The Sculptor

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“All this is just a precaution, Cathy,” Markham said. “In case he tries to make contact with you, to leave you another note—that is, if the notes you received five years ago are related to Tommy Campbell’s murder to begin with.”

“They are, Sam. You know they are.”

“I can’t be sure—might be just a strange coincidence. However, since it’s all we have to go on right now, we’ll see how far that road leads us. But the last thing you want right now is for the press to know the extent to which you’re involved in this. In fact, if my gut is right, I think that’s just what the killer wants to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious that whoever murdered Tommy Campbell and that boy had been planning this crime for a long time—perhaps even years. And until the autopsy results come back, until we get an idea of exactly how this person murdered and preserved his victims—how he actually created that sick sculpture of his—the only window into his motives right now is you. You and your book.”

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