the wrong reasons are the best ones.’
‘And most nights I’d agree with that. But tonight I’ll have to take a rain check.’
‘You’re blowing me off?’ She sounded genuinely offended.
‘Not really.’ Hunter paused for a second. ‘Let’s do this. When this investigation is over, I’ll take you out for dinner. Let’s see if you still wanna take me back to your place for drinks then.’
Thirty-Three
Hunter managed to get only three and a half hours of sleep. Though he’d been up since 4:30 a.m., it was just past eight by the time he walked into his office. Garcia was at his desk reading one of Father Fabian’s journals. His eyes were bloodshot framed by dark circles.
‘What time did you get here?’ Hunter asked, closing the door behind him.
Garcia placed the journal on his desk, leaned back on his chair and massaged his stiff neck. ‘Seven-thirty, but I was up half the night, reading.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Yeah, me too.’
Garcia noticed he had two journals under his arm. ‘How far did you get?’ He nodded towards the books.
‘I read through both of them.’ Hunter placed them on his desk.
‘You read four hundred pages in one night?’
‘I read a lot, I read fast and I don’t sleep much.’
‘Did you find anything?’
‘Nothing that could really help the investigation. But Father Fabian was a troubled man.’ Hunter leaned against his desk and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. ‘He thought about suicide – twice.’
Garcia rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. ‘Well, I’m getting cross-eyed. And I still haven’t found anything either. Any joy from the tip lines?’
Every night, before going home, Hunter personally went through the day’s tips collected by the tips team.
‘Nothing. Over two hundred calls so far and all of them bullshit.’
A knock came at the door.
‘Come in,’ Hunter called.
Officer Hopkins stepped into the office carrying a blue plastic file. He also looked tired.
‘I have some preliminary results to the searches you asked me for,’ he told Hunter, who raised a hand, stopping him before he was able to continue.
‘I think we could all use a break from the office and from computer screens. It’s not a bad day out there. What do you say we go grab a coffee in Little Tokyo? A change of scenery would do us good.’
‘I’m in.’ Garcia raised his hand.
‘Sure. I love that place.’ Hopkins nodded.
Little Tokyo is a small district in Downtown Los Angeles, just across the road from Parker Center and the RHD. It’s one of only three official Japantowns in the United States, and if you like Japanese food there’s no better place to be in LA.
Hopkins suggested Poppy Coffee Shop, on the south side of Little Tokyo. He’d eaten there many times and their coffee was the best.
Despite the early hour, the café was packed. They all ordered black coffees, and Hopkins had a chocolate-sprinkled donut to go with it.
‘You guys should try one of these donuts,’ Hopkins said as they took the last available table by the door. ‘They’re so rich they’re practically a food group.’
‘I’m good,’ Garcia said, lifting his right hand.
‘Knock yourself out.’ Hunter smiled and frowned at the four cubes of sugar Hopkins dropped into his coffee. ‘So what have you got?’ he asked.
‘Not much.’ Hopkins sounded disappointed. ‘I researched what you’ve asked. Any acts of violence against any churches in the past five years.’ He retrieved a few sheets from his file and started flipping through them. ‘I’ve got vandalism, graffiti, a few broken windows, stolen objects, a few attempted arsons, but no significant physical violence against any priests. There have, however, been a few cases of rape against nuns.’
‘That doesn’t fall into the category we’re looking for.’ Hunter sipped his coffee too quickly and burned the roof of his mouth.
‘I know, but still, that’s just fucked up.’ Hopkins took a bite of his
‘And most nights I’d agree with that. But tonight I’ll have to take a rain check.’
‘You’re blowing me off?’ She sounded genuinely offended.
‘Not really.’ Hunter paused for a second. ‘Let’s do this. When this investigation is over, I’ll take you out for dinner. Let’s see if you still wanna take me back to your place for drinks then.’
Thirty-Three
Hunter managed to get only three and a half hours of sleep. Though he’d been up since 4:30 a.m., it was just past eight by the time he walked into his office. Garcia was at his desk reading one of Father Fabian’s journals. His eyes were bloodshot framed by dark circles.
‘What time did you get here?’ Hunter asked, closing the door behind him.
Garcia placed the journal on his desk, leaned back on his chair and massaged his stiff neck. ‘Seven-thirty, but I was up half the night, reading.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Yeah, me too.’
Garcia noticed he had two journals under his arm. ‘How far did you get?’ He nodded towards the books.
‘I read through both of them.’ Hunter placed them on his desk.
‘You read four hundred pages in one night?’
‘I read a lot, I read fast and I don’t sleep much.’
‘Did you find anything?’
‘Nothing that could really help the investigation. But Father Fabian was a troubled man.’ Hunter leaned against his desk and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. ‘He thought about suicide – twice.’
Garcia rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. ‘Well, I’m getting cross-eyed. And I still haven’t found anything either. Any joy from the tip lines?’
Every night, before going home, Hunter personally went through the day’s tips collected by the tips team.
‘Nothing. Over two hundred calls so far and all of them bullshit.’
A knock came at the door.
‘Come in,’ Hunter called.
Officer Hopkins stepped into the office carrying a blue plastic file. He also looked tired.
‘I have some preliminary results to the searches you asked me for,’ he told Hunter, who raised a hand, stopping him before he was able to continue.
‘I think we could all use a break from the office and from computer screens. It’s not a bad day out there. What do you say we go grab a coffee in Little Tokyo? A change of scenery would do us good.’
‘I’m in.’ Garcia raised his hand.
‘Sure. I love that place.’ Hopkins nodded.
Little Tokyo is a small district in Downtown Los Angeles, just across the road from Parker Center and the RHD. It’s one of only three official Japantowns in the United States, and if you like Japanese food there’s no better place to be in LA.
Hopkins suggested Poppy Coffee Shop, on the south side of Little Tokyo. He’d eaten there many times and their coffee was the best.
Despite the early hour, the café was packed. They all ordered black coffees, and Hopkins had a chocolate-sprinkled donut to go with it.
‘You guys should try one of these donuts,’ Hopkins said as they took the last available table by the door. ‘They’re so rich they’re practically a food group.’
‘I’m good,’ Garcia said, lifting his right hand.
‘Knock yourself out.’ Hunter smiled and frowned at the four cubes of sugar Hopkins dropped into his coffee. ‘So what have you got?’ he asked.
‘Not much.’ Hopkins sounded disappointed. ‘I researched what you’ve asked. Any acts of violence against any churches in the past five years.’ He retrieved a few sheets from his file and started flipping through them. ‘I’ve got vandalism, graffiti, a few broken windows, stolen objects, a few attempted arsons, but no significant physical violence against any priests. There have, however, been a few cases of rape against nuns.’
‘That doesn’t fall into the category we’re looking for.’ Hunter sipped his coffee too quickly and burned the roof of his mouth.
‘I know, but still, that’s just fucked up.’ Hopkins took a bite of his
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