Read The Executioner for Free Online

step back.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘Have a look.’
    Jamaal checked the unzipped body bag. ‘Oh crap.’ He made a face as if he’d just tasted something bitter. ‘Headless.’
    Nelson nodded. ‘But have a look at what he’s wearing.’
    Only then Jamaal noticed the priest’s cassock. ‘Oh man, that’s bad. Who the hell would do this to a priest?’
    ‘Someone with a lot of anger,’ Nelson said, stepping forward again.
    ‘I’m not Catholic or nothing, but this is just . . .’ Jamaal shook his head without finishing the sentence. ‘This city’s messed up, man. Violence everywhere.’
    ‘The whole world’s messed up, dude. Let’s just finish this and get the hell out of here. I’ve had enough for today.’
    ‘You can say that again.’
    They unbuttoned the cassock, pulled it open and froze.
    ‘Holy shit,’ Nelson whispered.
    ‘I think we better get Doctor Winston on the phone. Right now.’

Sixteen
     
    Insomnia is a very unpredictable condition and it affects people in different ways. It can kick in before you go to bed or it can torture you, allowing you to fall asleep for an hour or so before creeping in and keeping you awake for the rest of the night. In the United States, one in five people suffer from it.
    After spending most of the night researching on the internet, Hunter managed only a couple of hours’ sleep before his brain was wide awake again. The images of the church and Father Fabian’s murder played at the back of his mind like a film stuck on an agonizing loop. To disconnect, Hunter hit the gym at 4:00 a.m.
    At 6:00 a.m., after a heavy workout and a hot shower, Hunter was staring out of the window of his small one-bedroom apartment in south Los Angeles. He was trying to organize his thoughts when his cell phone rang.
    ‘Detective Hunter speaking.’
    ‘Robert, it’s Jonathan Winston here.’
    Hunter checked his watch. ‘What’s the matter, doc? Can’t sleep?’
    ‘At my age I rarely sleep past five in the morning anyway, but I ain’t calling to discuss my sleeping habits.’
    The ominous tone in Doctor Winston’s voice cleared the grin from Hunter’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘Well, you’d better get your partner and get here. I need you to see something before I start the autopsy on the decapitated priest.’
    ‘ Before you start the examination?’ Hunter enquired skeptically.
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Are you at the County Coroner’s?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘I’ll call Carlos. We’ll be there in half an hour, doc.’

Seventeen
     
    ‘So what’s this all about?’ Garcia asked as he met Hunter in the parking lot to the County Department of Coroner at 6:35 a.m. ‘This place ain’t even open yet.’
    Hunter shrugged. ‘The doctor didn’t say, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.’
    Doctor Winston greeted both detectives with a firm handshake by the entrance door.
    ‘So what happened, doc?’ Hunter asked as they entered the building.
    ‘Well, last night when I got to the Redwood Bar & Grill for William’s leaving do, I turned my cell phone off. After all, I’m a pathologist not a surgeon. I don’t get called for emergencies in the middle of the night.’
    ‘OK.’ Hunter said the word slowly.
    ‘When I turned my cell phone back on this morning I had a rather peculiar message from one of my forensic technicians.’
    They walked through an empty front lobby, past the reception desk and into a long and well-lit corridor.
    ‘As you might expect, we’re one of the busiest coroners’ departments in the entire United States. Most of the gritty, autopsy-preparatory jobs are delegated to forensic technicians, who are usually university students.’
    They reached the stairwell at the end of the corridor and went up to the first floor.
    ‘The corpses arrive here in a regular polyethylene body bag. In the specific case of your priest’s body, the coroner’s investigator at the scene was kind enough to remove the dog’s head from the body before