The Viper

From the top landing, he could see into an eat-in kitchen. To his right was a living room with bare wood floors. To his left, a hallway with three open doorways—a bathroom and two bedrooms, he guessed. From one of those rooms came the meowing of multiple cats. The source of the odor he noticed on the way up was likely a busy litter box.

“Are you a cat person, Mr. Gurney?”

A large, soft-looking woman in a gray sweat suit emerged from the hallway, pushing loose hairs back from her forehead. He recognized the same sad smile of repeatedly disappointed optimism on Adrienne Lerman’s face that he had seen in the trial video.

“I’m not sure, but I do like watching them.”

“I’m trying to find a permanent home for some kittens. If you know anyone who might be interested . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Come in, have a seat.”

Gurney joined her at an old Formica-topped table.

“I saw what happened in the street. I’m really sorry. Sonny can be . . . excitable.”

“You told him I was coming?”

“I try to be open about everything. I didn’t expect him to react like that.”

“Any idea why he did?”

She let out sharp little sound that might have been a humorless laugh. “All I told him was what Emma Martin told me—that you were reviewing the case to see if there might be a chance of an appeal. He didn’t seem to have any reaction. But once Sonny starts thinking about something, you never know where it’s going to go. Maybe his mind went back to that insurance company lawyer, Howard Manx, a very mean person, who was trying to keep us from getting the money in the first place. Money means a lot to Sonny. He sees it as the only thing he ever got from our father. It was like Manx was insinuating that we killed our own father for the insurance. What kind of person would kill their own father for money? How sick would you have to be to do that?” She closed her eyes and pressed the tips of her fingers against the lower part of her cheek.

“Are you alright?” asked Gurney.

“Bad tooth. Comes and goes.” She opened her eyes and lowered her hand. “I should get to the dentist. Never seem to have the time. With hospice and the cats and Sonny . . .” She looked vaguely around the kitchen, before going on with a beleaguered smile.

“Most of my problems are gifts, not problems at all. To be busy is to be useful, right? To be useful is a blessing. So, it’s all how you look at it.” She forced a smile. “Emma said that you had some questions.”

“I’ll start with one that occurred to me while I was watching the video of the trial. Why do you think your father told his boss about his money-making scheme?”

She swallowed, and her eyes appeared on the verge of tearing up.

“That night in the restaurant when he talked about it to Sonny and me, I had no idea he was telling anyone else. I’m not even sure I believed what he was saying. But when the district attorney told me what he said to Mr. Cazo, I wasn’t surprised. I knew Lenny liked having people think he was involved in something big, especially involving a celebrity like Ziko Slade. He always wanted respect. It was so important to him. He was obsessed with what people thought of him. He was always chasing acceptance in the wrong ways.”

She shook her head sadly. “He was always trying to be whatever he thought the most powerful person in the room wanted him to be. It was like he had no weight, no center, no direction of his own. He was desperate for approval, especially from Sonny.” A tear appeared and ran down her cheek. She took a napkin from wooden holder on the table, wiped her cheek, and blew her nose.

“Sorry,” she said, “You have other questions?”

“When your brother approached me in the street, he claimed to have a connection to some nasty character. Maybe a gangster? Do you know anything about that?”

She sniffled. “Every time Lenny had a few drinks, he’d start hinting that we had a second or third cousin who was a hitman for the mob—the Russian mob, the Mafia, the Albanians, the story kept shifting. It seemed fantastical to me, but Sonny ate it up. Sonny and Lenny had a lot in common. Fantasies, mainly. Funny how people sometimes have so much in common they can’t stand each other.” She was gazing at Gurney, but her mind seemed to be reviewing sad memories.

“A minute ago you said you weren’t sure you believed what your father told you at the restaurant. Why was that?”

“The extortion scheme—it just wasn’t like him.”

“In what way?”

“It sounded too confrontational.”

“That was out of character for him?”

“Very much so.”

After a silent minute, he stood up from the table and thanked her for her time.

She raised her hand. “Before you go, I’d like to ask you a question. It’s something that’s been on my mind ever since . . . ever since they told me about finding my father’s body. I couldn’t bring myself to ask about it.”

He waited.

She bit her lower lip. “Do you know . . . if he was alive . . . when his fingers were cut off?”