Hunter’s gaze stayed on Alice. Something about the natural, self-assured way she talked told him that her confidence wasn’t just cockiness and bravado, which was surprising, given that she worked for the cockiest, most self-glorifying law-enforcement office he knew in all of California – the district attorney’s office. No, her confidence wasn’t just shallow words. It was exactly that; confidence in herself and what she knew she could do.
‘The second victim . . .’ Alice asked, sipping her beer. ‘Was he also a lawyer, a prosecutor?’
Hunter got up and moved towards the window. ‘Worse. He was an LAPD cop.’
Alice’s eyes widened in surprise as her brain already started measuring the consequences.
‘His name was Andrew Nashorn,’ Hunter said.
‘Was he a detective?’
‘He was until eight years ago.’
She paused midway through a sip of her beer. ‘What happened?’
‘Nashorn was shot in his abdomen while pursuing a suspect in Inglewood. That resulted in a collapsed lung, a month in hospital and six on sick leave. After that, he couldn’t be out in the field anymore. He chose to stay with the South Bureau’s Operations Support Division.’
‘And how long was he a detective for?’
Hunter could see she was catching on quick. ‘Ten years.’
Alice’s face seemed to sparkle with the same thought Hunter had had hours earlier.
‘He and Derek could be case-related,’ she said. ‘Or even more than a single case. Ten years is a long time catching criminals.’
Hunter agreed.
‘Derek was a prosecutor for twenty-six years.’ Alice’s thoughts were now on full flow. ‘Chances are he did prosecute at least one perpetrator that . . . what’s his name again?’
‘Andrew Nashorn.’
‘That Nashorn apprehended.’
Hunter agreed again.
‘That could be our first real link. Maybe even a breakthrough. I’ll cross-reference it and see what I get.’
Hunter checked his watch. ‘Yes, but not now. We both need to get some sleep.’
Alice nodded but didn’t move. Her eyes were fixed on Hunter. ‘You said there was a second sculpture.’
Hunter stayed silent.
‘Did you have a chance to check it? Did it also cast a shadow puppet onto the wall?’
‘Alice, did you hear what I said? We need to get some sleep. And
‘It did, didn’t it? We’ve got something else now. A new clue from the killer. A new shadow puppet. What is it?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Hunter lied.
‘Sure you do,’ Alice challenged. ‘Why don’t you wanna tell me?’
‘Because if I do, you’re going to go back home, you’re going to get on your computer and you’re going to search the net until you come up with something. And
Alice paused in front of a sideboard in Hunter’s living room where a few picture frames were neatly arranged. She reached for the one right at the back – a young and smiley Hunter in his college graduation gown. His father was standing next to him. The expression on his face told the whole world that on that day no one was a prouder dad than he was. She smiled at it and placed it back on the sideboard before facing Hunter again. ‘You don’t remember me at all, do you?’
Thirty-Three
Hunter didn’t flinch, didn’t say a word. His stare was chained to Alice. His mind was chasing a memory but he had no idea where to find it.
The first time he saw her yesterday morning, something about her had struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t place her. Things had happened so fast yesterday that he’d never had a chance to check her out. He played it as calm as he could.
‘Should I remember you?’
Alice flicked her hair to one side.
‘I suppose not. I’ve never been very memorable.’
If she was looking for sympathy or pity, Hunter gave her none.
‘You were a prodigy kid,’ she said. ‘You went to Mirman, a special school for gifted children. If I remember correctly, the words that were used were “his IQ is off the charts”. Even for a prodigy kid.’
Hunter leaned against the window and felt the bulk of his pistol press harder against his lower back.
From a very early age it had been easy to see that Hunter was different. He could figure things out faster than most, and while the average student was expected to graduate from middle school at the age of fourteen, Hunter had finished the entire lower- and mid-school curriculum by his eleventh birthday. It hadn’t been long before his school principal had referred him to the Mirman School for the Gifted in Mulholland Drive.
‘But even a special school’s curriculum wasn’t hard enough for you. You finished all four years of high school in what, two?’
His memory of her was returning to him. ‘You went to Mirman as well,’ he said.