‘But it makes sense, doesn’t it?’ Alice pushed. ‘Maybe that’s why there are two figures already lying down, look.’ She stepped closer and indicated it on the photograph. ‘They could represent the two victims we already have: Derek Nicholson and Andrew Nashorn. Maybe he’s telling us he’s got his sights set on at least two more. You were discussing this just a moment ago, weren’t you?’ She addressed Captain Blake. ‘Saying that this killer was cocky enough to taunt the investigation with messages and songs and sculptures and shadow puppets. So why not be bold enough to tell us that he’s going after two more victims? We know he’s confident. We know he’s big-headed.’ She tapped her index finger over the oversized image of what looked like a head with horns. ‘We know he thinks he can’t be stopped.’
The captain lifted her hand to keep Alice from going any further. ‘Slow down a second, Professor Sunshine. Yesterday, with the first sculpture, you were debating whether the killer might be delusional enough to think he is God. Now we think he’s changed his mind and he’s telling us he’s the devil? Evil personified? We’re skating all over the rink here.’
‘I’m pretty sure I’ve said this before,’ Hunter interrupted, his voice firmer this time, ‘but we don’t know what the meaning behind those shadow images is yet, Captain. All this is just guesswork based on nothing other than our own imaginations and interpretations. Even what we think we know about the images behind the first sculpture might be wrong. We have no way of being sure.’
‘So find a way,’ the captain barked as she moved towards the door. ‘And get me something more concrete than damn guesswork.’ She scowled at Alice. ‘And you better get cracking on that list of names, Miss DA’s-Best-Researcher.’ She exited the room, purposefully allowing the door to slam behind her.
A fraction of a second later the phone on Hunter’s desk rang and he reached for it.
‘Detective Hunter,’ he said into the mouthpiece and listened for about ten seconds before frowning so intensely his eyebrows almost touched. ‘I’m on my way down.’
Thirty-Seven
The famous Parker Center building had been the headquarters of the Los Angeles Police Department since 1954. In 2009, the entire operation was moved from the old building, located at 150 North Los Angeles Street, to its new, half-a-million-square-feet site just south of City Hall. The new Police Administration Building houses over ten different LAPD divisions, including Vice, Juvenile, Commercial Crimes, Narcotics and the Robbery Homicide Division. It’s no wonder that its reception hall is always overflowing with people – civilians and officers alike.
It didn’t take long for Hunter to spot her. Olivia Nicholson was sitting in one of the many fixed-row plastic seats near the building’s floor-to-ceiling glass entrance doors. Dressed in a conservative black ruffle chiffon dress and black stiletto-heel court shoes, she stood out from the much rougher-looking crowds around her like a bright laser beam. Her oversized sunglasses were perched high on her small and pointy nose.
‘Ms. Nicholson,’ Hunter said, offering his hand.
She stood up but didn’t reciprocate the gesture. ‘Detective, could we talk?’ Her voice was as steady as she could manage.
‘Of course.’ Hunter lowered his hand and quickly scanned the hall. ‘If you follow me, I’ll find us a quiet spot.’ He guided her through the crowd and used his security card to green-light one of the magnetic turnstiles, allowing them deeper into the building. As they stepped into an elevator, Olivia moved her sunglasses to her head, pinning her loose blonde hair back, away from her face. Her eyes were still bloodshot. Hunter identified it as the compound effect of crying and lack of sleep. Her makeup expertly hid the dark circles under her eyes, but she still looked exhausted. Not knowing who her father’s killer was was eating at her. Hunter could tell.
Hunter pressed the button for the first floor, where the press-conference and meeting rooms were located. With the pictures board, the replica sculpture, and case files strewn about everywhere, his office was definitely out of bounds. The interrogation rooms on the second floor were too ominous, with their metal tables, bland walls, large two-way mirrors and no windows. Either the main press-conference room, or any of the smaller meeting rooms were a much better choice.
They rode the elevator up in silence and exited into a long, wide and brightly lit corridor. Hunter took the lead, and tried the door to the first meeting room on the right. It was unlocked and empty. He flicked on the lights and showed Olivia inside.
‘How can I help you, Ms. Nicholson?’ he asked, indicating one of the five seats around the small, oblong-shaped table.