The Death Sculptor

Plus, he’d been on the floor, in that star-position for too long now. His muscles wouldn’t respond immediately, at least not with enough dexterity.

‘Would you like to see the last sculpture?’ Olivia said. ‘The last shadow puppet? The conclusion to my justice play?’

Hunter placed his chin on the floor again and looked up at her and then at Scott, who was still unconscious. ‘Olivia, don’t. You don’t have to.’

‘Yes I do! For twenty-eight years Derek Nicholson soothed his heart and guilt by taking pity on the poor prostitute’s daughter. For twenty-eight years those assholes lived a life without punishment. It’s my turn to soothe my heart, while I still have one. Get up,’ she ordered.

Hunter hesitated.

‘I said, get up.’ She pointed the gun at him.

Slowly, with all his muscles and joints aching, Hunter got up from the floor.

‘Walk over there.’ She pointed to the left side of the room, just past the pedestal lights. ‘Place your back flat against the wall.’

Hunter did as he was told.

‘See that flashlight on the floor, to your right?’

Hunter looked down and nodded.

‘Pick it up.’

He did.

‘Hold it about chest height and turn it on.’

Hunter paused, trying to understand what was going on.

‘I had to improvise,’ Olivia said. ‘I had something a lot more gruesome and painful in mind – my grand finale – but given the circumstances, this will have to do. I hope you like it. Turn the flashlight on,’ she repeated.

Hunter brought the flashlight to his chest and switched it on.

Olivia stepped out of the way. Behind her, Scott was still out cold on the chair, his head slumped back, exposing his neck. His mouth was open as if he’d fallen asleep in that position and was about to snore. A few feet past him, while he had his face against the ground, Hunter hadn’t noticed that Olivia had attached a thin but rigid piece of wire to the second pedestal lamp, about four-and-a-half feet from the ground. It was around two feet long, and it shot straight out horizontally. Attached to its end was Scott’s severed index finger.

Hunter was confused for a moment, until he saw the shadow image projected onto the far wall. It showed the silhouette of Scott’s head, tilted back, with his mouth open like he was mid-scream. The finger on the wire, a few feet from him, cast a shadow that looked like some sort of crooked cylindrical tube, positioned at an angle. Because of the absence of perceptible depth, it looked like one shadow was right in front of the other. The cylindrical tube was pointing down at Scott’s head-shadow – directly at his open mouth.

Right at that moment, the sound of distant sirens reached them. Hunter had called for backup before entering the warehouse, but from the sound, he knew they were at least three-to-five minutes away. Too long.

Olivia looked at Hunter. Her face displayed reassuring calmness. ‘I knew they were coming,’ she said, pointing the gun at Hunter again. ‘But you being alive when they get here will depend on how fast you can figure this last piece out.’

Hunter kept his eyes on the gun.

‘Don’t look at me. Look at the shadow.’

Hunter concentrated. His first impression was that the whole image looked like someone waiting with his mouth open under some sort of liquid dispenser, ready to drink from it. Was she going to pour something down his throat? Kill him that way? That would be a complete change from her entire MO so far. Confusion was all that was going on inside Hunter’s head.

The shot that came out of the gun in Olivia’s hand sounded like a nuclear explosion. The bullet hit the wall inches from Hunter’s head and he winced defensively, dropping the flashlight.

‘C’mon, c’mon, Robert,’ she said. ‘You’re supposed to be the clever one. The experienced cop. Can’t you work under pressure?’

The sirens were getting closer.

‘The shadows,’ she said. ‘Look at the shadows. Read them. ’Cos you’re time is about to run out.’

Hunter picked up the flashlight again. He was looking but he couldn’t see it. What the hell did all that mean?

Bang!

The second shot hit the wall to Hunter’s left. This time even closer to his face. Concrete shrapnel flew in all directions. Some of it grazed Hunter’s cheek, burning and ripping through his skin. He felt warm blood starting to run down his face, but he didn’t let go of the flashlight. His eyes were still on the shadows.

‘I promise you, Detective, the next shot will find your head.’ She took a step closer to him.

Hunter’s brain was trying to cope with the threat of dying in the next few seconds, while throwing possibilities around.

From the corner of his eye he saw Olivia aim the gun again.

He couldn’t think.

And then he saw it.

One Hundred and Seventeen

‘Recording,’ he said, as Olivia’s finger tightened on the trigger. The image was showing a microphone pointing down at Scott’s mouth, not a drinks dispenser. ‘You recorded it. While he was telling the story, you recorded the whole thing. A confession.’

Olivia lowered the gun. A smile almost stretched her lips. She raised her left hand, showing Hunter the mini digital-recording device. ‘I recorded them all. I made them tell me what happened every time. The stories are all identical. Their voices are all here, telling how they all took turns beating and raping my mother, before dismembering her, shoving her mutilated body into a box, and dumping her in the ocean. All except Andrew Nashorn. His jaw was broken. He couldn’t speak. But none of it matters anymore.’

Hunter couldn’t think of what to say.

Scott mumbled something incomprehensible and his eyes slowly flickered open.

‘Catch,’ Olivia said and threw the recording device to Hunter.

He caught it in mid-air. He stared at it for a moment, doubtful, before looking back at her.

‘You can keep it,’ she said.

‘This might help, but I won’t lie to you,’ Hunter said. ‘In our less-than-perfect justice system, it won’t make much difference, Olivia.’

‘I know. I already made the difference I wanted to make. I’ve had my justice.’ She gestured towards the recording device in Hunter’s hand. ‘I thought I would send that to the press, expose the whole thing. Not for me – I know what’s going to happen to me – but for my mother.’ Olivia wiped a tear from her eye before it could run down her cheek. ‘She deserved justice. Do whatever you think you should do with it.’ She placed Hunter’s gun on the floor and kicked it towards him.

‘Arrest that fucking bitch,’ Scott yelled from his seat. ‘And get me the fuck out of here, you moron.’ He started jerking his body in his chair. ‘That slut cut my fucking finger off, did you see that? I’m gonna make sure you fry in the chair, you hear me, you motherless bitch. My brother will rip you into little whore pieces in court.’

This time Hunter was faster than Olivia. The powerful punch he threw hit Scott square in the temple. He slumped to one side, knocked out cold for the second time.

‘He talks too much,’ Hunter said, facing Olivia and shrugging. ‘I have to arrest you. It’s my duty as a detective. But I won’t cuff you.’