Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I lean over him, sear my eyes into his. “Mr. Burgundy?”
He swallows hard, his pulse still steady but his breathing just a fraction off.
Good. Even sociopaths have their limits. He’s not as calm as he wants me to think.
“It’s Normandy,” he says. “Ralph Normandy.”
“We’ll see about that.” I stand back up, pace around his room. “Let’s just, for the sake of argument, assume that I’m right. Let’s say that you’re the Ronny Burgundy who dated my wife, Lindsay, in high school. Who, when she broke it off, became so obsessed that you stalked her, made her life hell, to the point that she had to get a restraining order against you.” I stop pacing and face him. “But you didn’t stop there. You were so obsessed, bothered her so much, that she and her family left their home state of New Jersey.” I shrug. “Maybe you tried to get over her. Maybe you waited. Maybe you just didn’t have any money to follow her around. Frankly, that’s my best guess. But you eventually found her. And when you finally did, you learned that she had just suffered an unimaginable loss. You thought you could be the one to console her, make her love you again.” I cock my head, not breaking eye contact. “But she didn’t.”
I continue to stare at him, counting in my mind.
His pulse goes up to seventy-five.
“Am I getting close?” I ask.
“You’re living in a dream world.” His fingers twitch against the hospital blanket.
His words are staying strong, but his body, fraught with the injuries that he brought upon himself, is faltering.
“So there are a few ways we can handle this,” I say. “You can drop the charges against me…”
“Or what?” he says, his teeth gritted.
“Or you can see the cards I’m holding close to my chest.”
“What cards might those be?”
“A smart player never shows his hand,” I say.
“So you think I’m just going to drop the charges against you?” A short, cold laugh. “I’m just going to assume that you’re not bluffing?”
“You can do whatever you want. But I can tell you one thing right now. There’s only one of us in this room who’s going to be doing any prison time.” I shrug. “I’ll let you think about that. Think about which one of us it’s going to be.”
Then I turn around and walk away.
“You can’t prove anything, Lansing,” he calls after me. “Not about me, not about this Burgundy guy. It doesn’t matter how many of his friends you call.”
I ignore him, close the door behind me. Once I’m in my car, my phone buzzes. It’s Angie.
“Hi,” I say into the phone.
“Hey, can you come to my place for dinner at eight? My brother’s in town, and I’d like you to meet him.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“And I have some great news. My brother has connections in the Boulder court system. He got a warrant to check the security footage around Ralph’s apartment building. We’ll see if anyone goes in or out. Maybe the person who attacked him.”
“I know you want to be helpful, but what if it didn’t happen around his apartment?”
“I know. Henry’s getting a search warrant too, based on the handwriting expert’s analysis.”
“That’s enough to get a search warrant?”
“Well, it would help if we had the fingerprints. That’ll take a little longer to get. But yeah, Henry thinks that’s enough. I mean, you know, connections.”
“Wow.”
“I know. Sometimes it pays to be the person who wears my shoes.”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…” She sighs. “My family name means something. And if I can use it to help you, Jason, I’m going to do it.”
“At this point, I’m going to let my pride sit on the back burner.” I let out a humorless chuckle. “I need to prove that I didn’t do this to Ralph. I have no alibi, so the only way to deal with this, get it off my plate, is to get him to drop the damned charges. And unless we can find out who did this to him, or get him to admit it, the only way he’ll drop them is if I hold the better hand. I have to prove that he’s behind Lindsay’s death.” I rub at my left temple with my free hand. “God, I almost wish I had been the one to beat him.”
“Don’t say that, Jason.”
“He fucking killed my wife, Angie.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
Except I do. It all makes sense now.
The puzzle pieces click together, fitting into the chilling image of Ralph as an obsessed, calculating man who would do anything to manipulate reality to his favor. A sociopath.
“Angie, I need to go,” I say hastily.
“But the dinner—”
“I’ll be there.” I cut her off. The last thing I need right now is to explain things to her and see the dawning horror in her eyes. Not when I’m barely keeping myself steady. “I just need some time.”