Hunter, Garcia, and Captain Blake did their best to persuade the reporters that none of the stories they heard was true. But one thing was for sure: the news of a new serial killer was about to break.
After the press conference, Hunter and Garcia got to work on the names Littlewood’s secretary had given them. In the past three months, due to his already full roster, Nathan Littlewood had only been able to taken on three new clients – Kelli Whyte, Denise Forde, and David Jones.
Kelli Whyte and Denise Forde both started their therapy sessions last month, and each had had four in total. David Jones had called enquiring about a consultation two weeks ago. He had come in for his first ever session at the beginning of the week. Sheryl said that Jones was a tall man, maybe six two, six three, with broad shoulders and an average body. She wasn’t able to tell Hunter very much about his looks, though. She said that Jones had turned up for his only session a few minutes late, clearly concerned about concealing his appearance. He was wearing sunglasses and a baseball hat pulled low on his forehead; according to Sheryl, though, this wasn’t uncommon among clients, especially the Hollywood types.
Hunter found out that Kelli Whyte was a 45-year-old recent divorcee who lived in Hancock Park. She managed a stock-trade company based in downtown LA’s financial district, and since her divorce six months earlier, she had been struggling to cope with life in general.
Denise Forde was a 27-year-old computer analyst who lived alone in South Pasadena, and worked in a software company in Silver Lake. All they’d found out about her so far was that she was very shy, lacked confidence, and didn’t seem to have many friends.
Neither Kelli nor Denise struck Hunter as possible suspects. David Jones, on the other hand, had proven to be an enigma so far. The address Sheryl had for him on file was wrong. It turned out to be a small sandwich shop in West Hollywood. The cellphone number on file rang indefinitely without being answered. And David Jones was too common a name for its owner to be easily traced. A quick search showed that in downtown Los Angeles alone there were over forty-five of them. In any case, Hunter had no doubt that the name was false. He was sure the killer had visited Littlewood’s office before the day of the murder. This killer was too thorough not to have done any reconnaissance. The killer knew that Littlewood’s office building was deserted at night. He knew that the building had a very low security level, with no night watchmen and no CCTV. He knew that gaining access to the building was child’s play. But most of all, he knew he didn’t have to bring a small box to complete his sculpture. He knew Littlewood kept that secret book-box on his desk. This killer was too bold, too arrogant. He would’ve wanted to sit face to face with Littlewood in his office before the day he killed him. Maybe just for the fun of it. And what better way to do it than to pose as a client? Anonymity would be a very easy thing to accomplish. Maybe Captain Blake was right – the killer was playing everyone like a puppet.
Eighty-Three
It was late when the phone on Hunter’s desk rang. He reluctantly dragged his attention away from the pictures board and reached for it.
‘Robert, I’ve got a few results for you,’ came Doctor Hove’s tired voice.
Hunter consulted his watch and was surprised at how late it was. Once again he had lost track of time. ‘You still working, Doc?’ He gestured for Garcia to pick up his extension.
‘Yeah, you should talk. And I bet Carlos is still in the office as well.’
‘Yeah, I’m here,’ Garcia said, pulling a face.
‘You won’t catch this guy by frying your brains, Robert. You know that.’
‘Yeah, we were just about to pack it all up for the day here, Doc.’
‘Of course you were.’
Hunter smiled. ‘So what have you got for us?’
Hunter and Garcia heard the sound of pages turning. ‘As we expected, all the cuts and bruises to the victim’s torso were done while he was still alive. I put the time of death somewhere between three and five in the morning.’
‘That would’ve given the killer at least three hours to create his sculpture,’ Hunter said.
‘That’s right,’ Doctor Hove agreed. ‘Like the previous two victims, this one also died from major-organ failure, mainly heart and kidneys, induced by severe loss of blood. The victim also had burn marks to his right nipple, torso, arms, genitals, and to his back. I am positive they were made with a hair iron.’
‘What?’ Garcia asked.
‘Some call them hair straighteners.’
‘Yes, I know what they are, Doc. Are you sure?’
‘As positive as I can be. The burn-marks are very uniform, with asymmetric straight-line edge. The ones to his nipple were what gave it away. The nipple tip isn’t burnt. The marks start just a few millimeters to each side of it, as if the nipple had been pinched away from the body, and then clamped through the side with a pair of red-hot clampers.’
Garcia ground his teeth and crossed his left arm over his chest.
‘The burn-marks were made by three-centimeter-wide plates, give or take a millimeter or two, which is pretty standard for several hair-iron brands. When the killer was done torturing the victim, he moved on to the amputations. The left leg was amputated first. The victim was still alive, but I’d say barely. That answers the question of why there was so much blood at the crime-scene. As I said, this time the killer wasn’t concerned with containing the hemorrhaging. There was no tying off or clipping of major arteries or large veins and vessels. The killer was happy to allow the victim to bleed out, and for that reason I don’t think we’re going to get much from toxicology this time. Or at least no heart-rate reducing drugs.’
‘But maybe some other type of drug?’ Hunter asked, picking up on Doctor Hove’s uncertain tone.
‘Maybe. I found a needle prick bruise to the right side of the victim’s neck. It looks like the killer injected the victim with something, we just don’t know what exactly, yet.’
Hunter scribbled a few notes on a piece of paper.
‘We were also correct about the killer’s lack of concern with the quality of the amputation incisions this time,’ Doctor Hove continued. ‘The instrument used was the same . . .’
‘An electric kitchen knife,’ Garcia said.
‘Uh-huh. But this time he used it more like a butcher, hacking and twisting it as if carving a roast. Also, I found no visible incision-line marks as on the previous two victims. The killer wasn’t worried about a correct cut point.’
‘He’s started enjoying this too much,’ Garcia commented.
‘We also found ligature marks on the wrists, forearms and ankles. Unlike the previous two, this victim was restrained. And that constitutes yet another departure from the initial MO. We didn’t find the restraining rope at the crime scene.’ More pages turning. ‘The wire used on the sculpture was the same as used on the previous two, and so was the bonding agent – superglue. As expected, forensics found several sets of latent prints in the office and reception room.’
‘The office cleaner came twice a week,’ Hunter said. ‘Last time was two days ago. She was due back tomorrow, early morning. We’ll run the prints anyway, but I’m sure they will belong to legitimate clients.’
Doctor Hove sighed. ‘That’s all I can tell you from the autopsy examination.’
‘Thanks, Doc.’
‘Any progress with the new shadow images? Any links with the previous two?’
‘We’re still studying them, Doc,’ Hunter replied. This time his voice sounded tired.
‘Just out of curiosity, let me know if you get something, will you?’
‘Sure thing. By the way, Littlewood’s secretary told me that he used that secret book-box for his car keys and cellphone when he was in the office. Did forensics find them?’
‘Give me a sec.’ Fifteen silent seconds went by. ‘No, it’s not in the inventory. I’m looking at it right now. But they did find his last few cellphone bills. He kept them in a drawer in his desk.’
