something. While John’s gaze was on Mollie, Hunter took a shallow step forward.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said tentatively.

‘YES I DO,’ John shouted back. ‘I failed my task the first time, but the Lord has given me a second chance. A chance for me to redeem myself. And this time I won’t fall short.’

‘You failed your task because you didn’t understand it,’ Hunter replied in a secure voice, being careful not to match John’s aggressive tone, knowing it would only anger him further.

The doubt in John’s eyes was brief, but enough to give Hunter a chance to carry on.

Another shallow step. ‘You thought your task was to punish your daughter, to rid her of her affliction, or what you considered to be an affliction – the fact that she can sense other people’s pain.’

‘She’s got the devil inside her, that’s why she sees things – demoniac things.’ John’s aim never left Hunter.

‘No, she doesn’t. That’s where you got it wrong.’ Hunter knew John Woods was an extremely religious man. He had to play John’s game if he was to stand a chance of saving Mollie. ‘You misunderstood what God has asked of you. Your task wasn’t to punish her. It was to help her.’

A moment of uncertainty.

‘I understood God’s words clearly. He talks to me,’ John said confidently, stabbing his left index finger against his head. ‘She was a test from the moment she was born.’

‘Exactly,’ Hunter confirmed. ‘A test to see how you would cope with having such a special child. To see if you could understand.’

‘THERE’S NOTHING TO UNDERSTAND,’ John shouted back.

‘Yes, there is. It’s been part of our history since the beginning of time.’

A glimpse of curiosity washed over John’s face.

‘Think back to all the stories in the Bible. How many saints, how many people who only wished to do good were misunderstood, persecuted, even considered hell-sent and executed before they were finally seen for what they really were and given the credit they deserved? And that’s simply because people didn’t want to understand. Don’t make that same mistake with Mollie.’

‘There’s nothing special about having the devil inside you.’ John’s speech was becoming faster, more excited. ‘I was supposed to rid her of her curse, but I failed and I’ve lived in hell ever since. My task is now to see that she asks for forgiveness, and then send her to the only one who can forgive her.’

‘Your task is to kill her?’

‘Praise the Lord. The devil shall be no more.’

The argument was slipping away from Hunter. If it did, he knew he and Mollie were as good as dead.

‘Why would God give you such a vain task when he’s omnipotent?’ he asked steadily. ‘Isn’t God almighty? Doesn’t God have the power to give and take life at the blink of an eye? If God wanted Mollie dead, why would he need you? A snap of his fingers and she’d be gone. And what would you have gained from that?’ Hunter paused for a split second and saw doubt flourish in John Woods’s eyes. He quickly pressed on. ‘Nothing. No knowledge, no experience, no lesson learned. A futile task that would’ve taken God a nanosecond to complete. My understanding is that God doesn’t hand out futile tasks.’

The concern in John’s face grew.

‘Your task was to understand your daughter. To help her control and comprehend the gift she’d been given. Who do you think gave her that gift in the first place, John? The devil doesn’t have that power.’

Another head whoosh. Hunter could feel the blood running down his arm. He could hear it dripping onto the floor and he felt his legs starting to lose their strength. He knew he didn’t have much time left.

‘She cursed her mother,’ John shot back with rage. ‘She told her she would die.’

‘No, she didn’t. She tried to prevent it, and if you had listened to her your wife would be here now. Don’t you see, John? Hidden in Mollie’s gift is the ability to help people. She can help prevent some people from suffering, but she can’t do it alone. She needs others to listen to her.’

‘Like you did?’

‘Yes, like I did. She was crying out for your help. And she still is. All she needed was your support, your understanding. Your task was to see beyond the masquerade. To overcome your own prejudice and find good in what you thought was evil.’

John shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He looked uncomfortable, doubtful of his actions. His grip on the gun slackened a fraction and Hunter ventured a new step forward, but John snapped back as if waking up from a dream.

‘NO.’ His shout was full of anger. ‘I followed the task as it was given to me. She has to die. Like all the others had to die.’

Others?
Hunter thought.

‘They had to die so I could find the devil child.’

And suddenly it dawned on Hunter. The blond girl in the living room – on her knees – her throat slit open. Claire Anderson – her throat slit open. The girls in the paper. Hunter read it so quickly he’d forgotten about them. They were all brunettes. They were all around Mollie’s age. And they all had been found naked, on their knees, hands tied in a prayer position with their throats cut open. John Woods had been in LA for days searching for Mollie. His frustration and anger exploding inside him as he failed to locate her. He projected his hatred onto girls that looked like her. He was killing Mollie over and over again. But more than that, John did believe his daughter was special, that she could sense other people’s suffering. He knew she was a good person. He knew she would always try to help. He killed those girls not only because they looked like Mollie, but so Mollie would sense it. He was flushing her out. John Woods was the Slasher.

‘And die she will,’ John said, lifting his gun. ‘And so will you.’

Hunter saw the determination in John’s eyes as he tightened his finger around the trigger.

Game over.

The thunderous gunshot was muffled by the torrential rain that drummed the windows. The wall behind him was splashed with blood, bits of flesh and skin. The air was instantly filled with the smell of cordite.

Hunter’s body slumped forward, but in a last charge of strength he managed to hold onto the wall with his good arm. The combination of the loss of blood and the adrenalin of the moment gave him an incredible headrush and he lost his balance for an instant. As his eyes regained focus, he saw John Woods fall to his knees. Blood dripping from the gunshot wound in his right hand that’d obliterated three of his fingers. His mouth was half open, his eyes staring up in horror. Only then Hunter saw her. Mollie was holding Hunter’s gun John had kicked to the side. He saw her cock the hammer, ready for a second shot.

‘Mollie, don’t,’ Hunter called, dashing forward – both of his palms facing her in a wait gesture. ‘Don’t do it.’

She was shaking. Tears streaming down her face. ‘He killed Su . . . Susan. He was going to kill you.’

‘I understand, Mollie. But this time it’s really over. Let me deal with this.’

From the floor, John Woods let out an animalistic grunt before vomiting explosively. The pain of lost fingers, broken bones, torn ligaments and the loss of blood proving too much for him.

‘He raped me so many times.’ There was no anger in her voice, only pain. Mollie’s gaze flipped back to Hunter. ‘I’m so scared.’

‘I know, honey.’ Hunter’s voice was tender and concerned. ‘But there’s nothing for you to be scared of anymore. It’s really over, I promise you. He won’t ever hurt anyone else.’

There was a sudden rush of footsteps along the corridor.

‘Drop the gun. Drop it now,’ two LAPD officers shouted. Their aims fixed on Mollie.

‘Hold on.’ Hunter turned and faced them with his hands up in surrender, putting his body between their guns and Mollie. ‘I’m Homicide Special Detective Robert Hunter.’ He gestured towards the badge on his belt. ‘This situation is under control. Lower your weapons.’

The officers exchanged anxious looks. ‘It doesn’t look under control to me, sir,’ one of them replied.

‘This is how I control my situations.’

Both policemen frowned.

‘Keep
him
under watch.’ Hunter nodded in John’s direction. ‘He’s the Slasher killer you guys have been looking for.’

‘What?’

‘You’ll probably find a knife on him with blood traces from all the Slasher’s victims.’ Hunter tilted his head sadly. ‘Unfortunately, there’s another victim in the living room.’

After a quick hesitation their guns moved their aim onto John Woods.

As Hunter spun around and faced Mollie again, he heard one of the officers radioing in the surprising news and requesting an ambulance.

‘C’mon, Mollie,’ Hunter whispered, stepping closer, grabbing a towel from the floor and offering it to her.

The tense moment between them seemed to last a lifetime.

She uncocked the gun and placed it in his hand. ‘You’re the only one who’s ever believed me. You’re the only one I trust.’

With tears in her eyes she hugged him.

Christmas Day

Garcia opened the door wearing the tackiest sweater Hunter had ever seen – a purple, red, pink and lime-green furry monstrosity that looked at least two sizes too big. His nose was bandaged as if he’d been through a nose job. Dark bruises under both of his eyes.