he whispered.
‘What?’ Garcia’s eyes moved from the piece to Hunter.
‘Trust,’ he said again. ‘I’ll catch you if you fall.’
Olivia and Allison looked at him surprised. ‘That’s exactly right,’ Allison said. ‘Mom made me one just like it. Dad has one too. It means that we could always trust each other. That we’d always be there for each other, no matter what.’
‘It’s a very nice sculpture.’ Hunter placed it back on the shelf.
‘This piece you found in Dad’s room,’ Olivia said. ‘What was it made of?’
‘Some kind of thin metal alloy,’ Hunter lied again. ‘Could be mainly bronze.’
Garcia bit his lip.
‘So it wasn’t from one of Mom’s sculptures. She only used clay.’
‘Did she create many pieces?’
‘Vases – a few. Sculptures – only six, I think.’ Olivia looked at Allison for confirmation. She nodded. ‘As Ally said, she’s got one the same as mine in her apartment. The other four are in Dad’s study.’
Fifteen
Hunter saw no use in taking up any more of Olivia and Allison’s grieving time. But their revelation aroused his curiosity, and before the day was over, he wanted to go back to Derek Nicholson’s house and have a look in the study and at the four other sculptures by Lindsay Nicholson, Derek’s deceased wife.
‘Your poker face in there was impressive,’ Garcia said as they got back into his car. ‘A piece of thin metal left behind by the killer that could’ve come from some sort of sculpture? Inventive. I was starting to believe it. But tell me something, what if their mother had created metal sculptures as well?’
‘Chances were that she wouldn’t have,’ Hunter replied, buckling up.
‘How do you know?’
‘Most sculptors, especially amateur ones, like to stick to the same material for their pieces. Something that they’re comfortable with. The few who move from one substance to another very rarely go from a malleable one like clay to something as hard as metal. It requires a different sculpturing technique.’
Garcia looked at his partner and pulled a surprised face. ‘I never took you for an art buff.’
‘I’m not. I just read a lot.’
Hunter had only gone into Derek Nicholson’s study very briefly. That was the room Melinda Wallis was sitting in when he got to the house for the first time yesterday morning. In the evening, when he revisited the crime scene, he would focus all his attention on the room upstairs.
It took them only ten minutes to drive to Cheviot Hills from Olivia’s place in Westwood. They unlocked the door and stepped into a house that Hunter was sure one day had been home to a happy family. Now, that building was forever tainted with the stains of a brutal homicide. Every single happy memory that those walls once held completely erased by one act of unthinkable evil.
The air inside the house was warm and stale, and it carried a distinct mixture of unpleasant smells. Garcia rubbed his nose, cleared his throat a couple of times and allowed his partner to lead the way.
Hunter opened the door to a long, wood-paneled room where bookshelves lined two of the walls. The space was reminiscent of a court-of-law judge’s chambers, with a large twin desk, comfortable armchairs and the musty odor of old, leather-bound books. They spotted the four sculptures Olivia had mentioned straight away. Two were on the bookshelves, one was on Derek Nicholson’s desk, and one was on a side table next to a whisky-colored leather armchair. Unconventional-looking as they were, however, none of them even remotely resembled the grotesque piece left behind by the killer.
‘Well, at least we know that the killer wasn’t trying to mimic any of these,’ Garcia said, placing the sculpture he was holding back down on the side table. ‘God knows what he was trying to do or mimic.’
Hunter had looked at all the sculptures and was now studying some of the books on the shelves. Almost all of them were criminal-law related, but
‘What?’ Garcia’s eyes moved from the piece to Hunter.
‘Trust,’ he said again. ‘I’ll catch you if you fall.’
Olivia and Allison looked at him surprised. ‘That’s exactly right,’ Allison said. ‘Mom made me one just like it. Dad has one too. It means that we could always trust each other. That we’d always be there for each other, no matter what.’
‘It’s a very nice sculpture.’ Hunter placed it back on the shelf.
‘This piece you found in Dad’s room,’ Olivia said. ‘What was it made of?’
‘Some kind of thin metal alloy,’ Hunter lied again. ‘Could be mainly bronze.’
Garcia bit his lip.
‘So it wasn’t from one of Mom’s sculptures. She only used clay.’
‘Did she create many pieces?’
‘Vases – a few. Sculptures – only six, I think.’ Olivia looked at Allison for confirmation. She nodded. ‘As Ally said, she’s got one the same as mine in her apartment. The other four are in Dad’s study.’
Fifteen
Hunter saw no use in taking up any more of Olivia and Allison’s grieving time. But their revelation aroused his curiosity, and before the day was over, he wanted to go back to Derek Nicholson’s house and have a look in the study and at the four other sculptures by Lindsay Nicholson, Derek’s deceased wife.
‘Your poker face in there was impressive,’ Garcia said as they got back into his car. ‘A piece of thin metal left behind by the killer that could’ve come from some sort of sculpture? Inventive. I was starting to believe it. But tell me something, what if their mother had created metal sculptures as well?’
‘Chances were that she wouldn’t have,’ Hunter replied, buckling up.
‘How do you know?’
‘Most sculptors, especially amateur ones, like to stick to the same material for their pieces. Something that they’re comfortable with. The few who move from one substance to another very rarely go from a malleable one like clay to something as hard as metal. It requires a different sculpturing technique.’
Garcia looked at his partner and pulled a surprised face. ‘I never took you for an art buff.’
‘I’m not. I just read a lot.’
Hunter had only gone into Derek Nicholson’s study very briefly. That was the room Melinda Wallis was sitting in when he got to the house for the first time yesterday morning. In the evening, when he revisited the crime scene, he would focus all his attention on the room upstairs.
It took them only ten minutes to drive to Cheviot Hills from Olivia’s place in Westwood. They unlocked the door and stepped into a house that Hunter was sure one day had been home to a happy family. Now, that building was forever tainted with the stains of a brutal homicide. Every single happy memory that those walls once held completely erased by one act of unthinkable evil.
The air inside the house was warm and stale, and it carried a distinct mixture of unpleasant smells. Garcia rubbed his nose, cleared his throat a couple of times and allowed his partner to lead the way.
Hunter opened the door to a long, wood-paneled room where bookshelves lined two of the walls. The space was reminiscent of a court-of-law judge’s chambers, with a large twin desk, comfortable armchairs and the musty odor of old, leather-bound books. They spotted the four sculptures Olivia had mentioned straight away. Two were on the bookshelves, one was on Derek Nicholson’s desk, and one was on a side table next to a whisky-colored leather armchair. Unconventional-looking as they were, however, none of them even remotely resembled the grotesque piece left behind by the killer.
‘Well, at least we know that the killer wasn’t trying to mimic any of these,’ Garcia said, placing the sculpture he was holding back down on the side table. ‘God knows what he was trying to do or mimic.’
Hunter had looked at all the sculptures and was now studying some of the books on the shelves. Almost all of them were criminal-law related, but
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