“There was no evidence. No motive. Just hypotheticals. Can you believe that? Yes. Believe it. You heard it all right here.
“This case against me is entirely without merit. In fact, I am a victim of circumstance, and this entire case is based on supposition. There is not a witness nor a shred of tangible evidence tying me to this terrible crime.
“Here’s the sum total of the prosecution’s case.
“One suspect, no evidence.
“I’m asking you not to be swayed by the inflammatory rhetoric and the video of people screaming and the number of people who died in Sci-Tron. I didn’t kill them.
“The judge will tell you that if you have reasonable doubt that I committed this terrible, regrettable crime, you must find me not guilty.
“Please. Don’t ask me to pay for someone else’s crime.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER 49
A MAN WITH a slight build, thinning sandy-blond hair, and short arms, who could have been in either his late thirties or his early fifties, depending on the light and the angle, stood over the body on the sidewalk.
The deceased was a real estate broker who had been standing outside his office on Stockton having a smoke when a stranger with a sharp in his hand had come up behind him and jabbed him in the right buttock.
The broker had turned, given the stranger a questioning look, and grabbed at his chest, making a strangled “Whhaaaa” sound before dropping to his knees and falling facedown on the pavement.
The man with the blond hair was Edward Lamborghini, as in the Italian racing car, and was known as Neddie Lambo. Neddie started to laugh when the broker dude fell, but cautioned himself to stay cool until he was actually dead. That might take another minute or so.
Neddie looked around in all directions. No cars had stopped, no pedestrians had walked by, but there were people inside the office waiting for Mr. Homes for Sale to return.
Sadly, Neddie had to go. Thank you, Mr. Homes. I am free. And you, you’re as good as dead. You’ve got nothing to worry about anymore. Have a good trip.
Neddie stuffed his weapon into a pocket of his khaki Windbreaker and walked casually away from the dead man, up to the corner of Stockton and Pine. He looked both ways, crossed at the green, and headed west toward home.
The traffic on Pine was moving, and there were even a few pedestrians making the climb up Powell to the cross street. Neddie began to trot as if he were out for a run. His mind was full of endorphins or serotonin—or some natural jet fuel created by his own special brain. As he ran, he exulted in his latest perfect crime.
The exhilaration he felt was like flying a kite in a lightning storm. No, it was like being that kite. The risk, the danger, the freedom of flight. He had earned his flights. That’s why he was not just free, he was untouchable.
As for Mr. Homes, Neddie silently thanked him again for providing this excellent flight of well-being. He ran down the hill of Mason Street, feeling the incomparable rush.
Breathless, he turned the corner onto Bush Street, dashed in front of a couple who were taking their time, and made it to the other side before the light changed.
He began walking at a regular pace. When he was a block from home, he stopped in front of the frame shop on the corner and looked through the windows. There was a tall, gold-framed mirror on an easel, and he could see himself and the traffic flowing behind him at the same time. When he was sure no one had followed him, Neddie made his move.
CHAPTER 50
THE TWIN BRICK towers of the Hyde Street Psychiatric Center, known to the “clients” as the Hyde and Seek Loony Bin, were vine covered, connected by the one-story administrative block and fronted by a spiked wrought-iron fence.
An alley ran along the dark side of the North Tower, ten feet wide by a block long, bounded by the blank concrete wall of the Walgreens next door—the corner of healthy and happy.
Neddie slipped into the alley and went directly to the green metal fire door leading to the Loony Bin’s garbage room.
The metal door squealed when he opened it, but he was the only one around to hear it. Commercial garbage days were Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and this being Sunday, the overflow garbage was piled high in plastic bags, with a narrow path between them leading to the tunnel door.
Neddie unlocked and cracked open the painted wooden door to the tunnel that ran between the Loony Bin and Saint Vartan’s Medical Center, the gigantic teaching hospital across the road.
Right away he heard the rattle of trolley wheels and saw the orderly pushing a food cart from the kitchen. Neddie popped inside the tunnel and closed the door behind him, hearing the solid click of the lock.
Another food cart came toward him. The orderly called out, “Hey there, Neddie! How’s our Neddie? Lookin’ good, Neddie.”
He answered in a practiced, high-pitched falsetto, “Hey there, Mr. Larry. Neddie’s good!”