The Executioner Read Online Free Page B

doesn’t have a good ring to it, does it?’
    ‘Any stamps on the passport?’ Hunter asked with interest.
    Garcia flipped through the first few pages. ‘Only one. Italy, three years ago.’
    Hunter nodded. ‘Anything else from the drawers?’
    Garcia rummaged through them a little more. ‘A few notes, Saint George cards, pens, pencils, an eraser and . . . a newspaper clipping.’
    ‘What about?’
    ‘Father Fabian.’
    Hunter joined Garcia to have a look at it. The article was eleven months old and it’d come from the LA Daily News . A photograph of a kind-looking priest surrounded by smiling children topped the article. The headline read COMPTON PRIEST – THE REAL SANTA CLAUS. The rest of the article went on to explain how Father Fabian had saved out of his own allowance to put a smile on the faces of homeless children in six different orphanages by handing out presents.
    ‘It sounds like he was a good man,’ Hunter commented, walking back to the bookcase.
    Garcia agreed with a nod and returned the news clipping to the drawer. ‘I guess tonight won’t be such a party for us after all,’ he said, now looking through the figurines on the small shrine.
    Captain Bolter’s leaving do was scheduled to start at five in the afternoon at the Redwood Bar & Grill.
    ‘I guess not.’ Crouching down, Hunter pulled a leather-bound volume from the bottom shelf and flipped through a few pages before putting it back and repeating the process with the next one.
    And the next.
    And the next.
    They were all handwritten.
    ‘What’ve you got?’ Garcia asked, noticing Hunter’s interest as he read through a few pages.
    ‘A whole bunch of journals, or something like it,’ Hunter answered, standing up again. He flicked back to the first page and then all the way to the last one. ‘There are exactly two hundred pages here.’ A few more flicks. ‘And they’re all filled from top to bottom.’
    Garcia joined Hunter by the bookcase, twisting his body to get a better look at the bottom shelf. ‘There are over thirty-five volumes. If every page means a day’s entry, he’s been documenting his life for what?’
    ‘Over twenty years,’ Hunter said, flipping open the volume in his hand. ‘His days, his thoughts, his doubts. They’re all here on paper. Listen to this,’ he said, turning towards Garcia.
    ‘ With a heavy heart I prayed today. I prayed for a woman – Rosa Perez. For the past five years she’d been coming to this church. She’d been praying for one thing and one thing only. To be able to bear a child. Her womb was severely damaged after she’d been sexually assaulted by four men almost eight years ago. It happened only a block away from here. She was sixteen then. Rosa got married three years after the assault. She and her husband, Antonio, have been trying for a child ever since, and last year her prayers were finally answered. She became pregnant. I’ve never seen anyone so happy in all my life. Two months ago she gave birth to a baby boy, Miguel Perez, but there were complications. The baby wasn’t born healthy. He fought bravely for ten days, but his lungs and heart were too weak. He died eleven days after his birth.
    ‘ Rosa came back to this church only once after she left the hospital. She brought with her a single question – WHY?
    ‘ I saw it in her eyes. There was no belief anymore. Her faith had died with her son.
    ‘ Today – alone – she took her own life inside a small apartment in East Hatchway Street. I now fear for Antonio’s sanity. And though my faith is indisputable, I long to know the answer to Rosa’s question. WHY, Lord? Why do you give only to take away? ’
    Hunter looked at Garcia.
    ‘When was that?’
    ‘There are no dates,’ Hunter confirmed.
    Garcia shook his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘That’s a sad story. It seems that even priests question their faith from time to time.’
    Hunter closed the diary and placed it back in the bookcase. ‘If Father