The First Wife’s Secret by Addison Moore

The First Wife’s Secret by Addison Moore

Author:Addison Moore [Moore, Addison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hollis Thatcher Press, LTD.
Published: 2019-01-24T05:00:00+00:00


Bram

Erwin Wilson is a sad looking creature who once had the ability to frighten innocent people with his menacing tall frame, his natural muscular build. He was a homeless vagrant for years in the downtown district of Kaswell, a mere hop, skip, and hammer’s blow from my former residence. But prison life, one might say, agrees with him. Gone is the layered grime that gave him an otherworldly glow of despair. His trash can meals have been replaced with powdered eggs and potatoes made fresh and hot daily. Chemically subdued are the inner voices and active hallucinations. In place of his scraggly mane, his hair has been shorn a tame two inches off his scalp. The holey scraps he once wore, layered like armor, an entire closet of despair all at once had vanished, and in its place a bright blue jumpsuit that brings out the cerulean hue in his eyes. Yes, you might say the three hots and a cot life is agreeing with Erwin Wilson very, very much.

It was Mason who garnered us clearance to visit Erwin on such short notice. Mason is a licensed private detective in New York and now in Maine and has been for as long as my life has warranted the effort. It’s an odd thing to have shaped your brother’s future by way of your own screwed-up existence, but that is what has landed this man, the one I called a monster for many, many years before us.

Erwin folds and refolds his hands. His eyes flit from Mason to me, unsure of what this visit entails. He’s been briefed on who we are, and he offered a prolonged nod my way as if he understood my intimate relation to the woman he’s doing time for killing. He should know me well. I sat in that courtroom like a dutiful husband. I had patted myself on the back for helping to put him away. Mason bought me a beer afterwards to celebrate.

“How are you?” I go with something benign. An icebreaker that works in most every situation but this one, I suppose. If I were in prison, doing fifty to life, the answer would always be shitty.

He lifts his chin, a move that almost looks scholarly on him. “I’m good, Peter. And you?”

Something inside of me flinches when he says my name so boldly. But it came out frank and honest, and suddenly, it feels as if we’re visiting a long-forgotten uncle instead of the man who slaughtered my wife. And that is the primary reason for our visit. One last turning of the stone to see if we’ve left anything undiscovered. My gut has been churning for the last few days because I am certain as hell we have left a lot of damned things undiscovered.

I glance to Mason, unsure of how to dive in. I’m positive Erwin Wilson does not care how I am doing. He maintained his innocence all through the trial. But the fact he was covered in my wife’s DNA, the murder weapon tucked hastily in his jacket, did not bode well for him.



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