‘The truth about what?’ Garcia asked, scooting to the edge of his seat.
‘He didn’t say. I never asked. It wasn’t my place. But it was certainly something that was eating him inside. He wanted to clear his conscience before it was too late.’
Thirteen
Hunter had arranged to meet both of Mr. Nicholson’s daughters that afternoon. Olivia, the older of the two, whom he’d met in Mr. Nicholson’s house, had asked him to come over to her place in Westwood. Her sister, Allison, would meet them there.
Hunter and Garcia arrived at 4:35 p.m. The two-story house was modest by Westwood standards, but still, larger and more expensive-looking than most Angelinos could ever hope to afford. They climbed the few redbrick steps in front of the house and followed the short pathway through a well-kept front yard where summer flowers were already blooming. There were two cars parked in front of the two-car garage, a red BMW 3-series, and a brand-new-looking tuxedo-black Ford Edge.
Hunter rang the doorbell. They waited almost a minute before Olivia herself opened the door. She was wearing a black sleeveless knee-length dress and black shoes. Her hair was tied back into a neat and conservative ponytail. Her face was hidden behind heavy makeup, but even so, the signs of a sleepless night spent crying were clear.
At the sight of Hunter and Garcia, her eyes filled with tears again, but with some effort she held them there.
‘Thank you for agreeing to see us so soon, Ms. Nicholson,’ Hunter said.
‘I told you,’ she replied, putting on a brave smile. ‘Call me Olivia. Please come in.’
They followed her into an anteroom decorated with a lot of taste and elegance. Vases, flowers and furniture came together to create a comfortable greeting space. Olivia guided them into the first room on the right – her study. The room was spacious, with the entire south wall taken by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. The decoration was just as elegant as the anteroom, but unlike outside, where the clear skies and the sun drew a smile on everyone’s faces, the mood inside was solemn. The place was dark and suffocating, helped by the shut windows and drawn curtains. The only light came from a pedestal lamp in one of the corners.
Standing by an imposing partner’s desk was a woman in her late twenties. She was also dressed all in black. As both detectives entered the room, she turned and faced them.
Allison Nicholson was striking, though skinny. She had straight black hair that came down to the top of her shoulders and very dark, soulful eyes that were far more knowing then they ought to have been at her age. Hers, too, were red from crying.
‘This is my sister, Allison,’ Olivia said.
Allison’s eyes moved from Hunter to Garcia, but she stood still. No offer of a handshake.
‘These are Detectives Hunter and Garcia, Ally,’ Olivia said, moving closer to her sister.
‘We’re very sorry for your loss,’ Hunter said. ‘We know how difficult this is for both of you and we appreciate your time. We won’t take much of it.’ He reached inside his pocket for his black notebook. ‘If we could ask you just a few quick questions?’
Their silence prompted Hunter to continue.
‘You both visited your father on Saturday last, is that correct?’
‘Yes,’ Olivia answered.
‘Can you remember what time you got there and what time you left?’
‘I got there before Ally,’ Olivia said. ‘I had a few things to do in the afternoon. We’re opening a new store.’
Hunter knew Olivia owned Healthy Eats, a chain of healthy-food stores with several shops downtown and around greater Los Angeles. Allison on the other hand had followed in her father’s footsteps. She was a prosecutor.
‘I got there at around four-thirty or five o’clock,’ Olivia continued. ‘Ally . . .’
‘I got there at around five-fifteen,’ Allison took over.
Hunter waited.
‘We sat around with Dad as we usually do, chatting, or trying to,’ Allison continued. ‘On the weekends Levy usually cooks.’ She nodded at her sister. ‘I sometimes help.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not very good in the kitchen.’
‘Did you cook on Saturday?’ Hunter asked Olivia.
‘Yes. Then we all ate together.’
‘How about Melinda Wallis, the nurse?’ Garcia asked.
‘Mel always ate with us. She’s a lovely person, very caring.’
‘What time did you leave?’
‘Levy left a couple of minutes before me,’ Allison said. ‘I left around nine o’clock.’
Olivia nodded.
‘Do any of you remember seeing anyone in the street, around your father’s house? Anyone or anything that caught your attention?’
‘I don’t remember seeing anything,’ Allison replied first.
‘Neither do I,’ Olivia agreed.
‘We talked to Amy Dawson this afternoon. She mentioned something about your father having two visitors about three-and-a-half months back. Did your father mention anything about that? Do you know who they were?’
Olivia and Allison looked at each other for a moment.
‘I know that DA Bradley visited Dad at the house when he first fell ill,’ Allison said.
‘Yes, we figured that,’ Garcia commented. ‘But apparently there was someone else.’ He quickly checked his notes. ‘Slim, about six foot tall, same age as your father, brown eyes, does it ring any bells?’
Olivia shook her head.
‘Half of the male prosecutors in the DA’s office could fit that description,’ Allison noted.
‘Your father didn’t mention anything about having someone visit him a few weeks ago?’
‘Not to me,’ Allison said.
‘Me neither,’ Olivia tagged. ‘And that’s strange, because Dad did mention when DA Bradley went over to visit him.’
Hunter returned his notebook to his pocket. ‘Mrs. Dawson also told us that your father said something about making peace with someone, telling someone the truth about something.’
Both women frowned.
‘Do you know anything about that?’
‘Truth about what?’ Allison asked.
Garcia shrugged. ‘That’s what we’d like to find out.’
‘About a case he prosecuted?’
‘We don’t know. That’s all the information we have.’
Silence took over for several seconds.
‘I don’t remember Father saying anything about making peace with anyone,’ Olivia said. ‘Is Amy sure that’s what he said?’
Hunter and Garcia nodded.
Olivia looked at Allison.
‘Dad never said anything to me either.’
There was one more question Hunter wanted to ask them, but he needed to choose his words carefully. He tried to sound casual. ‘Was your father into modern art?’
By the look on their faces, Hunter couldn’t have asked a more surprising question.
‘Like sculptures, for example,’ he added.
Their confused looks intensified.
‘No,’ Olivia said before looking at Allison. Then they both said in unison.
‘Mom was.’
Fourteen
If Hunter’s question had surprised Allison and Olivia, their answer had certainly had the same effect on him.
‘Why do you ask?’ Olivia enquired, her eyes squinting a fraction.
Hunter held her gaze. He had to come up with something good. Neither of Mr. Nicholson’s daughters knew about the sculpture left behind by the killer, and the psychological trauma that that knowledge would bring would haunt them forever.
‘Something we found in your father’s room,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘We think it might be a piece of a broken sculpture or something like that.’