The Wife Who Knew Too Much(66)
Connor didn’t come back to the room for another hour. I pretended to be asleep. I heard him stumbling around, swearing as he bumped into things. When he got into bed, I could smell the liquor on him. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, snoring loudly, keeping me awake. I lay beside him, wondering who I’d married.
The next day, the yacht set sail. People kept to their cabins. Everyone but me was hungover. I spent most of the day sitting by the pool, under an umbrella, taking in the exotic sights and sounds and smells. We were somewhere in the Arab world; exactly where, I never learned. By sunset, we’d docked in an industrial-looking port city in an unnamed country. I saw the towers of the mosques silhouetted against the sky and heard the call to prayer blaring from loudspeakers. The wind blew from the direction of the city, carrying the scent of smoke and oil. There was another fancy dinner that night, but I begged off, claiming illness, and had a tray in my cabin. By the time Connor came to bed, I was asleep. We sailed overnight, reaching Dubai early in the morning, and transferred to the airport.
Hank and Lauren were staying on in the UAE for another few days with the rest of the team. Connor, Juliet, and I would fly home. Her ticket was business class, and ours was first. I was relieved that we wouldn’t have to sit with her, not even in the lounge, which was segregated by cabin class.
My mental state fluctuated between denial and panic. At moments, it seemed not only like nothing was wrong, but like I was living a dream life. Connor and I waited in the first-class lounge, side by side in luxurious leather chairs, surrounded by well-heeled business travelers filling up on free food and booze. When I got bored, I took a stroll to the duty-free to stretch my legs and bought anything I liked. Makeup and magazines and a cashmere wrap in case I was cold on the plane. But Connor was distant, absorbed in his phone. He said he had a headache. He claimed to have documents to review for the Saudi deal. He barely spoke to me, though that came as a relief. If we’d started talking, I doubt I could’ve held my tongue about what I’d seen. But neither did I want a confrontation in public that might end up in the tabloids. On the flight home, he was seated in the row behind me, so I couldn’t even see him. I lay wide awake on my lie-flat seat, worrying about the days ahead. The baby was unusually active, and I put my hand on my abdomen, trying to feel her, wondering what her future held.
At the baggage claim, Juliet smiled and nodded as she collected our luggage tags. She’d wait for the bags, then follow us to Windswept in an Uber. She seemed so calm, so normal, so much her pleasant, efficient self, just doing her job, that I started to question what I’d overheard on the boat. It was so far away—another climate, almost another planet. Maybe I’d misunderstood. Maybe it was nothing.
That would be so much easier.
As Connor and I exited through Customs, I saw that it was evening here. We’d been on the plane forever, and I’d lost all track of time. The smell of car exhaust and cigarette smoke hung on the chill air. The pavement was slick with rain as Ubers and limos jostled one another for space at the curb. Connor took my arm protectively.
“I see Dennis. This way,” he said.
Dennis waited by the Mercedes. As we approached, he nodded crisply and opened the rear door. Connor stepped aside to let me get in first. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two figures approach the Mercedes, a man and a woman. The woman was pulling something from her pocket. The long flight, the jet lag, the lack of sleep—it took me a moment to understand that it was a badge, and that they were coming for me. They’d been waiting.
“Mrs. Ford?” the man said.
He stepped up and grabbed me by the arm.
“Tabitha Ford, I’m Detective Ryan Hagerty. I have a warrant for your arrest. Come with us, please,” he said.
“What the hell are you doing?” Connor demanded. “Get your hands off my wife.”
The female detective held up a piece of paper.
“Sir, Detective Denise Pardo. This is a copy of the warrant. You can have your lawyer review it if you like. You’ll find it’s in order.”
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Nina Levitt,” Hagerty said. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…”
My knees buckled, and the world went dark.
30
I woke up on a cot in the secure medical facility at JFK Airport with an IV stuck in my arm. Detective Pardo sat on a chair next to my bed, scrolling through her phone. After a moment, she looked up and noticed that I was conscious.
“She’s awake,” she called.
The medical personnel were busy with other patients and ignored her.
Pardo explained that I’d fainted and had been taken to the “van,” which was actually a trailer in the middle of a parking lot somewhere, fitted out with medical equipment and staffed by a doctor, a couple of nurses, and numerous law-enforcement officers. It was there to treat drug mules who’d been arrested smuggling heroin-filled condoms in their stomachs. I felt like Cinderella at midnight. The day before, I’d been on a yacht. Now I was here, surrounded by men and women of every age and color who looked beaten down and exhausted. Some looked angry. One woman sobbed pitifully, repeating over and over that she was innocent and didn’t belong here. You and me both, sister. I knew how this went. I could protest my innocence, but no one would care.
Eventually, a nurse came by and checked my blood pressure. She removed the IV, then had me sit up in a chair and drink some orange juice from a can. The juice tasted sour and metallic. But it had enough sugar in it that the baby suddenly kicked me hard, making me gasp. I put my hand on my abdomen. The nurse asked how far along I was. Feeling Detective Pardo’s eyes on me, I just shrugged and didn’t reply.