When asked for a motive for the crime, Olsen said, “We believe that Archer Minor was killed because he wanted to do the right thing.” Today, Mayor Bloomberg called Archer Minor a hero. “He overcame his family name and history to be one of the great New Yorkers. His tireless work on behalf of victims and in bringing those who commit violent crimes to justice will never be forgotten.”
Many are wondering why Archer Minor, who had recently denounced his father, Maxwell Minor, and his reputed organized-crime syndicate known as MM, was not placed in protective custody. “It was at his request,” Olsen said. A source close to Minor’s widow said that her husband had worked his whole life to make up for his father’s crimes. “Archer started out just wanting to get a good education and go straight,” the source said, “but no matter how fast he ran, Archer could never do enough to escape that horrible shadow.”
It was not for a lack of trying. Archer Minor was a vocal advocate for crime-victims’ rights. After attending Columbia Law School, he worked closely with law enforcement officials. He represented victims of violent crimes, trying to get lengthier sentences for those convicted and restitution for his clients’ suffering.
The NYPD would not speculate, but one popular albeit shocking theory of the crime is that Maxwell Minor put out a hit on his own son. Maxwell Minor has not directly denied the charge, but he did release the following brief statement: “My family and I are devastated by the death of my son Archer. I ask the media to allow my family to mourn in private.”
I licked my lips and hit the “next page” link. When I saw the photograph of Maxwell Minor, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. It was the man with the thin mustache from Otto Devereaux’s funeral.
It was coming together now.
I realized that I’d been holding my breath. I sat back and tried to relax for a moment. I put my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. My mental timeline/connection sheet had all kinds of new little lines on it. Natalie had been there the night of Archer Minor’s high-profile murder. She had, I theorized, witnessed the crime. At some point, the NYPD realized it was Natalie in that surveillance video. Natalie, fearing for her life, decided to hide.
I would continue to check, but it was a pretty safe bet that no one had ever been convicted of Archer Minor’s murder. That was why the NYPD, all these years later, was still looking for Natalie.
So what happened next?
Natalie hooked up with Fresh Start. How did that happen? I had no idea. But, really, how did anyone hook up with Fresh Start? The organization kept an eye out, I supposed. Like with Benedict né Jamal. They approached those they felt needed and deserved their help.
Anyway, Natalie was sent up to the Creative Recharge Colony, which was, at least in part, a front for the organization. A brilliant one, I might add. Perhaps some of the attendees were really there for artistic reasons. Certainly Natalie was able to do both. Talk about hiding in plain sight. Natalie was probably told to hide there until they saw how the Archer Minor case played out. Maybe the cops would be able to make an arrest without her, and then she could return to her normal life. Maybe the NYPD wouldn’t, or at least hadn’t yet been able to, identify the woman in the photograph. Whatever. I was guessing here, but I was probably close.
At some point, reality reared its ugly head, crashing in and killing any hope of staying put with her new boyfriend. The choice became clear: Vanish or die.
So she vanished.
I read a few more articles on the case, but there wasn’t much new. Archer Minor was portrayed as something of a heroic enigma. He’d been raised to be the baddest of bad guys. His older brother had been executed “gangland style” as the papers called it, while Archer was still in college. Archer was then supposed to take over the family business. It almost reminded me of
Again I wondered what would have led my sweet Natalie to be in that law office late at night. She could have been a client, I supposed, but that wouldn’t explain being there so late. She may have known Archer Minor, but I had no clue how. I was just about to give up on that, chalk up her visit to random chance, when I read a small, colorless obituary.
What the . . . ?
I actually had to close my eyes, rub them, and then read the obituary from the top again. Because this couldn’t be. Just when things had been starting to make sense—just when I thought I was making some progress—I once again got smacked down from my blind side:
