‘But then, how the hell did all that evidence end up in his car?’

‘I’m not sure, framed probably.’

‘Framed? But the only one who could’ve framed him was the Crucifix Killer himself.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And why now? Why would he be back now?’

‘I’m trying to figure that out myself,’ Hunter replied.

Garcia sat immobile staring at Hunter. He needed time to take all that in. That would explain Hunter’s reaction to the symbol carved on the woman’s neck. Could it be true, the Crucifix Killer had never been caught? Was he still out there? Had the State sent an innocent man to his death? Since Mike Farloe’s conviction the killings had stopped, which indicated that he was the Crucifix Killer. Even Hunter had started to believe it.

They sat in silence. Hunter could feel Garcia trying to process all the new information, trying to understand why someone would confess to a crime he didn’t commit.

‘If this is the real deal, I guess we will find out soon enough,’ Hunter said.

‘Really, how? How will we find out?’

‘Well, for starters, if this is the same killer, the forensic team will come up with nothing, another clean-as-a-whistle crime scene… Green light.’

‘What?’

‘The traffic light, it’s green.’

Garcia shifted his Honda Civic into gear and stepped on the gas. Neither said a word until they reached Santa Monica.

The Hideout bar is located right at the beach end of West Channel Road. Santa Monica beach itself is literally just across the road, making the Hideout bar one of the most popular nightspots in Westside Region. Garcia had only been once. Swaying curtains separated the nautically themed bar area from the main lounge, which was decorated with images of Santa Monica in the 1920s. The second floor was a loft that overlooked a low-back-chair-filled rear patio. It was a very popular place with the younger crowd and definitely not the type of bar Garcia would picture Robert Hunter hanging out.

Hunter’s car was parked just a few yards from the bar’s entrance. Garcia parked right behind it.

‘I’d like to take another look in that house after the forensic team is done, what do you say?’ Hunter asked, getting his car keys out of his pocket.

Garcia was unable to meet Hunter’s gaze.

‘Yo! Rookie, are you OK?’

‘Yeah. I’m good,’ Garcia finally replied. ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea.’

Hunter stepped out of the shiny Honda and opened the door to his old beat-up Buick. As he started his engine there was only one thought in his mind.

This shouldn’t be his first case.

D-King didn’t take too kindly to any of his girls doing a disappearing act on him. Jenny had walked out on his party at the Vanguard Club three nights ago and he hadn’t heard from her since. D-King differed from other sex dealers in Los Angeles in that he wasn’t violent with his girls. If any of them decided that they’d had enough and wanted out, he’d be fine with that, as long as they didn’t go to work for another sex dealer or run away with his money.

Finding new girls was the easiest aspect of his business. Every day hundreds of beautiful girls arrive in Los Angeles looking for the Hollywood dream. Every day hundreds of dreams are shattered by the harsh reality of the City of Angels. It’s just a matter of knowing which girls to approach. The desperate and totally broke – the ones that need to get a fix – the ones that craved the lifestyle D-King had to offer. If any of his girls wanted out, all they had to do was say it and a replacement would be just around the corner.

D-King sent his main bodyguard, Jerome, to find out what had happened to Jenny. Why hadn’t she called back? Worst of all, why hadn’t she turned up for her appointment with a client last night? D-King didn’t tolerate letting a client down. It didn’t reflect well on his business and even a crooked business depended on reliability. D-King suspected something wasn’t right. Jenny was his most reliable girl and he was sure that if she had run into any trouble, she would’ve called.

The truth was he had a soft spot for Jenny. She was a very sweet girl, always with a smile and a fantastic sense of humor – qualities that went a long way in her line of work. When Jenny first started working for D-King she told him she’d only do this job until she had enough money to stand on her own two feet. He respected her determination, but for now she was one of his most profitable girls, a very popular choice among the rich and ugly scumbags that made up his client list.

On Jerome’s return D-King was doing his morning exercise – twenty-five laps of his half-Olympic-size swimming pool.

‘Boss, I am afraid I ain’t got good news.’ Jerome was a scary looking man. African American with cropped Afro hair and a crooked nose that had been broken so many times Jerome had lost count. He was six-foot-three and weighed three hundred and thirty pounds. He had a square jaw and cotton-white teeth. Jerome had been tipped to become the next heavyweight champion of the world, but a car accident had left him almost paralyzed from the waist down. It took him four years to be able to walk properly again. By that time, his shot at the title had come and gone. He ended up working as special security for a nightclub in Hollywood. D-King offered him a job and a substantial salary raise after he saw Jerome single-handedly take care of a group of seven football players who were looking for trouble one night.

D-King stepped out of the swimming pool, grabbed a clean white bathrobe with the word ‘King’ in big golden letters on the back and sat down at the table by the side of the pool, where breakfast was waiting for him.

‘That ain’t what I want to hear, Jerome. I don’t wanna start my day with bad news.’ He poured himself a glass of orange juice. ‘Go on, nigga, spill it out.’ His voice was as calm as it’d always been. D-King was not the type of person to lose his coolness easily.

‘Well, you told me to go and check on Jenny, see why she’d disappeared for a few days.’

‘Yeah?’

‘OK, it looks like she didn’t only disappear from the club, boss, she simply disappeared.’

‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

‘It doesn’t look like she’s been home at all in the past few days. The building concierge hasn’t seen her either.’

D-King put down his glass of orange juice and studied his bodyguard for a few seconds. ‘How about her things? Were they still in the apartment?’

‘Everything – dresses, shoes, handbags, even her make-up. Her suitcases were all stacked up in the wardrobe too. If she split, it was in a fucking hurry, boss.’

‘She has nothing to be running away from,’ D-King said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

‘Does she have a boyfriend?’

‘Does she what?’ he asked, making an ‘I don’t believe you’ face. ‘You know better than that, nigga. None of my girls have relationships, it’s bad for business.’

‘Maybe she met someone that night at the Vanguard.’

‘And what?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe went back to his place.’

‘Hell no, Jenny doesn’t do freebies.’

‘Maybe she liked the guy.’

‘She’s a hooker, Jerome. She’d just come out of a five-night working week. The last thing she would’ve wanted was to go to bed with someone else.’

‘Private clients?’

‘Say what? All my girls know what would happen if I found out they were trying to run a little parallel business. Jenny ain’t the type, she ain’t stupid.’

‘Maybe she’s just staying with a friend,’ Jerome offered one more option.

‘Again, not like her. She’s been one of my girls for what, almost three years? She’s never given me any trouble. She’s always on time for her appointments. No, Jerome, this is messed up, something’s wrong.’

‘Do you think she might be in trouble, financially I mean, gambling or something like that?’