The Death Sculptor

One Hundred and Five

It was past ten at night by the time Hunter got back to his apartment. Sleep didn’t come. His brain just wouldn’t disconnect. Instead of forcing it, he went back to the box of photographs he’d retrieved from Littlewood’s apartment and spread them on the floor of his living room. He checked them against the portrait Allison had given him of her parents. He already knew that the victims knew each other, but if Derek Nicholson were in any of those pictures, then maybe the missing fourth member of the group was too.

After an hour on his knees with a magnifying glass, Hunter had got nothing. He felt tired. His legs hurt and he needed rest. His eyes were burning from fatigue and his neck and shoulders ached. But his brain still wouldn’t let go.

He heard the couple next door come back in from another night out drinking, slamming doors and slurring their words.

‘I need to get some new neighbors,’ Hunter chuckled to himself. He turned his attention to the photographs of the shadow images. All the information he had come across in the past few hours was bouncing around inside his head.

Giggling and moans started coming through the wall. ‘Oh, no, no,’ Hunter whispered. ‘Please, not in the living room.’

The moans got a little louder.

‘Damn!’ Hunter knew that the banging against the wall would start soon. He laced his fingers and placed his palms on the top of his head while his eyes returned to the images on the floor.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Nicholson, Nashorn, Littlewood and whoever the fourth member of their group was, had sexually attacked somebody. It could’ve been the girl Jude told them about – Roxy – or some other street prostitute. But what had happened to their victim? Had the attack gone terribly wrong? Was she dead?

The loud noises coming from next door didn’t bother Hunter anymore. He was in his own bubble now, mentally reviewing every piece of information relating to the case.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that it took Hunter a few seconds to register the sound of a phone ringing. He blinked twice and searched the room, as if momentarily disorientated. His cellphone was on the improvised computer desk, by the printer. The phone rang again and Hunter snapped it up without checking the caller-display window.

‘Detective Hunter.’

‘Detective, it’s Jude. We talked earlier today.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Hunter was surprised, but his tone gave nothing away.

‘I’m sorry for calling so late, but I did remember something, and though I thought about calling tomorrow morning, it has been bugging me and I can’t sleep. You said that if I remembered anything else, I could call at any time.’

‘Yes, of course. It’s no problem at all,’ Hunter said, checking his watch. ‘What did you remember?’

‘A name.’

The muscles on Hunter’s neck tensed. ‘The fourth member of the group?’

‘No. I told you, I never heard any of the other names that night.’ A short pause. ‘I remember the name of Roxy’s kid. Remember I told you that she mentioned it once or twice?’

‘Yes, yes.’

Jude told Hunter the name and he frowned. Unusual, but at the same time there was something familiar about it.

Jude disconnected, glad to have called, and hoping that her brain would now disengage and allow her to get some sleep.

Hunter placed his cellphone back on the desk. The name Jude had given him was swimming around in his head. He decided to run it against the LAPD database. Maybe that’s why it sounded vaguely familiar.

Hunter switched his laptop on, and as he waited for it to boot up, his eyes went back to the mess of photographs and files on the floor. He paused as he felt a cold swirl whip around inside his stomach.

There was no need to search the LAPD database. He’d just remembered where he’d heard the name before.