to the pain,’ he said, picking up on Garcia’s suspicion, and quickly dismissing it. ‘It was used to stop the bleeding.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Robert is right,’ Doctor Hove noted. ‘Cayenne pepper has been used as a natural remedy for years. More specifically – a blood clotter.’
Garcia’s focus moved to Nashorn’s severed feet on the metal table. ‘Like coffee powder?’
‘Yes, coffee powder can have a very similar effect,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘Both powders react with the body to equalize blood pressure, meaning an extra gushing of pressure will not be concentrated in the wound area as it normally would be. Blood will quickly clot when the pressure is equalized. It’s an old trick, but it works every time. The bandaging has already been sent up to the lab for analysis.’
‘Did the killer use the same level of care for the subsequent amputations?’ Garcia asked.
Doctor Hove tilted her head to one side and twisted her mouth. ‘Kind of. Arteries and large veins in the arms were also ligated, using a thick thread, but as you’ll remember, there was no dressing of the wounds. And unlike the feet amputations, cayenne pepper was never used to try and contain the hemorrhage. But what was done would certainly prevent the victim from bleeding out too quickly.’
‘We obviously have no toxicology results yet, right?’ Hunter said.
‘Not yet,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘In a day or two. My guess is that we’ll get the same result for the heart-rate regulating drugs the killer used on his first victim.’
Hunter had the same feeling, but he noticed something else in Doctor Hove’s demeanor. Something seemed to be troubling her. ‘Is there something else?’ he chanced.
Doctor Hove took a deep breath and tucked her hands inside the large pockets on her long white overcoat. ‘You know I’ve been a pathologist for many years, Robert. And when you are a pathologist in a city like LA, you get to see pretty much the worst human beings have to offer, almost on a day-to-day basis. But I’ll tell you now, if there’s such a thing as pure evil, or a real demon walking amongst us, then this killer is it. And it wouldn’t surprise me if, when you catch this guy, you find he’s got devil horns on his head.’
Those words stopped Hunter and Garcia dead in their tracks, the image of the shadow figure cast by the sculpture found in the boat cabin coming back to them like a recurring nightmare.
‘Wait.’ Garcia lifted his hand before exchanging a quick, unsettling glance with Hunter. ‘Why do you say that, Doc?’
The doctor turned around. ‘Let me show you why.’
Forty-Two
Alice finished reading through another file and checked her watch. She’d been at it for three and a half hours and she still hadn’t found a path she thought was worth pursuing further. She’d already read through thirty-eight of the forty-six initial documents her application had flagged.
She shook her head disapprovingly as she studied the two untouched case-file boxes on her desk. She had no doubt that this time she’d bitten off a lot more than she could chew. She needed a team of readers, and maybe one or two other programmers, to get through those documents by the end of today. Maybe she should go back to searching for a meaning to the shadow image cast by the new sculpture. Maybe she’d have better luck there.
Alice poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and leaned back against the wall. Her eyes rested on the pictures board for a moment, and the brutality of it all made her shiver. How could anyone be this evil? This disturbed? And still be clever enough to come up with the sculptures and the shadow images? Still be clever enough to walk into someone’s house or boat, spend hours torturing them, rip them to pieces, and then walk out without being noticed? Without leaving any clues behind, except the ones he wanted the police to find?
Alice forced herself to look away, trying to shut the images out of her mind. Her attention returned to the documents on the floor. The cover pages carried the case number and the accused or convict’s name. She stared at them for a while, her brain throwing thoughts around, rummaging through possibilities. She’d already scanned through several cases where Andrew Nashorn had been the lead detective, and a handful where he’d been involved in the investigation, either in a detective capacity, or as a support officer. Almost all of them concerned gang members, muggers, thieves and petty criminals. Individuals who, in her opinion, didn’t have what it took to be this killer. She doubted very much she’d find a relation there. But she hadn’t even started on the list of victims who might’ve personally blamed Derek Nicholson and the State of California for losing their case.
She sipped her coffee too quickly, burning the roof of her mouth. Suddenly she paused as her brain spat out a new idea, instigated by the very lack of relation between the lists of names she had.
Back at her computer, Alice called up the code screen for the application she’d written earlier. All she needed were a few alterations here and there and she’d have a new search-and-compare tool. It took her thirty minutes to make all the necessary modifications. She used her security-clearance password to allow her new application to gain access to the Los Angeles District Attorney’s database. Hunter had also provided her with a password that allowed her to connect to the LAPD and the national criminal database.
While the program searched away, Alice went back to the files. The application had to connect to, and search, two different databases in two different locations – she was expecting it to take a while. The first results, using her initial search criteria, came back after thirty-five minutes. Thirty-four distinct names. Alice called up their individual case-summary pages and printed them out. She read through them, jotting down notes in the margins as she went along. As she started reading the summary page for search result number twenty-four, she felt a chill envelop her body. She put the page down and quickly shuffled through the remaining pages, looking for the match her application had indicated.
Alice sucked in a startled breath, and it rushed into her lungs like a cold wind.
‘OK, now this is very interesting.’
Forty-Three
Doctor Hove redirected Hunter and Garcia’s attention back to the first autopsy table and Nashorn’s body parts.
‘The head was the last part to be severed from his body,’ she said, stepping closer, twisting Nashorn’s head around and exposing the large wound to the left side of the face. ‘But this was the initial manner in which the killer subdued his victim. A very powerful, single blow to the face. Probably using some sort of heavy metal, or thick wooden weapon, like a pipe, a bat or something.’
Garcia rotated his neck uncomfortably from side to side, as if his collar was bothering him.
‘His jaw was fractured in three places,’ Doctor Hove continued, indicating the exposed mandibula – the same quarter-inch-wide piece of jawbone protruding through the skin that Hunter had identified back in the boat cabin. ‘Bone splinters cut into the inside of his mouth. Some perforated his gums like nails. He lost three of his teeth.’
Without anyone noticing, Garcia ran his tongue over his own teeth and fought off a shudder.
‘Forensics did find all three in the boat cabin,’ the doctor noted.
‘So the blow to the face was what knocked him unconscious?’ Hunter asked.
‘No doubt about that. But unlike the first victim, who was practically bedbound and could offer no resistance to the killer’s sadistic wishes, if awake, this victim could’ve easily fought back. He was in good physical health, considering his age and the fact that one of his lungs worked on a reduced capacity.’ Doctor Hove indicated the disjointed body parts on the table. ‘The muscles in his arms and legs were strong enough, consistent with regular
