Page 82 of The Smart Killer
“Are you going to tell Savannah about this morning?”
Noah still didn’t respond.
“Sutherland.”
Noah wheeled around. “Look, I get it. Okay! You’re young; you’re trying to make your mark. You want respect. You want to be the hero, but there are no heroes in this line of work, Porter — just cops trying to get home to their families alive,” he said, pointing to McKenzie, who was taking one drag after another on the cigarette. Seasoned cop or not, moments like what happened in the apartment brought home the reality of their line of work. Shit could go south at any time. Noah leaned toward him, jabbing a finger at the ground. “If you think the public gives a shit about you, it’s because you’ve watched one too many TV shows. They don’t. You don’t even enter their minds while they chow down on their morning cereal. That’s the fucking truth. People don’t want to read about how you caught some asshole after he slaughtered three families. All they want to know is why you didn’t catch him sooner. Hell, they expect us to make sure assholes like that don’t get headlines.” He paused. “You have every bit of the makings of a good detective, Porter, but you must understand this job isn’t a race to snag front-page news. We signed up to be ghosts, blurring in the background of society, doing what is necessary so that regular folk can go to work, kiss their loved ones good night, and wake up the next dayand do that shit all over again. That’s the job. That’s all they care about. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll put your ego aside.”
Porter stared back at him, nodding.
“All right?” Noah asked.
“All right.”
Noah ensured allthe officers remained outside on the fourth floor but kept the door open while they headed in. Burned-out lightbulbs dangled from the ceiling, casting uneven shadows on the worn-out furniture, causing Noah and Porter to use flashlights.
The air held the faint odor of stale cigarette smoke and a musty carpet.
The atmosphere inside Landon Emmett’s apartment was thick with neglect. The dim light revealed a space that bore the signs of an unremarkable dwelling, a place that clearly had little purpose except to allow him to sleep, eat, and obsess.
As they cautiously moved through the apartment, they discovered a peculiar mix of technology books neatly arranged on a side table. However, the true curiosity lay on the walls. Newspaper articles and magazine cutouts related to Lakeridge homes, their smart home system, and the many awards and accolades garnered, adorned every inch. Drone shots of neighborhoods and families, eerily reminiscent of the murder scenes, covered the walls with a terrifying, chaotic collage.
“Guy is obsessed with Lakeridge,” Porter observed, his flashlight gliding over the peculiar display.
“The question is why,” Noah replied softly, studying the photos of Michael Taylor. Among them, he noticed a recurringmotif — a giant red X across Taylor’s face in some while Emmett had replaced Taylor’s head with his own in others. “Now that is some weird shit.”
They continued the search, delving into drawers, closets, and the bathroom. Noah, engrossed in the bizarre spectacle, noticed numerous technology books on smart devices and the future of homes, but among them were several out-of-place volumes that covered historical material. On the front covers were photos of Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison. Titles likeThe War Over the Currents,andTesla: The Genius, Edison: The Businessmanstood out. A quick search of Google on Noah’s phone revealed no mention of Landon Emmett’s connection with Lakeridge.
“Sutherland,” Porter called out from another room. Noah crossed the room to find Porter in front of an open drawer, revealing a trove of torn photos. Porter held up a photo, one half featured Michael Taylor, and the other displayed other people, and among them was a younger version of the man Noah had seen on the stairs.
“Looks like Taylor knew him.”
The torn photos depicted a connection between the two men, suggesting a deeper link than initially suspected. As the two investigators sifted through the remnants of Emmett’s life, the mysterious motives behind his obsession with Lakeridge and the murders began to unravel. Yet, the puzzle was far from complete, leaving them to contemplate the strange intersection of technology, obsession, and darkness within Emmett’s disturbed mind.
29
Michael Taylor’s office doors opened, and Noah, accompanied by Porter, entered the spacious room. Danica Wells, Taylor’s secretary, trailed behind them, appearing at her wits’ end. “Mr. Taylor, I’m sorry. I tried to stop them, but…” she began, her voice tense with apprehension.
Michael raised a hand, cutting her off. “That’s fine, Ms. Wells.” He turned his attention to them. “Detectives.”
Noah approached Taylor’s desk and tossed down a photo. Michael picked it up; his expression was unwavering. “Landon Emmett. Why didn’t you tell us about him? We asked for a list of employees, present and former. He wasn’t on that list you gave us,” Noah said, his gaze fixed on Taylor.
The CEO of Lakeridge Homes Inc. stared at the photo for a fleeting moment before setting it down. He interlocked his fingers and rocked back in his leather chair. “Because it was a long time ago. There’s nothing to be said. He was a quack. He worked for us in the early days. He had some dangerous ideas that I didn’t think were well thought out, so he stepped down.”
“Stepped down. Interesting choice of words.” He nodded, a chuckle escaping his lips. “What was his role?”
“Design.”
Noah smiled. He walked behind Michael, over to where a library of books lined the shelves. “You like to read, Mr. Taylor?”
“When I get the time,” Michael replied, his eyes following Noah’s movements.
Running his fingers across the leatherbound volumes, most focused on marketing and home design, Noah continued his probing. “Your background is in marketing, is it not?”
“It is. That’s where I got my feet wet in the business world before I ventured into home design,” Michael explained calmly.
“Smart homes is quite a venture. I’d imagine it would take a brilliant mind to develop the technology involved, especially since yours is all created in-house. Which I must ask. Why didn’t you outsource it to China like so many companies do? I hear it’s far more affordable.”
Michael remained collected. “We have a good team. From the early days, we opted to keep it in-house to have more control over the manufacturing process and avoid the trap that so many other companies fall into.”
