The Death Sculptor

‘And the lyrics in the chorus say something about someone falling to pieces, and asking to be put back together again,’ Garcia added.

Alice paused a beat.

‘So he’s laughing at us,’ Captain Blake said, leaning against Garcia’s desk, anger in her voice and a steely glint in her eyes. ‘Not only is this perp crazy enough to kill a state prosecutor and an LAPD cop, but he’s also bold enough to taunt us with messages written on walls, songs with double meanings, sculptures made from the flesh of his victims and shadow puppets. He’s making this his own private goddamn circus.’ Her eyes flashed fire. ‘And we are the clowns.’

No one replied.

Alice had redirected her attention back to the pictures board. ‘What did you get when you shone a light on this?’ She indicated one of the photographs of the new sculpture. ‘I know you’re not waiting for the lab to produce another replica to find out. You checked it last night, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what did you get?’ Captain Blake this time. ‘Shadow puppets of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?’

Garcia walked back to his desk, reached for an A4 brown-paper envelope and retrieved a single photograph from inside. He turned it over and showed it to the room.

‘We got this.’

Thirty-Six

Garcia crossed to the pictures board and pinned the new photograph onto it, just below the group containing the images of the sculpture found in Andrew Nashorn’s boat.

Captain Blake and Alice both craned their necks and squinted at the same time, as if in a synchronized dance move.

‘We used a forensic power light against the new sculpture to cast the shadows onto the wall,’ Hunter explained. ‘That’s how we managed to photograph the shadows. There was no need for a camera flash. It took us a while to find the correct angle. In fact, the killer was the one who showed us how exactly to look at it. He left us a clue.’

Neither Captain Blake nor Alice seemed to be paying attention to Hunter’s words. For them, during the past few seconds it was as if the whole world had disappeared, and all that was left was the photograph Garcia had just stuck to the board.

The captain was the first to speak. Her words came out slowly, surrounded by doubt. ‘What the hell is this?’

Hunter folded his arms and once again looked at the image that had taken over his mind since he first set eyes on it last night. ‘What does it look like to you, Captain?’

She took a deep breath. The way Andrew Nashorn’s arms had been bundled together – inside wrist against inside wrist, hands open outwards as if ready to catch a flying ball, cast a silhouette onto the wall that looked just like a distorted face. The thumbs, broken and twisted out of shape, pointing up, made it looked like crooked horns were growing out of its head.

‘Like a goddamn giant monster’s head with horns, or something. Maybe some sort of devil.’ The captain squinted harder and shook her head, hardly believing her eyes as she stared at the shadow images cast by the four figures that had been created by bundling all the severed fingers together two by two.

The way the killer had expertly carved out the figures – round and chunky at the top, curved at the center, and skinny at the bottom – and then placed them in relation to the light source was mesmerizing. A true work of a sick genius. With the light being shone from that specific angle, the shadows cast by the two upright figures look just like two people standing up, viewed from a profile perspective. The shadows cast by the two lying down figures also resembled two people, lying on top of each other on the floor.

‘And what is this devil doing?’ Captain Blake asked. ‘Staring at four people? Two standing up and two on the floor?’

Hunter shrugged. ‘You see exactly the same thing as we do, Captain.’

Captain Blake was getting fidgety. ‘Great! And all that crap means what, exactly?’

‘Another riddle within a riddle,’ Garcia said, returning to his desk.

‘We don’t know yet, Captain,’ Hunter admitted. ‘We haven’t had time to analyze and research the image and its connotations. We only got this last night, remember?’

‘The shadow that looks like a head with horns could represent the killer,’ Alice offered, pointing at the photograph and stealing everyone’s attention. ‘That’s why it’s so much bigger than the four other images. The crooked thumbs casting horn shadows and making the whole figure look like a devil’s head obviously characterizes evil. Maybe he believes he’s possessed by an evil being or something.’ She shrugged as she considered the rest of the image. ‘And one could maybe argue that the reason he’s looking down at four other figures is because they represent his . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she shuddered, scaring herself with the thought that swirled around in her head.

‘Victims,’ Hunter finished the sentence for her.

Captain Blake almost choked. ‘Wait up. So you’re saying that this new riddle, this new shadow image, could represent the killer and his agenda?’ The annoyed edge was still in her voice.

Hunter turned his palms up in a subtle ‘who knows’ gesture. ‘As I’ve said, we don’t know yet, Captain.’

‘But it makes sense, doesn’t it?’ Alice pushed. ‘Maybe that’s why there are two figures already lying down, look.’ She stepped closer and indicated it on the photograph. ‘They could represent the two victims we already have: Derek Nicholson and Andrew Nashorn. Maybe he’s telling us he’s got his sights set on at least two more. You were discussing this just a moment ago, weren’t you?’ She addressed Captain Blake. ‘Saying that this killer was cocky enough to taunt the investigation with messages and songs and sculptures and shadow puppets. So why not be bold enough to tell us that he’s going after two more victims? We know he’s confident. We know he’s big- headed.’ She tapped her index finger over the oversized image of what looked like a head with horns. ‘We know he thinks he can’t be stopped.’

The captain lifted her hand to keep Alice from going any further. ‘Slow down a second, Professor Sunshine. Yesterday, with the first sculpture, you were debating whether the killer might be delusional enough to think he is God. Now we think he’s changed his mind and he’s telling us he’s the devil? Evil personified? We’re skating all over the rink here.’

‘I’m pretty sure I’ve said this before,’ Hunter interrupted, his voice firmer this time, ‘but we don’t know what the meaning behind those shadow images is yet, Captain. All this is just guesswork based on nothing other than our own imaginations and interpretations. Even what we think we know about the images behind the first sculpture might be wrong. We have no way of being sure.’

‘So find a way,’ the captain barked as she moved towards the door. ‘And get me something more concrete than damn guesswork.’ She scowled at Alice. ‘And you better get cracking on that list of names, Miss DA’s-Best- Researcher.’ She exited the room, purposefully allowing the door to slam behind her.

A fraction of a second later the phone on Hunter’s desk rang and he reached for it.

‘Detective Hunter,’ he said into the mouthpiece and listened for about ten seconds before frowning so intensely his eyebrows almost touched. ‘I’m on my way down.’