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Chapter 62: Accidents Always Come Unexpectedly
Theodore, however, had no intention of closing the case just yet. He leaned forward and asked Cynthia a pointed question: "Why did David Moore call you a 'whore' and a 'bitch'?"
Bernie looked over in surprise, not understanding the significance of the inquiry.
"Insults reveal subjective emotional triggers," Theodore explained matter-of-factly.
He offered an example: "For instance, if you're angry with Jacob, you'd call him a rat or a traitor, not a whore or a bitch."
"Terms like 'whore' and 'bitch' are specifically chosen by someone who believes their partner has been unfaithful to their marriage, not by someone angry about betrayal of trust or loyalty."
Theodore held up two fingers. "There are only two possibilities for him to use such language against you."
"Either the deceased truly believed you were unfaithful to your marriage..."
Cynthia lowered her head, clutching her ring tightly, and remained silent.
"Or the deceased was attempting to regain psychological dominance over you through deliberate degradation."
Theodore's voice grew more clinical. "The deceased was once an Oil Company worker, a profession embodying traditional masculinity. Paralysis stripped away his sexual function, and these insults represented displaced anger over his sexual impotence."
"Mary mentioned that the deceased would lose his temper with Donald, and T10-T11 thoracic spine injuries typically affect sexual function."
"No! Donald is his child!" Cynthia's voice cracked with desperation.
Theodore seemed to have momentarily forgotten Dr. Martinez's earlier comments. He opened David Moore's medical record and continued pressing about David's loss of sexual ability.
"Donald is his child!" Cynthia repeated, gripping her ring so tightly her knuckles went white. "And David was still... he was still very good!"
"As good as before!"
Bernie and Theodore exchanged meaningful glances.
Cynthia's fierce protectiveness of the deceased completely contradicted her stated motive for the killing.
Theodore's interest was thoroughly piqued.
He pointed at her clenched fist. "Is that your wedding ring?"
"Your finances are extremely tight. You work four jobs but still can't meet household expenses. You had to borrow money from dangerous people to survive. Even so, you haven't pawned that ring. Why?"
Cynthia didn't answer, keeping her head bowed in stubborn silence.
Theodore was no longer in any hurry to close the case. He stopped the interrogation and suggested to Bernie that they needed to find the affair partner.
What Cynthia had described was touching; it painted the picture of a Christian husband who loved his wife deeply. But this was only her version of events.
Dead men tell no tales. Of course, if she claimed he loved her deeply, then he loved her deeply.
But living people could tell a different story.
Bernie asked why he was so sure Cynthia had been having an affair, rather than accepting the other possibility.
"The deceased accused her of cheating," Theodore replied, "and she didn't deny it."
The investigation into Cynthia's affair partner proved straightforward.
Theodore and Bernie visited her workplaces in succession.
During the drive, Bernie lamented their neighbour's misfortune and sighed about the couple's deep love for each other.
Theodore once again offered a rather unromantic perspective.
"Both murder and suicide are grave sins for Christians. The deceased lacked the courage to make the decision himself, so he transferred the moral burden to Cynthia Moore under the guise of self-sacrifice."
"Now Cynthia Moore bears the guilt of killing her husband, while he departed with a clean conscience."
Bernie stared at him for a long moment, wanting to speak but holding back.
This interpretation reminded him uncomfortably of Paul Miller's desperate shouts:
"Aren't you the same!"
"You're just like me!"
"Why didn't you help me!"
"I don't want to go to hell to have that conversation with David Moore just yet," Theodore's voice pulled Bernie from his memories.
Bernie quickly jerked the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding an oncoming truck and earning a string of colourful curses from the other driver.
Cynthia worked as a cleaner at the Oil Company office building each morning. This job required her to finish cleaning the corridors, restrooms, and conference rooms before regular office hours began.
Cynthia was remarkably efficient; she single-handedly handled the cleaning for an entire floor.
Since the work had to be completed before business hours, she had no opportunity to interact with other employees.
In the afternoons, she worked at St. Mary's Nursing Home as a caregiver assistant. Her primary duties included bathing, feeding, and changing the bed sheets for bedridden elderly residents.
Theodore and Bernie learned from several elderly residents under Cynthia's care that she would secretly collect leftover painkillers from the patients, claiming they were for her husband to help alleviate his suffering.
The elderly residents were all aware of her family situation and often asked their caregivers for extra pain medication, which they would then discreetly pass along to her.
When asked if any men had come looking for her, several elderly residents exchanged knowing glances and fell silent. One resident with slurred speech pointed directly at Theodore and shouted:
"I told you he couldn't be fooled!"
"The Star News says he's the son of Lucifer, he can see straight through your soul!"
Theodore stiffly turned to look at the nearby newspaper stand.
The Felton Star News occupied the most prominent position, its extensive headline reading: "Psychic Twin Detectives Outsmart Werewolf Councillor," seeming to mock him in silent judgment.
Bernie's curiosity was piqued. He leaned over and whispered with the elderly residents for a few minutes, obtaining information about the mysterious visitor.
His name was Paul Anderson, and he worked at the Blue Parrot Motel.
The Blue Parrot Motel was Cynthia Moore's third workplace. She was primarily responsible for cleaning hourly rental rooms, changing bedsheets, and handling items abandoned by guests.
After bidding farewell to the elderly residents who seemed eager to crucify Theodore, the two men headed directly for the Blue Parrot Motel.
Halfway there, a call crackled over the police radio, specifically requesting Detective Bernie Sullivan to proceed immediately to Stockton Street.
Upon hearing "Stockton Street," Bernie's face went ashen.
He grabbed the radio with trembling hands and asked for details in a hoarse voice, but received no response from the other end.
Little Sullivan's school was located on Stockton Street.
Theodore had Bernie pull over immediately, and they swapped places, Theodore taking the wheel as they raced toward the scene.
Mrs. Sullivan was already there. The moment she saw Bernie emerge from the car, her composed facade crumbled completely, and she collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
Although several patrol officers had been prepared for their arrival, they were still somewhat surprised to see Theodore and Bernie, maintaining a respectful distance rather than approaching directly.
Through Councillor Santos's relentless promotion and the police department's image campaign orchestrated by the FOP, Theodore and Bernie had become genuine celebrity figures within the force.
Their case-solving efficiency as a partnership had been deliberately exaggerated by the department to near-mythical proportions.
Now the case had struck at the heart of their team.
Bernie appeared utterly distraught. After offering a few hollow words of comfort to his wife, he pulled a detective aside to learn the details.
According to the detective's report, the perpetrator was a bald man, approximately 74 inches tall, with a build similar to Bernie's, both of whose arms were covered in tattoos.
A witness reported that initially, the man had only carried away little Donald, but Little Sullivan had followed persistently, tugging at the man's clothes and refusing to let him leave.
The bald man had shoved Little Sullivan to the ground, but the boy had wrapped his arms around the man's leg, allowing himself to be dragged across the pavement.
At this point, a school teacher had noticed the disturbance and was moving to investigate.
This intervention seemed to panic the bald man. He'd kicked Little Sullivan twice, and seeing the teacher approaching rapidly, had grabbed both children, one tucked under each arm, and fled.
After hearing this description, Bernie's eyes filled with murderous rage.
"Paul Anderson!"
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