The Tree of Knowledge, Daniel Miller [unputdownable books txt] 📗

had fallen in love with. She reached out to her father and grabbed his hand as if to restore a connection that had been taken from them.

Their connection was broken by a gunshot.

Cristina and Eva both turned in panic to see the bloodied presence of the general, arm extended, gun in hand.

Turner grabbed his chest and staggered backward, attempt-ing to find his footing.

Albert looked on in horror as Turner’s foot caught on the edge of the roof. He reached and strained with his free hand. The professor’s pant leg slid in and then out of Albert’s hand as his body tumbled off the building.

“Nooooo,” screamed Ying.

Turner’s body descended earthward and slammed against the remorseless concrete below.

Chapter 14

Albert Puddles walked out of Fix headquarters side by side with Ying and an escort from the Los Angeles County sheriff’s office. The morning sunrise shined a harsh beam, an interrogation light, stripping Albert of pretense, exposing him for what he was, mocking him for what he had lost. Every few steps, he looked behind him toward the ledge of the cruel glass building where Turner had fallen. He wondered: If he looked hard enough, could he prevent it from happening? One look at Ying, and he knew she thought the same.

Ocean air brimming with expired fish and thriving industry lilted in front of him, carrying the chatter and laughter of officers in the parking lot. Handshakes. Pats on the back. Bullies at the playground. In one of the squad cars sat Brick and Gabe, handcuffed and complaining vehemently to anyone who would listen.

As he walked toward the blue-and-white sedan that would carry him to confinement, Albert’s mind flitted from one feeling to the next. With each step, sentiment bubbled and burst like water in a cauldron. Grief at everything that had been taken from him. Turner, his job, his home, his life, his comfort in knowing what each day would look like . . . his hope. Wonder at how his calculations had gone wrong. How the Tree had let him down. Guilt for bringing Ying into this chaos, for not having the foresight to protect Turner. Isolation at the realization that he was the guardian of the Tree now, that his mentor wouldn’t be there to teach him, to protect him. Responsibility for the Book Club, for those who would be harmed by Cristina Culebra, most important, for Ying. Anger at himself for allowing emotions to corrupt the order that he had built in his life, blinding him to the general’s gun and Turner’s weakness, keeping Eva forever in his mind. Demolishing routine, organization, predictability.

Confusion that those same emotions made him feel alive.

Alive. Something stirred. He understood now. His back straightened. He looked at the sun again. The harsh spotlight was gone, and in its place a new beginning. His steps quickened. Ying and the deputy started scampering just to keep up. Emotions were water. It was his choice how to deal with them. He could do what he’d been doing, shoring up a wall to keep the water out, inevitably crumbling as the sea wore down the rocks and seeped its way inside. Or he could harness it like a waterwheel and use it to give life to something greater than himself. To fuel his resolve. The Tree. The fight against Cristina, the—

“Tim! Not that car.”

Albert snapped back to reality. The deputy had opened the back door to usher Ying and Albert into the back seat, but had been interrupted by another officer.

“These guys are apparently suspects in a case back in Jersey. They need to be transferred. Put them in the navy unmarked Crown Vic over there.” He pointed to a car inconspicuously parked in the back of the visitors’ circle.

Albert squinted at the officer, trying to glean meaning through his mirrored aviators. Transferred? How would they know we need to be transferred already? Does Cristina Culebra control the sheriff as well?

The sheriff’s deputy pushed Ying and Albert through the crowd of cars and toward the dark-blue sedan. The windows were tinted, but Albert could see there was a driver in the car waiting for them.

“Where are we going?” asked Ying to the deputy.

“You’re going to jail, ma’am,” said the deputy triumphantly. “This gentleman here’s going to take you back to Jersey and make sure justice is served.”

“Who is he?” asked Albert.

“No more questions,” said the deputy and shoved them into the mysterious car.

Albert and Ying tumbled into the dark vinyl seats. The creaking sound of the material reminded him of a New York City taxicab. A thick black cage separated them from the driver. Albert peered through, but the driver kept his head and his eyes forward.

“You’ve come a long way from solving logic puzzles, haven’t you, Professor?” said the voice.

Albert grabbed the cage. “Detective Weatherspoon?”

The bearish detective turned and flashed a sly grin. “The one and only.”

Both Ying and Albert leapt forward in their seats and pressed their faces against the divider like dogs in a kennel. Weatherspoon reminded them of home.

“Wait, so you’re here because you know about Cristina Culebra? You know that what I told you was true? I knew it. I knew you’d see that this whole thing was a scam. Oh, thank God you’re here. She killed him. She killed Turner. We need to get her!”

“Whoa. Slow down, Puddles. Don’t get too excited. I’m still not convinced you aren’t a part of something, but I know for sure that this mess is a whole lot more complicated than it looks. First things first, let’s get the two of you out of here and back to New Jersey in one piece, and then we can go about figuring out what’s really going on.”

The detective started the car and crept out of the parking lot. Albert could hear the pebbles trickling out from behind the tires as they left. Ying looked behind them. No one followed.

“Since we’ve got a little time, why don’t you start at the beginning,” said Weatherspoon.

Albert leaned his head