image from different angles.
‘And I’m sure that was exactly the killer’s intention,’ Garcia said. ‘OK, we’ve got to do the same thing we did inside Nashorn’s boat and photograph the shadow. We’ll need to reposition the forensics lights to where the flashlight is, that way we won’t need to use the camera flash.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ Brindle replied and started moving towards the forensics pedestal light in the corner.
‘Wait,’ Hunter said, frowning. Something wasn’t right. He turned off the flashlight and turned around, his eyes roaming the room from floor to ceiling.
‘What’s up?’ Garcia asked.
‘It doesn’t seem right.’
‘What doesn’t?’
‘The image, it’s incomplete.’
Garcia, Doctor Hove and Brindle exchanged intrigued looks. No one seemed to know what Hunter was referring to.
‘Incomplete, how?’ Doctor Hove asked.
Hunter switched the Maglite on again. The shadow image resurfaced on the wall behind the sculpture. ‘What do you see?’
‘The same as I saw just a moment ago,’ she replied. ‘Just what Carlos suggested. It looks like someone standing in front of a container that seems to be occupied by someone else. Maybe a bathtub. Why, what do you see?’
‘The same.’
Surprised looks all round.
‘So why did you say there’s something missing?’ Garcia asked. He was used to Hunter seeing things that no one else did – questioning things that no one else questioned. It was like his mind was never satisfied. He just had to keep on digging, even when the images were clear in front of his eyes.
‘The image of the container is obviously created by the fake book on the desk, and the image of the person inside it, by the torn fingers.’
‘That’s right,’ Garcia agreed. ‘And the image of the person standing in front of it is being created by the hand.’
‘OK,’ Hunter said. ‘But from this angle, we’ve got nothing from the second hand.’
Everyone looked at the victim’s right arm at the opposite end of the large desk. The one with the shorter ‘walking fingers’. In front of it the killer had laid several carved out pieces of Littlewood’s thigh.
‘The two arms are too far apart,’ Hunter continued. ‘The light beam isn’t wide enough.’
‘Maybe it isn’t part of the sculpture,’ Brindle said.
Hunter shook his head. ‘I’d agree that the legs and the severed feet aren’t part of the sculpture. They’ve been discarded by the side of the desk, but not the arm. It’s on the stage for a reason.’ Hunter’s gaze was again slowly searching the room. His eyes rested on the bookshelf lined with thick volumes to the left of the large executive desk and he paused. Three shelves from the bottom, about level with the desktop, the killer had carefully placed Littlewood’s extracted eyeball on top of a book that was lying flat. The eye was looking straight at the second sculpture from a peculiar angle.
‘Two separate images,’ Hunter said.
Everyone’s gaze followed Hunter’s.
‘Sonofabitch,’ Garcia murmured.
Hunter crossed to the bookshelf, held the flashlight level with the bloody eyeball and turned it on.
Seventy-Nine
It took them less than five minutes to reposition the forensics lights and capture two separate snapshots of the two sculptures – or the two parts of the one sculpture, depending on how one looked at it. The body and severed body parts were already being prepared for removal.
Hunter and Garcia left Doctor Hove and Mike Brindle to carry on with their work and walked over to the next office along the corridor. It belonged to an accountant, but it was now being used by the police. Sheryl Sellers, Littlewood’s office manager, who had found his body early that morning, had been sitting in there for over an hour, accompanied by a female police officer. Sheryl still hadn’t stopped shaking or crying. The female officer practically had to force-feed her a glass of sugary water.
Sheryl had answered a few questions from Detective Jack Winstanley and his partner when they first arrived at the scene, but since then she’d been speechless, sitting in the accountant’s office, blankly staring at a wall. She’d refused the offer to speak with a police psychologist. She said that all she wanted to do was leave that place and go home.
As Hunter and Garcia stepped into the office, Hunter gave the female officer a subtle nod. The officer returned his nod and stepped outside.
Sheryl was sitting on a brown, beat-up, two-seater sofa. Her knees were locked together, her hands clasped around a half-drunk glass of water resting on her lap, her whole body looked tense and stiff. She was perched right at the edge of her seat. Tears had made her eye makeup run down her cheeks, and she hadn’t bothered wiping it off. The white of her eyes had completely disappeared, they were so bloodshot from crying.
‘Miss Sellers,’ Hunter said, crouching down to catch her eye. He was careful to settle just below her line of vision, putting him in a less challenging position.
It took her several seconds to bring her attention to the man in front of her. Hunter waited until their eyes locked.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked.
She sucked in a long breath through her nose and Hunter noticed her hands starting to shake again.
‘Would you like a new glass of water?’
It took her a moment to grasp the question. She blinked. ‘Do you have anything stronger?’ Her voice was a wavering whisper.
Hunter gave her a quick smile. ‘Coffee?’
‘Anything stronger?’
‘Double coffee?’
Her expression softened a touch. In different circumstances, she would’ve smiled. She shrugged instead, and nodded once.
Hunter stood up and whispered something in Garcia’s ear, who then left the room. Hunter went back to his crouch position.
‘My name is Robert Hunter. I’m another police officer with the LAPD. I know you’ve had to talk to a few today. I’m really sorry for what has happened, and for what you had to witness this morning.’
Sheryl felt the sincerity in his voice. Her gaze moved back to the glass in her hands.
‘I know you’ve done this already. And I apologize for asking you to do it again, but could you run me through the chain of events since yesterday. From Dr. Littlewood’s last session to when you got here this morning.’
Slowly and in a quivering voice, Sheryl Sellers recounted all the events she’d already told the first two detectives at the scene. Hunter listened without interrupting. The story was consistent with what he’d already heard.
‘I really need your help, Ms. Sellers,’ Hunter said when she was done. Her silence prompted him to go on. ‘Could I ask you how long you’ve been Dr. Littlewood’s office manager?’
She looked at him again. ‘I started last spring. It’s been just over a year now.’
‘Can you remember if Dr. Littlewood seemed agitated or nervous at all after any of his sessions with any of his patients lately?’
