Blood Sugar(71)
“What the fuck are you trying to say?”
“When I got arrested, I had to wait at the police station for hours. People came in and out. Conversations were had. I sat quietly, watching the ruckus of criminals struggling against cops, drug addicts going through withdrawal, all types of screaming to no one in particular that life wasn’t fair. And soon enough no one even noticed I was still sitting there.”
“And?”
“I overheard a couple detectives talking about the undercover Fed who was gunned down at a Thai restaurant several years back. And that the intel he got before he was found out and killed was enough to finally put away the boss of a drug-trafficking ring that spanned from Havana all the way to Montreal.”
She stared at me, trying to understand.
“Derrick was an undercover FBI agent. That’s why you could never find his family or friends. That’s why there is no trace of him. That wasn’t his real name.”
Gabrielle turned even whiter than normal. Then a heat rose to her face, and I could see patches of red crawling up her neck and onto her cheeks.
“Here is the most important part,” I said. “That man with the gun went to that restaurant specifically to kill Derrick. It wasn’t random. He was the target because his cover had somehow been blown. So he didn’t die for you, or because of you. He was going to be killed anyway. Italian or Thai. It was him who put you in harm’s way that night. Not the other way around. Do you understand?”
She kept looking at me blankly. Her mind was desperately trying to rewrite a story she had etched in stone so long ago.
“I’m sure that’s why he hesitated when you first asked him out. The hesitation was about his own life, his own secrets. Could he and should he let someone in? It had nothing to do with you. Do you hear me? What I’m saying to you, Gabrielle, is you are absolved. Date other men. Be open to love. Live your life! Let go of this weight that should never have been on your shoulders.”
She started to weep. I could feel her releasing years of guilt and tension. It was such a natural reaction for me to hug her, so I did. And she wept on my shoulder. Just like I wept on hers when Kangaroo died.
“Thank you,” she said.
I felt a little lighter. I had helped her. I had done my job. In a way she was an extension of me. And doing right by her lifted me up. But before I got too attached to the notion that her absolution had anything to do with my own, Lola and Kat rushed over. Lola yelled, “It’s been five minutes!” They saw that Gabrielle was crying and assumed I was to blame. They knew exactly who I was. Lola hissed, “If you don’t leave now, we’re calling the cops!” As I walked out, Gabrielle gave me a tired little nod. I knew she was now free. The only question remaining was, would I ever be free?
CHAPTER 48
DNA
As promised, before my actual trial was under way, Roman got to work making sure all the hearsay about the mysterious deaths of Duncan Reese and Richard Vale and Evelyn W. was thrown out. Even if I was in the vicinity, I was never a suspect in any of those deaths, none of which were even considered murders at the crucial point when evidence was at its freshest, witnesses were at their sharpest, and the police were at their most motivated to solve the cases. On top of that, those other “crimes” didn’t establish any kind of modus operandi. It wasn’t like I had gone around shooting people up with insulin for years and had finally been caught doing it to my own husband. Therefore, those three other deaths had nothing whatsoever to do with the indictment at hand.
Roman told me that the judge listened to him, and agreed that any mention of the other deaths just served as a character assassination, which was inadmissible in trial. How they were going to find an impartial jury who hadn’t already seen all the news about Duncan Reese and Richard Vale and Evelyn W. was a different problem. But Roman kept telling me, one thing at a time. This pace was especially difficult for me, since I always wanted to get the syllabus over with. But the justice system could not be rushed. And so my anxiety of not knowing what would happen to me next had to be handled. Benita let me visit the birds after hours. So I would be alone, away from judging eyes, able to live in the moment of each wing twitch and feather ruffle. We never discussed it, but I got the sense that she believed someone so caring to animals could never kill a human. Unless they deserved it.
With the background noise stripped away, all the assistant district attorney had was the fact that my husband died of complications from low blood sugar, I had access to insulin and the know-how to use it, and my motives to murder him were threefold. One, money. Two, a probable affair with my veterinarian. Three, and most damning, Jesula’s testimony that I was unhappily married. Since she was a regular part of our household, her testimony held a lot of weight. Of all the things I dreaded about my upcoming trial, having to watch her twist my marriage into something ugly and listen to her lies about my anger issues and odd behavior after Jason died was at the top.
My thirty-first birthday came and went. It felt meaningless. The only date that mattered was nine business days away. My trial would begin. While I bided my time, Roman flew back and forth from Miami to DC constantly. He had several ongoing cases. I was one of many, of course, but I knew I was his priority. And at least mingled in with all the tragedy of my entire situation, him being back in my life gave me a glimmer of joy. I could sometimes forget my troubles for a moment or even for an hour. We would jog on the beach together. We would reminisce. We would gossip about people we once both knew.