Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Still grasping at fragments of ashes, I murmur, “But how did he know her? Why? If you say Momma fed him when he was down and interacted with him at church, then why?”
“As I said, she helped at the soup kitchen. I’d look through the window. I saw them interact a few times, no different from the others. A harmless pat on the shoulder, perhaps she quoted a friendly proverb or Psalms. He’d smile and nod his head. She was a kind woman. Treated everyone the same.”
I let my shoulders drop. “So, we don’t know exactly why?”
“If it’s any consolation, here’s how,” Burt thoughtfully edges into our tensed discussion. “Paul. I’m sorry, Dr. Everhart, he’s part of our security team.”
“I remember. The man who attempted to hack my security system and the reason I knew Victor’s identity.” Uncle Red snorts, wriggling his jaw. “But please, continue.” His demeanor changes as he pores all his attention into Burt’s every word, only nodding or speaking when necessary.
“Paul comprised satellite data, which didn’t reveal anything other than what the NYPD had already discovered, amongst other botched attempts. He then resorted to the Doorbell Apps.” Burt admits that Victor’s computer wizards had tapped into dozens of private videos. “In a general scenario, Doorbell Apps, the smart-security system most everyone has nowadays, generally keeps information for up to ninety days before scrubbing it.”
“But Caruso would’ve had access to that.” Uncle Red’s fist plants against his knees.”
“Perhaps the chap wasn’t aware of what he was looking for.” Burt tries to soften the blow.
“But this Paul looked into the matter and a whole fucking year later. You said ninety days?”
“Yes, sir. Ninety days is standard. Albeit, the day Gina died, another major crime occurred. Therefore, many footage streams were readily available, which were at the NYPD’s disposal.”
“Oh God, this makes my stomach churn,” I groan. “You’re telling me that Detective Caruso had access to videos that might have linked Eugene to the crime?”
“Yes, since the police collected the data prior to it being erased, he had complete access to it. Had he viewed the footage, he would’ve seen Eugene enter the building. The time he arrived, and when he left. As well as your arrival and leave times, Dr. Everhart.” Burt clears his throat. “However, apparently, the two different departments do not work well together. The detectives who had the data downloaded were working the jewelry robbery.”
Although I take it that Burt has given an elaborate spiel just to assist us with understanding, I growl, “But Detective Caruso could’ve asked around or something!”
“While that is true, Luxury. Our detective was stagnant in his thinking.”
“He always thought I was the guy.” Uncle Red runs the back of his hand over a scowl.
“Dr. Everhart, you’d called attention to yourself that afternoon at the door,” Burt sighs, “thus painting yourself as the primary target for Detective Caruso.”
“Tsk,” Uncle Red snarls. “I was emotional. Desperately banging on the door. My actions discounted any other options for Caruso. I had the motive. I scraped the skin from my knuckles, trying to get inside to just, just ask Gina if she’d changed her mind.” Grief washes into his tone, and a tidal wave of acrimony floods through it. “But I told that asshole, Caruso, everything. Even mentioned Eugene wandering around! Now, I’ve paid for the wrong murder.”
While the incendiary revelation settles around us like ashes, my father figure’s head tilts, tossing an accusatory glower at my friend. “I-I never got my murder, Burt.”
Uncle Red slams a hand onto the end table, causing his empty cola can to clatter to the floor. “I want Eugene dead by tonight. I paid for a murder. Finish the fucking job . . . please.”
While one man’s emotional capacity has imploded, the other sits forward. “Dr. Everhart, will Mr. Orson’s death console you?”
Not a moment goes by when the distraught lover exclaims, “Screw the psychology behind this, Burt. My heart was snatched from my chest. I’ll take satisfaction and pay for my sins later!”
“Alright.” Burt takes a quick sip of his soda. “Your request was fulfilled. Victor finished off the wanker.”
I stare at my newest friend sideways. Burt’s acting a tad off. First when he mentioned Uncle Red entering the building, and now . . . he knows something. Just as I’m about to call him out for withholding some significant detail, Uncle Red’s voice erupts like a riot after years of abuse.
“That’s not enough!” Uncle Red clasps the coffee table, sending the whole thing spiraling over onto its head. “I want proof, Burt! Proof!”
Uncle Red glares at a can of soda leaking into the plush-pile carpet. As I scooch in my chair to retrieve it, Uncle Red comes to his senses with a groan.
“I’m sorry, Luxxie. I truly am, for my behavior. But you have to know, the second I started beating on that door, I thought it was me. She didn’t want me. And the moment I-I found out your momma was gone forever, I hated myself for the lack of faith in us. I told myself, perhaps your father—or whoever harmed her—was still inside. That I could’ve helped.”