The Sculptor

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

After an overshadowing hour, the detective finally reentered the room. He didn't look pleased, Rebecca prepared herself for the worst. He pulled the chair and slammed the folders unto the table.

"Miss Loome, if we heard the conversations between you and Michelle right, she told you all the details of the eighteen murders?"

He didn't wait for a reply and continued. "So she tells you how she cut all those people and three weeks later, four bodies were murdered the exact way she did to those eighteen people. The cuts. The dumping. The way the bodies were rearranged. Sounds to me like someone was being a copycat. Or someone was asked by Michelle to do her biddings." His face was a total expression of disbelief.

It sounded as if he was pressing the fault unto her. Rebecca wanted to get out, she needed air to breath. The room only escalated her anxiety. "The public knew how they were murdered; I'm not the only candidate to be the copycat." She reasoned out.

"We never released a manual." He pressed on the word 'never.' He was pressuring her, trying to crack her open, it was the only way he could sponge out the truth. There was a long uncomfortable silence, Rebecca was literally shivering with fright. She felt cold even though the room didn't have any air outlets or windows. The detective on the other hand, felt ecstatic, he knew he was getting close to nailing the copycat.

He flipped the folder open and took an envelope. He gently opened its contents.

"Miss Loome, have you seen this?"

He showed her a piece of paper folded neatly. It read: Hello Detective. I WIN.

She shook her head. He frowned. "It was found beside Fred Maxwell's corpse."

Michelle - that was the first thing that surfaced into her mind. Michelle was the only one who obsessed about winning a game that nobody understood but her - and XIX, whoever he is. And she was right, she did win. The detective lost when he mailed the tapes to her. She felt guilty at the thought of it, he had to sacrifice his life just to end this psychotic mess.

"Miss Loome, where were you at the night that Fred Maxwell was murdered?"

"At home... With my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend? Could he confirm that?"

"Yes." She quivered.

"Good. I'll need his name."

She hesitated, she didn't want to drag Drew into this mess. But she had no choice, she had to have an alibi.

"Drew Lange."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know, detective. We sort of had a falling apart phase just three days ago." He snorted and said: "Journalists! You kill me. You never run out of stories, don't you?"

He was a hard man to please, Rebecca thought. She had to win this conversation, She had to outwit Detective Sanders and Michelle. "I can give you his number."

"Good. We'll need to chat."

She scribbled his number in a piece of paper. She prayed for Drew, god knows she needed him now.

"We also need to search your house." He gave her an evil grin, something that says: I'll catch you.

~~

Drew found himself sitting on Rebecca's living room couch. He was sent there by Klaus for the tapes and the manuscript. It was an easy task that would only take him less than twenty-minutes. But it proved aching when he saw what used to be his for the past half-year.