“Right. The medical examiner made the same point. The knots could only be tied using both hands, and it was therefore impossible for Cameron Young to have tied his own hands. It’s one of the ways we ruled out suicide.”

“So, where’s the blood?” Avery asked.

“The blood? I showed you.” Walt pointed back to the photos. “We found heavy droplets of Victoria Ford’s blood in the carpeting next to the safe.”

“Yes, I see that. And that’s a lot of blood dripped onto the carpeting. But if I have the sequence of events correct—that Victoria cut herself first, while she was severing the rope so that she could tie it to the safe in order to drop Cameron Young over the balcony—wouldn’t there be evidence of this injury on the rope? If Victoria cut herself to the extent that all this blood dripped onto the carpeting of the closet, where’s the rest of the blood in the crime scene?”

Walt cocked his head and leaned back in his chair, Avery could tell, heavy in thought.

“This bowline knot she supposedly tied, for instance,” Avery continued. “Just as the medical examiner concluded, she would have had to use both hands to tie it. If one of her hands was bleeding, you’d think the rope would have Victoria’s blood smeared all over it. It’s a white rope and there’s not a drop of blood on it. Or on the safe. And you’d expect somewhere on Cameron Young’s body there would also be evidence of this injury Victoria supposedly suffered just before lugging the body to the balcony. No?”

Walt rubbed a palm over his cheek but didn’t speak. It was then that Avery knew she had a story she could run with. If a few questions about the crime scene could plant doubt in the mind of the lead detective, it was certainly enough to captivate a television audience of fifteen million. And if a cursory look through the case against Victoria Ford had raised such glaring problems, it was certainly possible that other discrepancies were waiting to be discovered in the Cameron Young file.

Something else occurred to Avery as well. A growing sense of obligation. Victoria Ford’s voice echoed in her mind again.

Find a way, Em. Find a way to prove it. Please? Just find a way to prove to the world that I’m not the monster they’ve painted me to be.

CHAPTER 40 - Manhattan, NY Saturday, July 3, 2021

CHAPTER 40

Manhattan, NY Saturday, July 3, 2021