Carter Chris - The Death Sculptor
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- ISBN:978-0-85720-301-4
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THE DEATH
SCULPTOR
About the author
Born in Brazil of Italian origin, Chris Carter studied psychology and criminal behaviour at the University of Michigan. As a member of the Michigan State District Attorneys Criminal Psychology team, he interviewed and studied many criminals, including serial and multiple homicide offenders with life imprisonment convictions.
Having departed for Los Angeles in the early 1990s, Chris spent ten years as a guitarist for numerous rock bands before leaving the music business to write full-time. He now lives in London and is the Sunday Times bestselling author of The Crucifix Killer, The Executioner and The Night Stalker.
Visit www.chriscarterbooks.com
Also by Chris Carter
The Crucifix Killer
The Executioner
The Night Stalker
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2012
A CBS Company
Copyright Chris Carter, 2012
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
and 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Chris Carter to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Grays Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
www.simonandschuster.co.uk
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Hardback ISBN 978-0-85720-300-7
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-0-85720-301-4
Ebook ISBN 978-0-85720-304-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
This novel is dedicated to all the readers who have entered the competition to become a character in this book, and especially to the winner, Alice Beaumont, from Sheffield. I hope you all enjoy it.
Acknowledgements
Writing is regarded by many as a lonely profession, but I am far from alone. I am very fortunate to have the help, support and friendship of some incredible people. My friend, and the best agent an author could ever hope for, Darley Anderson. Camilla Wray for helping me shape a simple draft into a finished novel, yet again. My fantastic editor at Simon & Schuster, Maxine Hitchcock, for being so fantastic at what she does, and for all the support, suggestions and guidance from the first word to the last. Emma Lowth for her expert eye and advice. Samantha Johnson for listening and for being there. Everyone at the Darley Anderson Literary Agency for all their hard work in every aspect of the publishing business. Ian Chapman, Suzanne Baboneau, Florence Partridge, Jamie Groves and everyone at Simon & Schuster UK you guys are the best. Thank you also to all the readers and everyone out there who have so fantastically supported me and my novels from the start.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Sixty-One
Sixty-Two
Sixty-Three
Sixty-Four
Sixty-Five
Sixty-Six
Sixty-Seven
Sixty-Eight
Sixty-Nine
Seventy
Seventy-One
Seventy-Two
Seventy-Three
Seventy-Four
Seventy-Five
Seventy-Six
Seventy-Seven
Seventy-Eight
Seventy-Nine
Eighty
Eighty-One
Eighty-Two
Eighty-Three
Eighty-Four
Eighty-Five
Eighty-Six
Eighty-Seven
Eighty-Eight
Eighty-Nine
Ninety
Ninety-One
Ninety-Two
Ninety-Three
Ninety-Four
Ninety-Five
Ninety-Six
Ninety-Seven
Ninety-Eight
Ninety-Nine
One Hundred
One Hundred and One
One Hundred and Two
One Hundred and Three
One Hundred and Four
One Hundred and Five
One Hundred and Six
One Hundred and Seven
One Hundred and Eight
One Hundred and Nine
One Hundred and Ten
One Hundred and Eleven
One Hundred and Twelve
One Hundred and Thirteen
One Hundred and Fourteen
One Hundred and Fifteen
One Hundred and Sixteen
One Hundred and Seventeen
One Hundred and Eighteen
One Hundred and Nineteen
One
Oh my God, Im late, Melinda Wallis said, springing out of bed as her tired eyes glanced at the digital clock on her bedside table. Last night shed stayed up until 3:30 a.m., studying for her Clinical Pharmacology exam in three days time.
Still a little groggy from sleep, she clumsily moved around the room while her brain worked out what to do first. She hurried into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.
Shit, shit, shit.
She reached for her makeup bag and started powdering her face.
Melinda was twenty-three years old and according to an article shed read in a glossy magazine a few days ago, a little overweight for her height she was only five foot four. Her long brown hair was always tied back into a ponytail, even when she went to bed, and she would never go outside without at least plastering her face with foundation to hide her acne-riddled cheeks. Instead of brushing her teeth, she quickly squirted a blob of toothpaste into her mouth just to get rid of the night taste.
Back in the room, she found her clothes neatly folded on a chair by her study desk a white blouse, stockings, a knee-length white skirt and white flat-soled shoes. She got dressed in record time and sprinted out of the small guesthouse in the direction of the main building.
Melinda was attending the third year of her Bachelor of Science in Nursing and Caretaking degree at UCLA, and every weekend, to fulfill her job-experience curriculum, she worked as an in-house private nurse. For the past fourteen weekends shed been working for Mr. Derek Nicholson in Cheviot Hills, West Los Angeles.
Just two weeks before she was hired, Mr. Nicholson was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. The tumor was already the size of a plum stone and it was eating away at him fast. Walking was too painful, sometimes he needed the help of breathing apparatus, and he spoke only in a barely audible voice. Despite his daughters pleas, he declined to start chemotherapy treatment. He refused to spend days locked inside a hospital room and chose to spend the time he had left in his own house.
Melinda unlocked the front door and stepped into the spacious entry lobby before rushing through the large but sparsely decorated living room. Mr. Nicholsons bedroom was located on the first floor. As always, the house was eerily quiet in the morning.
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