The Wife Who Knew Too Much(74)
I nodded. She called the DA and the cops back to the table.
“Tabitha has information to give,” Suzanne said. “But cooperating against her husband is a big step, and she’s not there yet. She’s not the woman who bribed the doctor. You won’t be able to prove that at trial. What else have you got?”
“We’ve got lots of witnesses who put her at the scene on the night of the crime, starting with an Uber driver who remembers her because she gave a cash tip.”
“No good deed,” Suzanne said, shaking her head.
“Not just him. A Southampton police officer named Beth Rossi who remembers Tabitha, and who arrested her drug-dealing ex-husband, Derek Cassidy, that same night for assault. Plus, the guy who was assaulted, Steve Kovacs, who worked for Nina Levitt—he could be a witness, too.”
I opened my mouth to ask whether Kovacs was actually talking, or if he was just a hypothetical witness, but Suzanne put a restraining hand on my arm.
“Brad,” she said, “let’s say Tabitha admits to being at Windswept that night. But she has an innocent explanation for the visit, and her ex was only there because he stalked her to the scene. I’m not sure what that gets you.”
“Innocent explanation? Are you kidding me? She and Cassidy, who both have a record for oxy distribution, were at the scene that night that Nina Levitt died. Not just momentarily. For a long time. Cassidy was arrested lurking in the area around midnight, after assaulting the guard an hour earlier. Midnight is smack in the time-of-death range the coroner gives for Nina. As for Tabitha’s presence, the evidence is damning. She wasn’t there like some guest at the party. She was trespassing, stalking Nina. Denise, show them.”
Neely nodded at Detective Pardo, who reached into a manila folder, pulled out three eight-by-ten photographs, and laid them down, one by one, facing me. Suzanne cast a dire look in my direction. They were color pictures of me, taken at Nina’s Fourth of July party, so vivid that I could feel the soupy heat under the tent and hear the band playing. In the first one, I stood against a wall stuffing my face, my eyes darting sideways furtively, like I was up to no good. In the second, I was even more shamefaced, looking over my shoulder as if I knew the law was on my heels. The third was the worst of all—a wide-angle shot that captured me in the same frame as Connor and Nina. The two of them were side by side, his hand on her arm, a unit, a married couple. I stood alone, glaring at them with undisguised hostility.
I looked like I was thinking about killing her.
Neely tapped that one with his finger.
“This will be Exhibit A at your trial. They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. This one’s worth twenty-five to life,” he said.
Sick, cold fear spread through my body from the pit of my stomach down to my fingers and toes. I tore my eyes from the photos and stared at him. My heart beat so loudly, I could hear it in my ears.
“Who took these?” I demanded, my voice quiet and deadly calm.
“I won’t answer that.”
Who was it? Lauren? Juliet? Kovacs? Why would they take my picture months before they knew me, before Connor and I were even married? How would they know to do that? There was only one way. Connor told them to.
In that moment, I began to accept that I was probably being framed for murder by the man I loved.
“Whoever took these pictures is your killer, not me. I’m just the patsy.”
“Oh, your story is that you’re being framed?” Neely said. “That’s a Hail Mary if ever I’ve heard one. The jury won’t buy it. I have phone records showing that you called Connor’s phone just minutes after this photo was taken, and he didn’t answer. We can prove at least ten unanswered calls from your phone to his in the days leading up to the murder. So, here’s my current theory. You were a financially strapped waitress who had the good fortune to have a fling with a wealthy, married man. To him it was nothing. You saw it as the opportunity of a lifetime. You pursued him. But he wasn’t interested. So, you took matters into your own hands, and solicited your violent ex to assist you in murdering his wife. Then you married him, a mere three months after she passed away. You now live a life of untold luxury. If that’s not the truth, Tabitha, then you’d better tell me what is.”
34
It was after eight o’clock and pouring rain when the unmarked car pulled up to the Windswept gates. I’d been released to the custody of Detective Hagerty, who was escorting me to Windswept to set up the electronic monitoring that was a condition of my bail. This would also be the start of my undercover cooperation with the DA’s office. I was so nervous about that part that I had to clench my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking.
The gates parted, and Steve Kovacs emerged from the gatehouse, wearing a navy windbreaker with the hood up. I searched Hagerty’s face for any indication that he knew Kovacs, but he didn’t blink. Was that a no? Somebody had fed the DA those photographs of me. That person was a prime suspect in Nina’s murder, and a danger to me. If it was Kovacs, I wanted to know.
“Who’s that?” Hagerty asked.
So, they didn’t know each other. Did that mean I could rule Kovacs out?
“Steve Kovacs, the security consultant.”
Kovacs rapped a knuckle on the driver’s-side window. Hagerty dug his badge from his pants pocket, flashing it as the window went down.