“The knots used to bind Mr. Young’s hands were not the type seen in suicides. You see here?” Dr. Lockard pointed at the photo. “For a suicide victim to bind his own hands together, he has to use some sort of slipknot. Sink your hands into loose knots, pull your arms apart, the knots tighten. That’s the only way to do it. These were not slipknots. They were tightly bound knots. Doing some research, I believe they are alpine butterfly knots. This is outside my area of expertise, but it looks like the knots are commonly used in mountain climbing, and require two hands to complete. It’s impossible to tie two alpine butterfly knots this close together and step through them to get your hands behind your back. And it’s clearly impossible to have tied them blindly behind one’s back.”

“So someone else tied him up?”

“Correct.”

Walt gathered all the photos, tapped them a few times on the desk to organize the stack, and then placed them facedown to the side.

“So Cameron Young was getting his rocks off during a sordid S and M evening. Based on the extensive whip marks on his back and thighs, it was a violent night of games. Part of the foreplay included a rope being tied around his neck. The rope was tightened to some degree for added eroticism while someone simultaneously performed oral sex on him. The rope became too tight and he died before he reached climax. His partner panicked, tied the end of a long length of rope to the heaviest thing they could find, which ended up being the safe in the closet, and then tossed him over the balcony to make it look like suicide. Do I have your theory correct?”

“That’s a pretty clean summary of my examination. Have any suspects?”

Walt stood up. “I’m working on it. Thanks, Doc.”

CHAPTER 18 - Manhattan, NY Friday, June 25, 2021

CHAPTER 18

Manhattan, NY Friday, June 25, 2021

JIM OLIVER HAD SET HIM UP IN A SUITE AT THE GRAND HYATT AND WALT was happy to be free from the claustrophobia that surely would have come from a single room. After remembering Dr. Lockard, with his beady eyes and unkempt hair, as well as the vivid image the doctor had painted of Cameron Young’s last night, Walt needed a little space to move around and shake the restlessness from his limbs. Even twenty years later, the doctor had the ability to unnerve him. Walt walked from the bedroom to the minibar and poured two more fingers of rum. He sat down at the desk in the main living area where more pages from the file waited. They were transcripts of his first interview with Tessa Young, the victim’s wife.

THE CAMERON YOUNG INVESTIGATION