‘Like what?’

‘The importance of the ritual, for one.’

‘You lost me already.’

Hunter left his glass on his desk and approached the picture board. ‘In a ritual, the ceremony itself is the most important thing; the victim comes second.’

‘And you don’t believe that’s the case here, do you?’ the captain asked, joining Hunter by the board.

He subtly shook his head. ‘The victim was the most important thing in this murder. The killer specifically wanted Father Fabian dead. And he gave us a clue to that.’

‘What clue?’ She looked at Hunter.

‘The number three drawn on the priest’s chest.’

The captain pouted her lips as she thought about it for a few moments. ‘The fact that the killer went through the trouble of undoing Father Fabian’s cassock, writing the number on his chest and then buttoning him back up.’

Hunter nodded. ‘That means that the attack was very personal.’

Captain Blake pulled a strand of loose hair from over her right eye. ‘Do you think all that could’ve been a diversion? The killer made the murder look like a ritual, when in fact it was just a plain sadistic homicide?’

‘To divert us from what?’ Garcia asked.

‘It wasn’t a diversion,’ Hunter said confidently as he returned to his desk and had a sip of his water. ‘If the killer wanted to stage a ritual, the decapitation and the circular blood trail around the altar would’ve done the job. He didn’t have to go as far as drinking the priest’s blood or shoving a dog’s head down the body’s neck. There’s a deeper meaning to all this.’

Captain Blake closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. ‘So what’s your next move?’

‘We need to find out as much as we can about Father Fabian, including his personal life.’

‘Any family?’

‘Father Fabian was an only child,’ Garcia replied, reading from a sheet on his desk. ‘His father’s unknown and his mother died of liver cirrhosis six years ago.’

‘Our best bet is Father Malcolm,’ Hunter cut in.

‘Who’s Father Malcolm?’

‘He’s the head priest at the Our Lady of the Rosary Catholic Church in Paramount. He was also Father Fabian’s closest friend.’ Hunter instinctively checked his watch. ‘I’m taking a drive there later on.’

‘I’ll stay and get on with the journals.’ Garcia pointed to the pile of books.

‘How about this?’ the captain asked, pointing to the dog’s head photograph. ‘Any leads?’

‘Not yet,’ Garcia replied. ‘We’ve found references to Greek mythology and the Eastern Orthodox Church, but nothing relevant so far.’

They were interrupted by the phone on Hunter’s desk. It rang twice before he picked it up. ‘Detective Hunter.’ He turned towards Captain Blake. ‘It’s for you.’

‘Yes . . .’ she said, bringing the receiver to her right ear. ‘Put him on hold and transfer the call to my office. I’ll take it in there.’ She handed the phone back to Hunter. ‘Just a few days on the job and the mayor is already becoming a pain in my ass.’ She headed for the door.

Twenty-Six

Ryan Turner arrived at Reilly’s Estate Agency in West Hollywood an hour and fifteen minutes late. Amanda had only talked to the prospective buyer over the phone and she wasn’t really sure of what to expect. She was pleasantly surprised.

Ryan was around six-two, in his early forties and well built. His dark brown hair was short, conservative and clean, in harmony with the rest of him. He was executively dressed in an expensive-looking dark suit with perfectly polished shoes. He spoke with a hint of a southern accent.

‘I’m sorry for being late,’ he said as he firmly shook Amanda’s hand. ‘Business people always babble on more than they should.’

‘It’s no problem at all, Mr. Turner,’ she replied, giving him her warmest smile. ‘I’m glad you could make it.’

‘I’m really looking forward to seeing this house. From what I saw on your website, it looks perfect.’

Amanda’s smile widened.

‘And please,’ he continued, ‘call me Ryan.’

‘Only if you call me Amanda.’

‘Deal.’

Ryan convinced Amanda to ride with him. With traffic, the drive took them just over an hour. Amanda spent the first twenty-five minutes telling Ryan how wonderful the property was. Her rehearsed speech rolled off her tongue like poetry. For the rest of the drive they talked about everything, from business to Christmas presents.

The first thing Ryan noticed as they drove through the grand electronic iron gates of the property in Malibu was the tennis court to the left of it.

‘Impressive,’ he said.

Things were going just as Amanda hoped they would.

The rest of the house didn’t disappoint Ryan. Over six thousand square feet of living space with high wood-beamed ceilings in places and magnificent marble floors. Its interior had been luxuriously decorated with modern and stylish furniture. Ingenious light fixtures made every room relaxed and warm. Outside, the spacious entertaining and seating area and large pool with spa provided the final touches to the house.

As he explored each room, Ryan tried to conceal his excitement by keeping his leather-gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his long black overcoat. But the smile on his face gave him away. In this case, the house was literally selling itself.

‘Do you mind if we take another look in the living room before we go?’ he asked as he stared out of the window of the master bedroom on the second floor, overlooking the beach.

‘Of course not,’ Amanda replied, trying hard to curb her enthusiasm.

As they entered the living room, Amanda stood by the large, hand-carved wooden double doors. She seemed a little apprehensive.

Ryan was standing behind a lavish white leather sofa positioned just off the center of the immense room, his eyes glued to the ostentatious river rock fireplace that occupied part of the south wall.

‘I take it that the fireplace works?’ he asked, turning to face Amanda.

‘Yes. Everything in this house works perfectly.’

‘And I’m guessing it’s a gas fire instead of log. Or else I’ll need a small forest to fire up this thing.’

Amanda noticed he said ‘I’ll need’ and bit her lip to conceal her smile. ‘You’re right. It’s a gas fire.’

‘Could we light it up so I could have a look?’

The question caught Amanda by surprise, and she stared at Ryan wide-eyed.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Umm . . . yes, I’m fine.’ It took her a few seconds to regain her composure. ‘I guess it’ll be OK if you wanna light it up, but if you don’t mind I’ll wait in the kitchen.’

Ryan narrowed his eyes and took a couple of steps towards Amanda. ‘Is there something the matter?’

‘Not at all. Everything is just fine.’ Though she put on a brave face, she failed to convince him.

‘Everything isn’t just fine. The color is gone from your face, Amanda. Did I miss something?’ Ryan’s eyes searched the room.

‘No, no . . .’ Her reaction had startled him and she knew it. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the house or the fireplace. I guarantee it.’

‘So what’s wrong? I’m very good at reading people, and something is definitely bothering you.’

Amanda took a deep breath. ‘I . . . I don’t like fires very much.’ Her eyes found the floor like a timid little girl.

Ryan let out a nervous chuckle. He stepped within two feet of her and tried to catch her eyes once again. ‘Really?’

Amanda lifted her head and stared into Ryan’s caring eyes.

‘A bad experience?’ he asked in a soft voice.

Her lips made a thin line as she nodded.

Ryan placed a comforting hand on Amanda’s left shoulder. ‘Do you wanna know something?’ he said after a short silence. ‘I’m petrified of spiders.’

Her lips widened into a tentative smile.