Captain Blake gave Hunter a look that told him she didn’t have time for bullshit.

‘We’re going through them as fast as we can,’ Hunter explained. ‘But there’s a lot of stuff in those books. They’re not proper journals or diaries. They’re just books the priest used to write his thoughts, the way he felt, things he’d done . . . There’s no sequence. Most of the entries read like dissertations, and they go back a long way.’ He walked back to his desk. ‘The problem is we’re not really sure what were looking for. It could be anything, a word, a phrase . . . or it could be hidden between the lines. If Father Fabian feared for his life, we were hoping to find something in the most recent diary, but they aren’t dated. The idiots who brought them over after forensics were done dusting them didn’t think to number the books in the same order they were found on the shelves inside Father Fabian’s room.’

‘They’ve been shuffled like a deck of cards,’ Garcia commented.

‘So if by interesting you mean stories of a tormented priest, then yes, they’re very interesting,’ Hunter continued. ‘But if you mean “have we found something that might give us a clue why he was murdered?”, then the answer is – not yet.’

Captain Blake closed the diary and placed it back on the pile. Only then she noticed how neat and tidy Garcia’s desk was. Nothing was out of place. No clutter. All the objects on it were arranged symmetrically. ‘What do you mean by a tormented priest?’

‘It seems like he’d questioned his faith more than once,’ Garcia offered.

‘We all do that every now and again,’ she replied with a shrug.

‘That’s true.’ Hunter looked for something inside his top drawer. ‘But it looks like what Father Fabian saw and heard over the years made him doubt priesthood was really his call.’

‘Why?’

‘You need to believe in God if you’re gonna be a priest. At times he questioned God’s existence.’

‘Plus, there’re a few passages that make it clear that he was struggling with the whole celibacy concept,’ Garcia noted.

‘How many of these have you been through so far?’

‘Three each, and we’ve been reading through the night.’ Hunter answered.

The captain folded her arms and exhaled a deep breath. ‘Bishop Clark is worried about these journals.’

‘Worried how?’ Hunter cracked his knuckles and Captain Blake cringed.

‘He fears Father Fabian might’ve written things he shouldn’t have.’

‘Can you be a little more specific, captain?’ Hunter asked. ‘We don’t have a lot of time for guessing games.’

‘The celibacy dilemma for one.’

Garcia coughed. ‘So Bishop Clark is more worried that Father Fabian could’ve jumped the fence than with the fact that he was brutally decapitated inside his own church? That’s messed up.’

‘He’s also very worried that Father Fabian might’ve written down things he heard in confessions. To the Catholic Church, that’s like a felony.’

‘Only if Father Fabian had verbally discussed any of his confessions with someone else.’ Hunter disagreed. ‘Writing them down in a private diary constitutes no sin or Catholic crime.’

‘Are you Catholic?’ she asked with a frown.

A shake of the head.

‘So how do you know that?’

‘I read a lot.’

Garcia smiled.

‘I suggest you read faster then.’

‘Why?’

‘Bishop Clark is pressuring to get the journals back.’

‘Let him pressure.’ Hunter wasn’t worried. ‘The contents of these journals may turn out to be evidence in an ongoing investigation. The last I heard the police still had the authority to seize any evidence from a crime scene.’

‘He ain’t going through a court of law.’ Captain Blake faced Hunter.

‘Let me guess. My old friend, Mayor Edwards?’

‘Who no doubt will talk to his old friend, the chief of police. After that it gets complicated.’

‘Complicated is what we do, captain. We need to go through those journals.’

‘Just get through them as fast and as thoroughly as you can, will you?’

Twenty-Five

Captain Blake approached the corkboard and studied the photographs that were pinned on it. ‘I can see what you meant about this being ritualistic. The decapitation, the dog’s head, the circle around the altar, the blood-drinking theory, the numbering of the victim . . . It’s all there, isn’t it?’

Neither detective replied.

‘You see, that bothers me,’ the captain carried on. ‘Rituals are never rushed, and it doesn’t seem like this one was either. That tells me the killer would’ve needed at least twenty to thirty undisturbed minutes to achieve his goal.’

Hunter agreed with a slow nod.

‘Risky, isn’t it? Especially when you take into account the murder was committed in a public place. Anyone could’ve walked in on the killer.’

‘He had it under control,’ Hunter confirmed.

‘How so?’

‘It looks like the killer was inside the church dressed as a priest just before closing time.’

‘What?’

‘The estimated time of death coincides with the church’s closing time – around ten o’clock.’ Hunter searched through a few pieces of paper on his desk. ‘Confessions were due to end at ten to ten. At twenty to ten the church was almost empty, except for two people – a Mrs. Morales and a Mrs. Willis. According to their statement, they were asked to leave at that time by a priest they didn’t recognize.’

Captain Blake squinted.

‘The priest told them he was there to help Father Fabian, and that they were closing early because they needed to prepare the church for a special Mass the next morning. Hermano, the altar boy, knows nothing about a priest helping out. And he said there was nothing special about any Mass.’

‘Have you talked to these two women? Do we have a sketch of this mysterious priest?’

‘I’ve talked to them, yes, but no sketch.’

‘Why not?’

Hunter picked up two sheets of paper from his desk and handed them to Captain Blake. ‘These are the witnesses’ statements concerning the priest who asked them to leave.’

The captain read them attentively. Her brow creased as her eyes jumped back and forth from one page to the other. ‘Is this serious?’

‘Afraid so,’ Hunter said.

‘So Mrs. Morales says the priest was a Caucasian young man, tall with short blond hair and a long nose.’ Captain Blake waggled the sheet in her left hand. ‘While Mrs. Willis thinks the priest was “not so tall” and looked Hispanic with short cropped brown hair, a rounded nose and a thin mustache. Are they both blind?’

‘No,’ Hunter replied casually. ‘They’re old. Mrs. Morales is seventy-two and Mrs. Willis is seventy-seven. Their memories aren’t what they used to be. And you know that our visual memory is our weakest one. No two witnesses ever see the same thing.’

‘Great.’ Captain Blake handed the statements back to Hunter. ‘But the killer still took a big risk by talking to two different people and asking them to leave the church. He had no way of knowing what their description of him would be like.’

‘It was a calculated risk,’ Hunter replied, massaging his neck. ‘If he took the trouble to disguise himself as a priest, it stands to reason that he’d change his appearance as well. Contact lenses, wig, false nose and mustache . . . whatever. I don’t believe he left anything to chance.’

‘Very methodical.’

‘Ritualistic killers usually are.’

‘What if the killer wasn’t disguising himself as a priest?’ the captain asked, leaning against Garcia’s desk. ‘What if he was a priest? Priests are usually very methodical people.’

‘We’re also looking into that.’ Hunter poured himself a glass of water.

‘You don’t sound very sure.’

‘At the moment I’m not sure of anything, captain. There’re too many loose ends.’