by Chris Carter
‘Did the killer use the same level of care for the subsequent amputations?’ Garcia asked.
Doctor Hove tilted her head to one side and twisted her mouth. ‘Kind of. Arteries and large veins in the arms were also ligated, using a thick thread, but as you’ll remember, there was no dressing of the wounds. And unlike the feet amputations, cayenne pepper was never used to try and contain the hemorrhage. But what was done would certainly prevent the victim from bleeding out too quickly.’
‘We obviously have no toxicology results yet, right?’ Hunter said.
‘Not yet,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘In a day or two. My guess is that we’ll get the same result for the heart-rate regulating drugs the killer used on his first victim.’
Hunter had the same feeling, but he noticed something else in Doctor Hove’s demeanor. Something seemed to be troubling her. ‘Is there something else?’ he chanced.
Doctor Hove took a deep breath and tucked her hands inside the large pockets on her long white overcoat. ‘You know I’ve been a pathologist for many years, Robert. And when you are a pathologist in a city like LA, you get to see pretty much the worst human beings have to offer, almost on a day-to-day basis. But I’ll tell you now, if there’s such a thing as pure evil, or a real demon walking amongst us, then this killer is it. And it wouldn’t surprise me if, when you catch this guy, you find he’s got devil horns on his head.’
Those words stopped Hunter and Garcia dead in their tracks, the image of the shadow figure cast by the sculpture found in the boat cabin coming back to them like a recurring nightmare.
‘Wait.’ Garcia lifted his hand before exchanging a quick, unsettling glance with Hunter. ‘Why do you say that, Doc?’
The doctor turned around. ‘Let me show you why.’
Forty-Two
Alice finished reading through another file and checked her watch. She’d been at it for three and a half hours and she still hadn’t found a path she thought was worth pursuing further. She’d already read through thirty-eight of the forty-six initial documents her application had flagged.
She shook her head disapprovingly as she studied the two untouched case-file boxes on her desk. She had no doubt that this time she’d bitten off a lot more than she could chew. She needed a team of readers, and maybe one or two other programmers, to get through those documents by the end of today. Maybe she should go back to searching for a meaning to the shadow image cast by the new sculpture. Maybe she’d have better luck there.
Alice poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and leaned back against the wall. Her eyes rested on the pictures board for a moment, and the brutality of it all made her shiver. How could anyone be this evil? This disturbed? And still be clever enough to come up with the sculptures and the shadow images? Still be clever enough to walk into someone’s house or boat, spend hours torturing them, rip them to pieces, and then walk out without being noticed? Without leaving any clues behind, except the ones he wanted the police to find?
Alice forced herself to look away, trying to shut the images out of her mind. Her attention returned to the documents on the floor. The cover pages carried the case number and the accused or convict’s name. She stared at them for a while, her brain throwing thoughts around, rummaging through possibilities. She’d already scanned through several cases where Andrew Nashorn had been the lead detective, and a handful where he’d been involved in the investigation, either in a detective capacity, or as a support officer. Almost all of them concerned gang members, muggers, thieves and petty criminals. Individuals who, in her opinion, didn’t have what it took to be this killer. She doubted very much she’d find a relation there. But she hadn’t even started on the list of victims who might’ve personally blamed Derek Nicholson and the State of California for losing their case.
She sipped her coffee too quickly, burning the roof of her mouth. Suddenly she paused as her brain spat out a new idea, instigated by the very lack of relation between the lists of names she had.
Back at her computer, Alice called up the code screen for the application she’d written earlier. All she needed were a few alterations here and there and she’d have a new search-and-compare tool. It took her thirty minutes to make all the necessary modifications. She used her security-clearance password to allow her new application to gain access to the Los Angeles District Attorney’s database. Hunter had also provided her with a password that allowed her to connect to the LAPD and the national criminal database.
While the program searched away, Alice went back to the files. The application had to connect to, and search, two different databases in two different locations – she was expecting it to take a while. The first results, using her initial search criteria, came back after thirty-five minutes. Thirty-four distinct names. Alice called up their individual case-summary pages and printed them out. She read through them, jotting down notes in the margins as she went along. As she started reading the summary page for search result number twenty-four, she felt a chill envelop her body. She put the page down and quickly shuffled through the remaining pages, looking for the match her application had indicated.
Alice sucked in a startled breath, and it rushed into her lungs like a cold wind.
‘OK, now this is very interesting.’
Forty-Three
Doctor Hove redirected Hunter and Garcia’s attention back to the first autopsy table and Nashorn’s body parts.
‘The head was the last part to be severed from his body,’ she said, stepping closer, twisting Nashorn’s head around and exposing the large wound to the left side of the face. ‘But this was the initial manner in which the killer subdued his victim. A very powerful, single blow to the face. Probably using some sort of heavy metal, or thick wooden weapon, like a pipe, a bat or something.’
Garcia rotated his neck uncomfortably from side to side, as if his collar was bothering him.
‘His jaw was fractured in three places,’ Doctor Hove continued, indicating the exposed mandibula – the same quarter-inch-wide piece of jawbone protruding through the skin that Hunter had identified back in the boat cabin. ‘Bone splinters cut into the inside of his mouth. Some perforated his gums like nails. He lost three of his teeth.’
Without anyone noticing, Garcia ran his tongue over his own teeth and fought off a shudder.
‘Forensics did find all three in the boat cabin,’ the doctor noted.
‘So the blow to the face was what knocked him unconscious?’ Hunter asked.
‘No doubt about that. But unlike the first victim, who was practically bedbound and could offer no resistance to the killer’s sadistic wishes, if awake, this victim could’ve easily fought back. He was in good physical health, considering his age and the fact that one of his lungs worked on a reduced capacity.’ Doctor Hove indicated the disjointed body parts on the table. ‘The muscles in his arms and legs were strong enough, consistent with regular physical exercise. He kept active.’
‘But there are no visible restraining marks on his wrists, or anywhere on his arms,’ Hunter said, bending over and studying the body parts on the table a little more closely.
‘That’s right,’ the doctor agreed. ‘Forensics also found nothing that suggested the victim was tied to the chair in which he was found, or to anywhere else for that matter.’
‘So what you are saying is . . .’ Garcia jumped in, ‘. . . that the victim was unconscious throughout the entire procedure.’
‘That would’ve been the logical conclusion.’
Hunter sensed hesitation in the doctor’s voice. ‘Would’ve been?’
‘The blow to the face undoubtedly knocked him out, but without being sedated, as soon as the killer started cutting away, the pain would’ve woken him up.’
‘So he was sedated,’ Garcia concluded.
‘I would’ve gone with that until we got the toxicology results, if not for this . . .’ She pointed to a small piece of bone of about three inches long, which had been placed on the table next to Nashorn’s feet.
Hu
nter looked at it and cocked his head back, a little worried. ‘Vertebrae?’
‘Cervical vertebrae,’ Doctor Hove clarified.
‘What?’ Garcia bent over to have a closer look.
‘Part of the cervical curve,’ Hunter said.
‘And that means what?’
The doctor faced Garcia. ‘OK, let me try to explain this without launching into a long lecture about the cervical or spinal cord. These are vertebrae C5 through to C7.’ She indicated the bone fragments on the table again. ‘The cervical cord is made up by vertebrae C1 to C7, and it sits right on the top of the spinal column.’ She touched the back of Garcia’s neck to show its actual position on the human body. ‘C1 being the topmost vertebra, up against your skull, and C7 being at the base of the neck – the beginning of the upper back. It’s a very sensitive part of the spinal column, and any damage to it can cause paralysis. But that also greatly depends on which vertebra the damage is located around. The closer to the skull you get, the more sensitive, and the more severe the paralysis. Are you with me so far?’
Garcia nodded like a school kid.
‘If the damage is right at the top, around vertebra C1, C2, or C3, it can cause tetraplegia – paralysis from the neck down, and a halt of the nervous system – no feeling below the neck. But it can also easily cause impaired breathing, and without the help of a ventilator, death will come very quickly.’
Hunter felt his heart beat faster as he realized what Doctor Hove was about to reveal next.
‘Damage around the C4 vertebra, halfway down the cervical cord,’ she touched the back of Garcia’s neck again, indicating the location, ‘can cause tetraplegia and numbness of the nervous system, but it rarely causes impaired breathing.’ She paused, measuring the gravity of her words. ‘The reason why we have this small section of his spinal cord is because when the victim was decapitated, the incision was made just after vertebra C7 – base of the neck. When I examined the head and neck, I found out that his cervical cord had been ruptured just below vertebra C4. He had been intentionally paralyzed from the neck down. No feeling throughout most of his body.’
Garcia could feel cold sweat starting to run down his back. ‘Hold on, Doc. Are you saying the killer paralyzed him?’
‘That’s exactly what he did.’
‘How?’
‘Let me show you.’
Doctor Hove reached for Nashorn’s decapitated head and turned it around, bringing everyone’s attention to its nape. About three and a half inches from the base of the skull was a fresh sideways cut of around one inch long.
‘The killer severed his cervical cord with a sharp knife, inserted at the back of his neck.’
‘You are joking.’ Something tightened in Garcia’s stomach.
‘I’m afraid not even a little bit. As I said, to me this killer is evil personified – a man-demon. Who in this world would’ve thought of something like this?’
‘A stickman,’ Hunter said.
Everyone looked at him as if he was from outer space.
‘It’s called a stickman,’ Hunter carried on. ‘It was a technique used by sadistic troops during the Vietnam War. It wasn’t as precise as this. During the war, soldiers would simply drive a knife through a victim’s back and sever the spine at any position. Sometimes the paralysis was from the neck down, sometimes only of the legs, it didn’t matter. It meant the victim couldn’t fight back.’
‘You’re not suggesting this killer is a Vietnam veteran, are you?’ Garcia asked.
‘I’m just saying that the technique isn’t new.’
‘Due to the proximity of the spinal cord to the skin surface,’ Doctor Hove proceeded, ‘the cut doesn’t need to be very deep. In the case of our victim, if the knife had penetrated an inch or so deeper, it could’ve cut through his windpipe, and death would’ve come almost instantaneously.’
‘Wow, so there’s no doubt this killer really has medical knowledge,’ Garcia said, taking a step back.
‘In my opinion, no doubt at all,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘He knew he had to sever the cervical cord at the C4 vertebra to obtain a neck-down paralysis without compromising the respiratory system. And that was precisely what was done. Add that to the almost perfect Syme’s ankle-disarticulation procedure, the ligation of the proper veins after the amputations, and the careful dressing of the leg stumps, and this guy could be a surgeon in a hospital.’
Forty-Four
‘The killer paralyzed the victim by rupturing his cervical cord with a knife through the back of the neck?’ Captain Blake’s voice almost faltered as she read from a copy of the autopsy report Garcia had just handed her.
Hunter nodded.
District Attorney Dwayne Bradley was sitting in one of the two leather armchairs in front of Captain Blake’s desk. He also had a copy of the report in his hands.
‘Wait a second,’ he said, shaking his head at the report. ‘According to this, a severed cervical cord would also affect the nervous system, leaving the victim numb and insensitive to pain.’
‘That’s right,’ Garcia said.
‘So why the hell do it? If the killer wanted the victim to suffer, why take away his sense of feeling? Why numb the pain before cutting him up? It makes no goddamn sense.’ His cheeks were already going slightly pink.
‘Because for some reason, the killer wanted the victim to go through a different kind of pain,’ Hunter said, resting his elbow against the bookcase on the west wall. ‘Psychological pain.’
Bradley hesitated for a moment.
‘Imagine having to watch your own body being disfigured and mutilated, your own blood being splattered around the room without feeling a thing, without you being able to react. Imagine having to watch your own death as if it were a film on a screen. You know you’re dying, but you can’t feel it.’
DA Bradley kept his eyes on Hunter as he measured his words. ‘Well, you sure know how to paint a gruesome picture.’
‘How long did this go on for?’ the Captain asked. ‘I mean, the mutilation, the psychological torture?’
‘Hard to say. But taking into consideration the time it would take to severe the body parts and restrict the bleeding in the way that was done; over an hour, maybe more.’
‘Goddammit,’ DA Bradley let out a whispering breath and flipped a page on the report. ‘It says here that the time of death is estimated to have been somewhere between four and seven p.m.’
‘That’s right,’ Garcia agreed.
‘And the body was discovered around eight o’clock by a girl from a neighboring boat, right?’
‘That’s right,’ Garcia said.
‘Did we get anything from the CCTV system at the marina?’ Captain Blake asked. ‘People walking in and out?’
Garcia chuckled. ‘That’s what we expected, but they still use an old system. It records onto VHS tapes, if you can believe it. And it’s been busted for over two months now.’
‘Typical,’ the DA commented. ‘How about door-to-door, or in this case, boat-to-boat? No one noticed anyone who looked like he didn’t belong, leaving that specific dock around the time the loud music started to blast out of the victim’s boat?’
‘I don’t think the killer is that stupid,’ Hunter said.
‘Stupid? What do you mean?’
‘There’s no way we can confirm it, but the stereo in Nashorn’s boat has a “wake-up” programing facility. My guess is that the killer set the timer to turn the stereo on at least half an hour after he left. If you add to that the fact that people would only really start getting annoyed with the loud music after it been going on for some time, by the time people started to take notice, the killer was long gone.’
The captain closed the report in front of her and pushed it to the edge of her desk. ‘How about the victim’s apartment? Did we get anything? Computer, cellphone?’
‘Forensics found a laptop computer,’ Hunter replied. ‘They are working on it as we speak, looking into files, photos, emails, anything they can get. No cell
phone, though.’
‘Nashorn was ready to go on his yearly two-week vacation,’ Garcia added. ‘So it’s safe to assume that he had his phone with him. We think the killer either took it with him or got rid of it by throwing it into the water or destroying it.’
‘We can get his number, contact his provider and go from there,’ DA Bradley said.
‘We’ve done it already,’ Hunter told him. ‘The phone is switched off, so if it hasn’t been destroyed, it can’t be traced until it’s switched back on. But we might be able to get a cell-site analysis of his calls.’
‘Might isn’t an option,’ the DA countered. ‘Alice will get you the cell-site analysis.’ He quickly checked his watch.
‘OK,’ Hunter said. ‘I’m also revisiting Amy Dawson later today.’
DA Bradley and Captain Blake’s eyes narrowed and they both responded with a slight headshake.
‘Derek Nicholson’s weekdays nurse,’ Hunter reminded them. ‘I want to show her a picture of Andrew Nashorn and check if he was the man who she said had visited Nicholson in his home, other than DA Bradley. We still haven’t identified who that second visitor was. I asked DA Bradley and he has enquired around all branches of the District Attorney’s office in Los Angeles County. No one has come forward, so we have to assume that that second visitor wasn’t a colleague from the DA’s office.’
The DA nodded.
Captain Blake started tapping a pencil against her desk while her thought process shifted into a new gear. ‘Tell me something,’ she addressed Hunter. ‘I know the MO on both murders was the same, but what Dwayne said got me wondering. Why make the first victim suffer physically and the second one psychologically? It doesn’t make a lot of sense.’
‘It never does, Captain,’ Hunter replied.
‘OK, but just humor me here. Do you think there’s a chance there could be more than one perpetrator? Two people acting together, maybe. One who hated Nicholson and the other Nashorn? Maybe they met in prison. Sent to the same institution, but for completely unrelated crimes. They became friends inside. That could’ve given them years to come up with a morbid revenge.’