Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
“That’s very possible,” she agreed.
“Then we’re giving you something for the pain,” Taylor insisted.
I was not turning that down.
Once I was patched up, two detectives walked over, both in plainclothes, and introduced themselves as Tunney and Deng of the Portland Police Bureau.
“You say bureau here?” I asked Tunney, who was older, maybe late fifties, handsome in that rugged way where it looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors. He had blond hair shot through with silver, and had readers perched on the end of his nose. In contrast, there was Deng, who had a quick smile, expensive haircut, and a great wardrobe.
“Yeah,” Tunney replied. “Where are you from?”
“Chicago.”
“You’re in your ACUs,” Deng observed. “I hope you’re not headed out.”
“No, sir, just got back.”
“Thank you for your service.”
I gave Deng a nod in response. I never knew what to do when people said that to me. It was my duty; I didn’t need to be thanked.
“So…” Tunney sighed deeply. “Everyone is talking over there, but mostly all at once.”
“I think Mr. Butler is a shrink, right?” Deng asked me. “I mean, he’s trying to calm everyone down, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
I smiled.
“Okay, so, Captain Hunt, is it?” Tunney asked.
“Just George is fine.”
“George,” Tunney repeated, “we’re all up to speed on what happened when the three of them, Mr. Carr, Mrs. Carr, and Mr. Butler—”
“It’s actually Dr. Butler.”
“Sorry. So we know what occurred when the Carrs and Dr. Butler came through the door, and we know what transpired from the perspective of the kids. We know how everything started, but what we need now is—”
“Where I come in.”
“Yes.”
“I can do that, but I’d like to hear the beginning as well.”
Apparently, it started simply: the doorbell rang, and Toby, the older boy, went to the door to see who it was. Since he didn’t recognize the face at the door, he asked who the guy was and was told that he was there to put up decorations in the house for his mother. Since that sounded reasonable—later that evening, Thomasin was having a live online event at her home—Toby took the man at his word and opened the door.
Instantly, Toby understood his mistake, as he was faced with three men, one who pointed a gun at him and ordered that he turn around, walk back down the hall, and not make a sound.
In the living room, two fanned out, one going upstairs, the other going from room to room downstairs, checking for others. Dennis, Toby’s younger brother, who had been outside with the dogs, came in to grab a bottle of water, but suddenly had a gun shoved in his face as the door was locked behind him. The dogs hit the glass door hard, and as one of the men threatened to kill them, another yelled at Toby, asking where his parents were. He told them they went to the airport.
Dennis was trying to quiet the dogs through the door, terrified that the man who was yelling would shoot them, when the first guy, who was holding a gun on Toby, told him to forget about them and threatened to kill his brother if he didn’t take a seat on the couch. Complying immediately, both boys watched as the men yelled at each other.
“They expected Brad and Thomasin to be home,” I said.
“They did,” Tunney explained. “They thought they would use the kids to get the parents to open the home safe or wire money, and then they’d kill the whole family.”
I nodded, not believing any of that for a second. They’d had a bit of time right before I got there, when they could’ve gotten Thomasin and Brad to their safe to get it open or the computer to start a fund transfer. Neither of those things happened. This was something else.
Tunney added, “They didn’t count on the dogs making a ruckus outside or, well, you.”
“Yeah.”
“They couldn’t have been in the house more than five, ten minutes at the most, before you all drove up,” Deng threw in.
“The two outside, Feeney and Carter—Feeney is the one who’s not dead—were on lookout and should have called when you drove up, but you took care of them before they could alert Billings, Moore, and Gill, who were here in the house.”
“Which one did the dogs use for a chew toy?”
“That would be Gill, and he only took superficial damage. He doesn’t even need stitches.”
“Well, that’s because Kurt—Dr. Butler—gave the dogs a take-him command and not an attack one. The outcome could have been very different.”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” Tunney agreed. “Those dogs are massive, all muscle and so well trained. I can tell.”
Turning on my stool, I showed them the guns arranged on the kitchen island on paper towels. Two crime-scene technicians came over to listen to my explanation, as well as Davis, the detective in charge of the crime lab. Three other techs continued processing the crime scene, taking pictures, dusting surfaces for fingerprints, and collecting evidence. Davis had already told me how much she appreciated my leaving the guns where they were initially so they could take pictures of where they fell, but then telling her techs, as they gathered the guns, the order in which I had interacted with each. Or more specifically, which of their owners tried to shoot me first. She was even happier not to have to take my prints, as they were on file with the Army.