I left Porter’s house uncertain whether he was father of the year or if he was much more cunning, a man with a gift of spinning things in his favor. I’d started to feel like a pointer on a board game, whirring around and around before stopping on a color which sent me in a whole new direction. I’d started out determined to find Alexandra’s killer. Now, the more I knew about her, the more disgusted I was. I questioned my motives for deciding to stay, deciding it all came down to one thing: curiosity.
Given my questionable trust in Porter, I called Murphy, gave him a heads-up on the laptop. I kept my word and didn’t mention Chelsea. Not just for Porter’s benefit, but for hers too.
In the spirit of sharing, Murphy told me the fingerprints found at the scene where Louis Massey died led police to the home of Bucky Fox, a thief known for pimping hot merchandise on the street. Turned out, Louis’s death wasn’t connected to Alexandra. He died for showing off, running his mouth to the wrong people. It reminded me of a quote I once read by Napoleon Hill. “Money without brains is always dangerous.”