WALT TOOK ANOTHER SIP OF RUM AND QUICKLY TURNED THE PAGE. He was amazed at how quickly the details of the investigation were coming back to him. He realized that the memories had not so much faded and disappeared, but had instead been warehoused. Stored away and slowly covered by the dust of life—the accumulation of years and the distractions that accompanied them. But as he flipped through the pages of the file now, he was transformed back into that twenty-eight-year-old kid who had found himself in the middle of a homicide investigation that was about to capture the attention of the nation.

THE CAMERON YOUNG INVESTIGATION

Walt finished his second walk-through of the big house in the Catskill Mountains and started his long drive back to the city. He worked through what he knew so far. The community he was leaving was quiet, calm, and tranquil. People there were wealthy. People there knew each other. Crime was uncommon. There was little chance Cameron Young had been killed randomly. There was little chance the man did not know his killer.

As he drove, Walt reviewed what he had learned in the last twenty-four hours about the art of deviant sex, having brought himself up to speed on the nuances of BDSM sex during a two-in-the-morning Internet binge the previous night. He cringed at the thought of anyone looking through his browser history. BDSM—bondage/dominance/sadism/masochism—was aggressive, often rough and painful sex between two consenting adults that included a wide variety of props and toys. Consenting was a buzzword Walt had seen in just about every article he read, although he wondered how consenting Cameron Young had been the night he died. Something dark and dangerous had taken place in that bedroom.

The analysis of the blood found on the carpeting of the closet, as well as the urine in the toilet, was being expedited so it could be compared against DNA samples Walt would soon collect from potential suspects. Similarly, the fingerprints lifted from the kitchen knife and the wineglass left on the nightstand would also be compared against prints Walt would obtain. After his initial interview, Walt decided the first samples he would ask for would be from Cameron Young’s wife.

Walt drove his unmarked squad car across the George Washington Bridge. He fought stagnant Manhattan traffic until he found a mostly legal parking spot in the West Seventies neighborhood on the Upper West Side. The Youngs’ Manhattan residence was a two-bedroom ground-floor apartment on Seventy-Sixth Street. Walt shrugged his suit coat onto his shoulders and adjusted his cuffs as he walked to the front door and rang the bell. Tessa Young answered. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wet, her nose chafed and raw.

“Mrs. Young. Thanks for agreeing to speak with me again. I know you’re having a hard time, but I’d like to bring you up to speed on what I’ve learned.”