The Death Sculptor

Seventy-Seven

Mike Brindle circled the desk and approached the two detectives. He was in his late-forties, stick thin and doorframe tall, with a full head of peppery hair and a pointy nose. He’d worked with Hunter and Garcia on more cases than he could remember. ‘We’re very sure that this victim died before he was dismembered, Robert,’ he said, taking over from Doctor Hove.

Hunter’s stare reverted back to the mutilated torso on the leather chair. ‘Intentionally?’

Brindle nodded. ‘It looks that way.’

Garcia looked confused for an instant.

‘From on-location analysis, it seems the killer made him suffer as much as he could before amputating any major body parts and causing severe blood loss. There are several smaller cuts to his torso and limbs. Deep enough to hurt, but not enough to kill. His left nipple looks to have been sawed off with a not-so-sharp instrument. His right nipple was severely burnt.’

That was what was different about the skin around his right nipple, Hunter realized. The leathery texture of the skin – burn marks, but they didn’t look to have been caused by fire.

‘Blood spillage suggests that the smaller cuts were all done while the victim was still alive,’ Brindle carried on.

‘But there is a lot of blood here,’ Garcia said, looking around the room. ‘This didn’t all come from small cuts.’

‘No,’ Doctor Hove confirmed. ‘The autopsy will tell me the correct chain of events, but if I had to venture a guess, I’d say the killer had all the fun he wanted to have before severing the first limb, which looks to have been the right leg. His heart was probably still beating. But if you think back to the previous two victims, the killer went out of his way to contain the bleeding – drugs, natural remedies, tying off arteries . . .’ She shook her head as her gaze moved back to the body on the chair. ‘Not here.’

‘The amputations on the first two victims were very clean,’ Brindle said. ‘These weren’t. Judging by the pattern on the skin, and the little we can tell from examining the bones in these conditions, the amputation incisions were performed brutally, in a hacking manner. The ones to both arms . . .’ He paused and ran his gloved hand over his nose and mouth. ‘It looks like he cut them almost all the way through, lost patience, and then simply ripped them off the body.’

Garcia’s eyes widened a touch.

‘I have no doubt the victim was already dead by then,’ Doctor Hove added.

Hunter’s gaze refocused on the floor and the several footprints. They were mainly by the door. ‘Has anything been touched?’

Doctor Hove gave him a timid shrug. ‘LAPD has tried to track down every curious office worker in this building who decided to have a peek at this. So far, they’ve all said they haven’t touched anything, and neither have the detectives and officers who have been in here; but it’s hard to tell.’ She faced the sculpture again. ‘We don’t really know what this is supposed to be, or look like. We can’t tell if anything has been moved out of place since it was constructed.’ The expectancy in her tone didn’t go unnoticed by Hunter. ‘I haven’t used a flashlight,’ she continued. ‘That’s your show.’

Garcia looked at Hunter as if to ask, How do you want to play it?

Hunter knew they couldn’t move the sculpture from that desk without disturbing it. As he had told Alice, the killer had been very meticulous about the first sculpture, but less so about the second one. He had no idea what the killer was aiming for with this third one, and something was telling him they were running out of time – fast. They couldn’t wait for the forensics lab to create another replica. ‘Do we have a flashlight?’ he asked.

‘Right here,’ Brindle said, handing him a medium-sized Maglite.

‘Let’s have a look,’ Hunter replied, taking the flashlight. He looked back at what remained of Littlewood’s body on the chair. In the second crime scene, the victim’s decapitated head had been placed in the exact location where the killer wanted the beam of light to be shone from, so that his work could be seen as he intended. One of Littlewood’s eyes was missing, but the remaining one was looking straight at the sculpture. That had to be a hint. Hunter checked the floor again.

‘Has all this been photographed, Doc?’ There was no way he could assume the same position as Littlewood’s one-eyed gaze without stepping on some blood, and maybe rolling the chair with the body a little out of the way.

Doctor Hove didn’t have to ask. She had followed Hunter’s stare and knew what was on his mind. ‘Yes, it’s all OK,’ she replied.

The window shades were already drawn shut. Brindle killed the strong forensic power lights while Hunter positioned himself directly in front of the body, being careful to level the flashlight with Littlewood’s line of sight.

Everyone seemed to take in a deep breath at the same time.

Hunter steadied himself and turned the flashlight on.