“Anderson,” Carter said. “You’re next.”
Anderson did not move.
“I’m not doing this,” he said, gruffly.
“Okay fine,” Carter said. “Then I guess we’re all going to stay here and starve to death.”
Everybody was now staring at Anderson. He grunted.
“Alright, whatever,” he said. He slowly walked over and had a seat in the chair. He appeared very angry.
“Okay,” Carter said. “What were you doing the instant that Freeman was murdered?
“I was looking at Elliott’s trap,” Anderson said. “I actually took an interest to it.”
“That’s what Stewart claimed to have been doing,” Carter said. “So you were standing with him?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Okay then. Now, there’s something I really need to know. Did you know Freeman in any way at all?
“Is that some kind of joke?”
“No, it’s a serious question.”
“You know damn well what Freeman did to my wife.”
“I meant before that.”
“No. I never knew him. I heard stories about him prior to then, but I never knew him personally. Not until…that night.”
“And that night you found him and your wife sleeping together?”
“Yes I did. In my bed.”
“And how exactly did you feel about this?”
“How did you think I felt? How else would you feel if you found another man with your wife sleeping in the bed that you shared together? I wanted to grab him and tear his cherry ass to shreds!”
“What did you do to him?”
“I gave him an ass whooping. And he deserved it.”
“You broke his nose.”
“Yes. And he deserved it.”
“Violence is never the answer to anybody’s problems, Anderson. You should know that by age fifty.”
“I’m forty-eight, thank you very much.”
“So am I. And I learned how to keep my hands to myself at the age of three.”
“Freeman was sleeping with my wife!”
“And was it really his fault?”
“Yes, it was.”
“But Nadia was also sleeping with him.”
“She was on ecstasy.”
“That’s just what she claimed. That doesn’t make it true.”
“Are you calling my wife a liar?”
“I’ve spoken with Freeman about this matter. He has told me that Nadia was very well not on drugs that night.”
“I call him the liar. He was taking ecstasy on my property and then gave some of it to my wife.”
“My best friend never lied to me. He never lied to anyone.”
Anderson now had a look on his face that said: “I want to strangle you.”
“What does my wife have to do with Freeman’s murder?” he asked, clenching a fist.
“It’s called vengeance,” Carter answered. “It’s existed for hundreds of years. The day you saw another man with your wife in your own house, I’m sure that you wanted revenge for her. Am I correct?”
“I got my revenge that exact night. When I beat him to a pulp.”
“And after that day, he still walked the streets. I bet whenever you lay eyes on him, you have a deep loathing fill you.”
“Indeed. But I haven’t made eye contact with him ever since that night. I hardly even looked him tonight.”
“That, to me, sounds like the perfect motive for murder.”
“I didn’t shoot Freeman.”
“That’s what anybody would say.”
“I don’t even carry a gun. How could I shoot somebody if I don’t even have a gun?”
“Do you own one?”
“My father gave one to me when I was fourteen. I still have it, but I haven’t even looked at it for about twenty years.”
“It’s possible that you may have looked at it tonight. And used it on a person.”
“But I didn’t! Son of a bitch, how many times do I have to say it?”
“Do you even care that Freeman is dead?”
“I’m not sorry about it all. Freeman wronged my family and he’s wronged dozens of people. It never hurts to get someone like that off of the planet.”
“It does when you are their best friend.”
“I understand that you were friends, but all I’m saying is that this particular friend was no good. You chose the wrong person to be friends with.”
“That is not true. That is not true at all.”
Carter had no mirror, but he knew that his face was red.
“So, what you are saying is that you are perfectly fine with somebody pulling out a gun and killing Freeman.”
“I’m not saying that at all. Violence is one thing, but murder is another. Murder is the stupidest choice that you could ever make. Nobody gets away with it. A murderer always ends up paying the price. Somebody in this basement chose to murder Freeman, and that person is very, very stupid.”
“Very well. Now, another question. When Freeman was killed, did you turn to see the gun just drop to the floor at the same time as him?”
“That is exactly what happened.”
So Stewart had been telling the truth about that scenario. Carter still found that kind of strange.
“One last question. You solemnly swear that you were not the killer?” Carter asked.
“Jesus Christ, Yes! I’ve only said it about forty times,” Anderson growled.
“Thank you. That’ll be it.”
Anderson stormed away from the desk. Carter heard him mutter: “About freaking time.”
Carter was still thinking about the gun just falling to the floor when Freeman was killed. How could the gun just fall to the ground at the exact instant that Freeman fell to the ground?
But then, a thought came to him. A terrible thought.
Was it possible that there was a seventh suspect in this murder?
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