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    Diabolical Crimes
    Diabolical Crimes
    Diabolical Crimes
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    Diabolical Crimes

    By Enrique Laso

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    About this ebook

    THE NOVEL THAT THOUSANDS OF READERS HAVE BEEN ASKING FOR

    In a Texas county, the bodies of young people who have been subjected to a bizarre ritual are being discovered. In desperation, one of the detectives assigned to the case decides to turn to a Mexican priest who is considered to be the best exorcist in all of America: Padre Salas. Meanwhile, the FBI sends in Ethan Bush, one of its best agents within the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico, to cooperate in the investigation, and create a profile of the serial killer.

    ETHAN BUSH AND PADRE SALAS ARE INVESTIGATING A TERRIBLE CASE OF MULTIPLE MURDERS

    This is a novel in which investigation, intrigue, mystery, paranormal events, and horror all intertwine together. Two of the most charismatic characters created by Enrique Laso– special agent Ethan Bush and Padre Salas–, meet in Texas, in order to assist the police in what is a dangerous investigation. This is a novel that has been written in response to the express demand from thousands of readers from around the world.

    IF YOU LIKE CRIME NOVELS, HORROR, AND MYSTERY, THEN THIS BOOK IS FOR YOU!

    Enrique Laso is currently one of the most recognised Spanish language authors. He has sold more than 1,000,000 copies of his works around the world, and has been translated into 14 languages. One of his novels has been adapted for the Spanish cinema, and another two are in the process of having the rights sold to a Hollywood agent.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBadPress
    Release dateMay 27, 2018
    ISBN9781547507160
    Diabolical Crimes

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      Book preview

      Diabolical Crimes - Enrique Laso

      Not everything has an explanation. Many times, reason is unable to understand incidents and events that occur every so often and disturb our senses.

      Some people will cling on to their beliefs; others, to the existence of forces from beyond, and just a few settle for thinking that perhaps one day everything will have a logic that in the current moment escapes us.

      But the singular truth is that these extraordinary things occur, and sometimes they are tied in with what we call ‘evil’. And one comes to wonder whether or not behind it all there will be a monstrous, abominable deity, that spreads terror from its arid lair: Hell.

      Chapter I

      He took another fleeting look at the half-naked body of the young girl lying lifeless on that arid wasteland, parched, and far removed from the home of any neighbour in the county.

      Is her heart missing?

      His colleague frowned, and brusquely waved one of his hands in the air.

      What, do you think I have an X-ray or ultrasound scanner in my eyes or something? ...I don’t have the faintest idea, but I imagine so. She looks just like all the other ones. This is just awful.

      He saw the forensics vehicle arriving, and absent-mindedly scratched his temple. He had barely been able to look at the girl for more than a few seconds, but her face had become etched on his mind. The open eyes, the ashen complexion, the torso folded up as if she had just arrived into the world... And he remembered that she was now the fourth victim. Her heart would certainly be missing. He was convinced that the modus operandi would be identical. He was devastated.

      San Patricio County was an ideal place to spend a few holidays, enjoying the bay, or the hectic city of Portland, which in the summer time was packed with tourists. But it was not a place to lose one’s life, much less for one so young, and in such a strange, horrendous way.

      Pete...

      Yes, what is it? asked the sheriff’s assistant whilst he took pictures, as if he had been photographing corpses his entire life.

      I’m thinking about suggesting something to Tom.

      Pete Sanders, assistant to the San Patricio County Sheriff, looked at the sky and held his breath for a few seconds.

      John, I think you were pushing it with that whole thing about bringing in a medium. Don’t test Tom’s patience.

      John Hill, the county detective assigned to the case, was aware of the fact that his course of action was unorthodox. His profound religious beliefs, combined with the odd nature of the crimes, were leading him down a road in which reason was losing its influence. He was aware of that, but he could not avoid searching for somewhat outlandish solutions in the face of events which required an unconventional perspective.

      Years ago, when I was just a small-time police officer in Laredo, right on the border, a priest lent us a hand.

      A priest?

      Yes. A Mexican. He wasn’t your typical priest.

      Please, John...

      The detective placed his right hand on his colleague’s shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the young girl’s body, and shuddered. He briskly turned his head, and the sober image of Matt Turner, the elderly medical examiner with his slow moving and weary gait, and who was already coming up to meet him, calmed him down.

      He was an exorcist. The best in all of America. A wise man. He impressed me.

      Did his collaboration do the trick?

      The wind stirred John Hill’s dark hair, and whipped up a fine veil of sand that forced him to close his eyes. In his mind, he went back to the distinct, soothing, and calm image of Padre Salas.

      We resolved the case. We resolved it thanks to his help.

      Chapter II

      In the FBI office in Dallas, special agent Liam Anderson had just received the call that he had been waiting days for: at last, they had confirmed for him that they would be sending, from Quantico to Texas, one of the best serial killer profilers, who was free that very moment. He could consider himself lucky.

      As he hung up the telephone, he searched for the man’s name both on the database and on Google, to see what he could find out about him. He did not want just anyone worming their way in, because he already had a great team for that right there, and just a few steps away from his own office. It had already been difficult enough for him to have to ask for help from the know-it-alls in Washington, whose feet never touched the ground, and who devoted themselves to formulating opinions whilst seated in a comfortable leather armchair, with the River Potomac flowing peacefully behind them.  He did not want to go through all of that hassle, just for them to lumber him with a nobody who, instead of being of any use, would simply work at muddying up a case which by this point was disturbing enough to keep even the hardest of agents awake at night. He himself had begun to have nightmares. He was not aware of them whilst they were happening, but Emma, his wife, would recall them to him in the morning. ‘Another one of those horrible dreams again. You were tossing and turning, and grinding your teeth for a half hour. I’m afraid to wake you up when you get like that’. But who the hell would not have nightmares about four young girls killed in barely the space of three months, in a county with a population under 70,000?

      But in reality, Anderson was not suffering from anxiety because of this wave of crimes, which would already have been more than reason enough; what was causing

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