Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
She got up, went to her kitchen, and grabbed a roll of tape. Then, sitting back down on the floor, she put it all together, piece by piece. It was a difficult, tedious task, but not impossible. The mystery would be solved. She was determined.
Almost thirty minutes later, she sat there, her chest heaving up and down, admiring her handiwork. There, on the floor, was a taped-up photo of Ethan, Evan and Clark. They looked much younger in the picture, but it was definitely them. Two dead victims, and the very much alive suspect…
She set it aside, and went through the third and final bag. That one contained torn photos, too—this time, of two attractive women. One of the pictures was of Ethan and one of the same girls, locked in a lovers’ embrace. Ex-girlfriend? Maybe the one he told me that Evan cheated with? It took several hours, but she pieced all of the others back together, too. She had not realized how much time had passed until she noticed the sun was out, and she could hear people talking from the street, and plenty of cars driving by.
She looked at the recovered photos for a long while, then crammed the waste and debris back up in the bags, but not before taking pictures of everything. After discarding the rubbish in her own dumpster, she sat at her dining room table with a fresh cup of coffee, the piecemealed photos, and Khalid singing, ‘Talk.’
Torn pieces of a past life… Ripped to angry shreds…
One is still alive and breathing… Two are on the beach, dead…
She sipped on her brew, pondering ideas, plans, and theories. None of this proved Ethan was the killer. Only an actual written confession would be acceptable at this point, but it did show he still harbored resentment. Unprocessed, raw emotions.
Ethan, you are not healed. You are not over some hurt or trauma… Why would you throw this stuff away now, of all times? You had it for years. I paid you a visit recently. Did I get too close? Make you afraid of finally being found out or caught?
She slowly got to her feet, padded to her bedroom, disrobed and showered. Once she was clean, she dried off, slipping into a soft pecan colored turtleneck and some black leggings. She made her way to the kitchen and fixed a fresh cup of brew before heading to the office and tackling some of her investigative cases for the day. When the beverage was ready, she brought her mug into the dining room, and sat at the table to compose her thoughts… drumming her fingers against the table.
The wheels in her mind were spinning like a Ferris wheel, going faster and faster, and she was certain that this was a ride she wouldn’t soon forget…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I owe you nothing. You should be happy I even entertained your offer to stop by in the first place,” Porsche stated, with a duplicitous smirk as she walked in, and Nikolai closed the door behind her.
“You do owe me. I let you harass me for weeks.”
“Let me? Sir, I harass as a profession. No one lets me do a damn thing, I just do it. And they have to accept it. It’s an art, really.” She snickered.
“That’s right… you laugh, but I let you interrogate me. I told ya once, and I’ll tell you again. I didn’t have to talk to you. I almost didn’t. What other suspects would volunteer to be hassled by a private eye, an ex-cop accusing them of multiple murders? Not many.” He locked the door, then turned to face her.
She looked absolutely stunning. Wearing a white coat, tight dark jeans that poured into a pair of knee-high black leather boots with white heels, he loved her style, curves, and the way she filled out her attire. Of course she smelled divine, too. Like jasmine and vanilla. When he originally called her and asked her to come by for dinner, he was certain she’d play a game of cat and mouse with him again, another song and dance, but instead, she accepted his offer and claimed she had some news for him, too.
“Your house is very nice.” She looked about as he took her coat and hung it in the hallway closet. “I like the modern touches, paired with traditional woodwork.”
“Thanks. Don’t consider myself much of a house decorator or anything like that, but I’m handy. And as far as furniture ’nd all, I looked on YouTube and got some ideas. Not my expertise, so…”
“YouTube is great for just about everything now, isn’t it?” She took a seat in the den he’d led her to. “My friend Lorna said she took computer courses on there, and even learned how to fix her vacuum cleaner.”
“Yeah, it’s useful. There’s a lot of dumb shit, too. Like the influencer videos. Try to get ya to buy a bunch of bullshit you don’t need… become a hoarder, basically. Before you know it, you have two hundred lipsticks, seventy sponges, and fifty pairs of black socks.”