‘. . . She kept telling us that she had a daughter who was ill.’ Scott stopped talking and silence took over the large room for a moment. And for a moment, each of them was left alone with their thoughts.

‘Tell him how bad things got.’ Olivia broke the silence.

‘We were all high and drunk. Nathan had been really rough with her. We didn’t really notice when it happened, but she stopped breathing.’

‘Did you beat her up?’

‘Derek and I didn’t do anything. Andy and Nathan did.’

Olivia’s eyes dropped to Scott’s hand. She was ready to snap another finger.

‘They beat her up, yes, but it wasn’t anything too violent. It just added to the excitement for them. Derek and I just watched, I swear. We didn’t hit her. We didn’t like the beating-up part. It did nothing for us.’

Those had been Derek Nicholson’s exact words to Olivia when he confessed to her.

‘Maybe she hit her head or something,’ Scott continued. ‘She couldn’t have died from only a few slaps.’

Olivia looked at Hunter before returning her attention to Scott. ‘Carry on.’

Scott spit out a mouthful of blood. ‘When we realized she was dead, we panicked. We didn’t know what to do. No one was thinking straight. Too much booze and acid. I suggested we just left her there and got the hell out, but Andy said that was no good. The amount of evidence the cops would find in that room and on her body would put us all away for good. We could try cleaning it up, but there were no guarantees. Then Andy came up with a plan.’

Hunter felt his stomach tighten. He knew what that plan would be.

‘Andy went out and brought back several thick plastic sheets, a meat cleaver, a long, thick chain, padlocks, and a large, square metal toolbox. It was big, but not big enough to fit a body.’ Scott paused and looked away.

‘Don’t stop now,’ Olivia said, not allowing the momentum to settle. ‘Tell him what you did.’

‘I didn’t do anything,’ he pleaded.

Olivia slapped him across the face. The gash on his lower lip ripped a little more, sending another spray of blood flying across the room.

Scott shivered, taking in quick gulps of air to steady his body.

‘Tell him.’

‘Nathan had worked part-time in a butcher’s shop. He was good with a meat cleaver,’ Scott said.

Olivia didn’t flinch. She had heard the whole story before.

‘Derek and I couldn’t watch. We went outside while Andy and Nathan did what they had to do. Derek was messed up. He was freaking out about the bit— . . . the woman’s daughter – what would happen to her and all. He was more concerned about her than he was about us. Something to do with him having lost his mother when he was really young. He wanted to go to the cops, but he knew that if he did, we would all go to prison for a fucking long time. He was in his last year of law school. He was engaged to get married in a month’s time. He didn’t want to throw his life away. Besides, if he’d gone to the cops, Andy would’ve killed him. He would’ve killed any of us. He told us all that.’ He paused for breath. ‘When Andy and Nathan were done, all that was left was this chained and padlocked toolbox. My father had a boat, which I had the keys to. So I was left with the job of dumping that box as far off the coast as I could. Andy came with me while the others went home. The box was too heavy. It would’ve never surfaced.’

The last victim, Hunter thought. The one who had disposed of the body.

‘Derek was left with the task of getting rid of the woman’s purse and all her documents.’ Scott’s gaze turned to Olivia. ‘I guess that was how he found you. He never threw the purse away. He kept her things.’

Olivia said nothing.

‘After that night we saw each other less and less, until we just drifted apart. We all moved on with our lives. But we all kept our secret.’

‘Not all of you,’ Olivia said, slamming the butt of Hunter’s gun into the back of Scott’s head, knocking him out cold.

One Hundred and Fifteen

Hunter twitched on the ground again and Olivia aimed the gun at his head. ‘Don’t, Detective. Trust me, I know how to shoot. And from this distance, I won’t miss. If there was one thing my fath—’ She cleared her throat angrily, ‘Derek taught me, it was how to shoot.’

‘My neck hurts. I was just stretching it.’

‘Well, don’t.’

‘OK. I won’t.’

Olivia moved to the left side of the room. ‘You still haven’t told me how you got to me. I know you figured out what I was telling you with my shadow puppets, but how did you figure out it was me?’

‘After I heard the story Jude told me about what happened to her, things started moving in my head. I suspected I had read the second shadow image wrong. It wasn’t a fight, it was a gang rape. I didn’t know Roxy was your mother, but I guessed that, if they had done what they did to Jude and Roxy, there probably were others. Others who, like Roxy, also had a child. And that that child had found out about everything. From the first shadow image you left us, I was certain that the only way that child could’ve found out was through Derek Nicholson. A confession on his deathbed.’

Olivia chuckled angrily. ‘He was able to live with it, but not die with it. How ironic is that?’

Hunter knew how common it was for human beings to endure unspoken guilt throughout their entire lives, but to die with it was something few were prepared to do.

‘For Derek Nicholson to be able to call that child to his home in order to reveal everything,’ Hunter continued. ‘It meant that he had to have somehow kept tabs on who and where that child was. I was running through possibilities in my head when Jude called me again last night. She had remembered the name of Roxy’s child – Levy.’

Olivia twitched on the spot.

‘At first I thought it was a last name, or maybe a male name. It sounded vaguely familiar, but when I looked at the picture your sister had given me of Nicholson and his wife I remembered where I had heard that name before. It was a nickname. Allison had called you by it that day in your house. Not a common nickname for Olivia, but it was your nickname.’

Olivia gave Hunter a melancholic smile. ‘My mother always called me Levy, never Liv, or Ollie, or anything else. I liked it. It was different. Allison was the only other person who called me that.’

‘First I checked your background. You went to medical school.’

Olivia shrugged. ‘UCLA, but in the end I decided I didn’t want to do it. The knowledge came in handy, though.’

She offered nothing else, so Hunter continued.

‘I called someone I know who could access the California Department of Social Services’ database. I found out that Nicholson had adopted you during his first year of marriage. An odd choice for a young couple that had no known problem bearing children. In fact, Nicholson adopted you the same year his wife became pregnant with her daughter, Allison.’

‘So you know that he adopted me out of guilt for what he’d done.’ The anger was back in Olivia’s voice. ‘Guilt for being part of the group of animals who raped and killed my mother. Guilt for allowing it to happen. Guilt for not telling the police.’

Hunter didn’t reply.

‘How could I live with all that knowledge, Robert, can you tell me? Because I struggled with it. He called me to his deathbed to tell me that my whole life had been a lie. I was adopted not into a family who wanted to share their love and care for me, but into a family who wanted to bury their guilt.’

‘I don’t think Derek’s wife knew about what happened,’ Hunter said.

‘It doesn’t matter!’ Olivia spat the words out. ‘He convinced her to take me. He told her that my mother was a drug addict who had left me. He told her that I was this poor kid, unwanted, unloved. But I was loved, and I was wanted, until they took her from me. He was the one who didn’t want me. All he wanted was to lessen the guilty feeling that was eating him inside. I was his daily feel-good pill. His anti-guilt drug. All he had to do was look at me, and in that sick heart of his he would find some peace. He would tell himself everything was OK because he gave the poor hooker’s child a better life. You know what? I never wanted this better life. I was happy. I loved my mother. But he made me believe that she didn’t want me. That she had run away. And for twenty-eight years I hated her for walking out on me.’