‘OK,’ she said, moving things along. ‘So what do you think he does for a living?’

When flying together, Tom and Sharon sometimes played a guessing game over a few chosen passengers. It helped pass the time.

‘Umm.’ Tom wiggled his head from side to side for a second. ‘He definitely works out. You can tell by his arms. His biceps are about to rip through his sleeves. But he also comes across as the calm type. Nothing seems to bother him, and he has one hell of an intense stare. Have you checked those big brown eyes?’

Sharon nodded. ‘Oh yes.’

Tom smiled again. ‘Silly me for asking. Well, I’d say he’s either a psychologist, or some sort of therapist . . . maybe sports.’ He then mimed a shiver. ‘Ooh no, even better, I’d say he’s a sexual therapist.’

‘Psychologist.’ Sharon liked that thought.

‘Cabin crew, please take your seats for landing,’ the announcement came through the speakers.

Less than ten minutes later the Boeing 757 touched down on runway two at Los Angeles International Airport.

Once again, passenger 9A waited patiently for all the other passengers in front of him to collect their hand luggage and clear the aisle. As he walked past the crew at the front of the plane, he gave them all a single courteous nod and mouthed the words ‘thank you’. His eyes sought no one in particular and Sharon felt a little disappointed. She had a special smile, coupled with a sexy wink prepared just for him. All she could do was watch as he walked away. She really would’ve liked to get to know him a little better.

What she had no way of knowing was that passenger 9A already knew everything he needed to know about Sharon Barnard.

Twenty-Two

Hunter’s cellphone rang less then ten seconds after he had stepped back into his office at the Police Administration Building.

‘Robert, where are you?’ Captain Blake said as soon as he answered.

‘Just got back to the PAB, Captain, why?’

‘Is Carlos with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I need to see you both in my office – right now.’

When Hunter and Garcia got to the captain’s office, she was sitting behind her desk, attentively looking at something that was lying flat on her desktop. From where they were standing, neither detective could tell what it was.

‘OK,’ she said, finally lifting her stare to meet theirs. ‘First question – are we really dealing with some sort of ritualistic killer here?’

‘It’s too soon to tell, Captain,’ Garcia replied. ‘As things stand, there’s not enough evidence to say for certain either way.’

‘How about the positioning of the body?’ she countered. ‘Set out to look like a five-point human star? Isn’t a five-point star a pentagram? And aren’t pentagrams widely known to be associated with devil worshiping and all?’

‘Not exactly, Captain,’ Hunter replied.

Captain Blake looked at him and waited. He said nothing else.

‘What do you mean, Robert?’ she asked finally.

‘Pentagrams are ancient figures that have been used throughout history to symbolize a number of things,’ Hunter explained, ‘such as strength, unity, power, secrecy. Several different religions have adopted it in different contexts, including Christianity. In fact, the pentagram has long been believed to be a potent protection against evil.’

Both Garcia and Captain Blake looked a little surprised.

‘The symbol that has been associated with evil and devil worshiping,’ Hunter continued, ‘is an inverted or reversed pentagram, with two points projecting upwards, and that’s because an inverted pentagram symbolizes overturning the proper order of things.’

Hunter paused, giving Captain Blake a few seconds to weigh everything up.

‘In our case,’ he added, ‘there’s no way to tell, Captain. Yes, the victim was positioned in a way that resembles a five-point human star, but we don’t know if that star is right side up or upside down, because we have no way of telling what the killer’s point of view was. If we consider the standard geographic coordinates – north being up and south being down – then the victim was not left in an upside down position.’

Captain Blake frowned at Hunter.

‘Her head was pointing north,’ he explained.

‘I’m actually scared to ask how you know all this about pentagrams, Robert,’ Captain Blake said, sitting back on her chair.

Hunter shrugged. ‘I read a lot.’

‘But of course you do.’ Her eyebrows arched sarcastically. ‘OK,’ the captain lifted her right hand, accepting Hunter’s argument, ‘for now, let’s forget the pentagram shape and focus on the body itself. Doesn’t specific victim positioning suggest some sort of ritual?’

‘Usually, yes,’ Garcia agreed. ‘But as I’ve said before, Captain, right now we don’t have enough evidence to be sure either way. What if this killer positioned the body that way just to try to make us believe that he really is a ritualistic killer, just to send us down the wrong path? He seems to be smart enough to be able to come up with something like that.’

Captain Blake chewed on that thought for a couple of seconds.

‘How about a cult?’ she asked, getting up from behind her desk and moving around to the front of it. ‘Could we be dealing with some sort of cult here, instead of a single individual?’

‘No,’ Garcia replied. ‘We’re not dealing with a group or any sort of cult here, Captain. This is a single individual.’

‘You sound very sure.’

Garcia proceeded to tell Captain Blake everything that the autopsy examination had revealed. She listened to his account without interrupting, her expression changing according to the level of surprise or disgust she was feeling at what was being said.

‘So this note the killer left lodged inside the victim’s throat,’ she said when Garcia was done, ‘it was written in blood?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Whose blood, the victim’s?’

‘We don’t know yet,’ Garcia answered. ‘That’s what we’re expecting it to be. We should hopefully get an answer from the forensics lab sometime this afternoon.’

‘I’m a little confused,’ the captain said, lifting a hand again. ‘How does that answer my question as to why you sounded so sure that we’re not dealing with a cult here, Carlos?’

‘The note.’

The penny finally dropped.

‘I Am Death,’ Captain Blake said in a half-whisper. ‘Not We Are Death.’

Hunter nodded. ‘This guy’s got an ego, and a big one. This is his work, his “masterpiece”, no one else’s, and he really wants us to know that.’

One didn’t need to be a detective to pick up the look of deep concern on Captain Blake’s face. A concern that clearly went beyond Garcia’s account of the autopsy findings.

‘Captain,’ Hunter asked. ‘What’s going on?’

Captain Blake reached for something on her desk.

‘A fucking hell of a lot.’

Twenty-Three

Captain Blake picked up a small, see-through plastic bag, which was what she had been looking at when Hunter and Garcia entered her office a few minutes earlier. Inside the bag sat a 4x6 Polaroid photograph. She handed it to Hunter and Garcia.

‘Here, have a look.’