by Maren Foster
“Are you worried that circumventing the judicial process by putting evidence online will undermine your case?”
No.
“The Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office has all of the videos now. They know that he is a serial offender and they have evidence, so it is up to them to do the right thing and hold him accountable. I’ve done all I can. Thank you.”
“Do you know who the other women are?”
I shook my head as I turned and slipped back into the house. The shouting continued, and just before I pulled the door shut I heard, “Are you having an affair?” What? Do they know about Adam? How would they know? My heart raced. I’ll have to be even more careful. I slammed the door shut and locked the deadbolt quickly behind me.
I turned on the nine o’clock local news as I got ready for bed. “A business mogul from Greenwich, Connecticut says his wife has framed him for aggravated rape.”
What? I spun around. A mugshot of Nate was on the screen next to a picture of us at our wedding.
The news anchor was talking about the statement I had given all those years ago at the hospital. They had apparently gotten ahold of a transcript. She read excerpts of my statement and then talked about two new women who had come forward to accuse Nate in response to the State’s Attorney’s request. One was a lawyer at a big-name law firm in New York, the other a partner at a consulting company. Both said that they had met Nate online on some dating app, that he had told them he was married, but was unhappy and planning to get a divorce. They both said that they were sure he had videotaped the assaults, plus he had threatened to ruin their careers if they ever told anyone. Hasn’t changed a bit. Just took his game to the big leagues. When asked what had prompted them to come forward they said they had seen my appearance on the morning show and been inspired to follow suit.
The host continued, “In response, the accused’s lawyer released the following statement: ‘I deny these latest unsubstantiated allegations. They are patently false. I have never forced myself on anyone. Ever. I have only engaged in consensual sex. I demand a full investigation into these claims, which I am confident will clear my good name.’”
The newscaster cut back in, “Breaking at the top of the hour, we will hear from Mrs. Ellis herself on what it was like to live with a rapist all those years and why she posted all of the videos online! Stay tuned.”
Ugh, it’s not Mrs. Ellis! I’m not his property. He doesn’t control me anymore.
The Touch
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
Old Greenwich
I indulged in a lazy morning, reading the rest of the Sunday paper in the back den with a cup of tea. My phone rang just as I was finishing the paper.
“Kristen. Hi.”
“Wyn! Just checking in.”
“Oh, great. How’s it going?”
“Good. We’re making progress on your memoir. Do you want to know the title?”
“Yeah.”
“At all costs: A memoir.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah, you don’t like it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course,” she said.
“If I don’t like it will it be changed?”
“Um, it’s a little late, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yeah.”
“Look, Wyn, I have to run, but I’ll be in touch about promotional events. Keep talking to the media, and get back on social media for God’s sake!”
“Yeah, will do. Take care.”
“You too,” she said.
It was just after four-thirty in the afternoon when Adam texted. “Watcha up to tonight? Wanna hang out? You know who will be out at some event.” It was as if he read my mind.
I took a shower, did my hair, and put on a little bit of make-up.
As the sun was beginning to dip below the treetops I poured myself a glass of wine. I got comfortable in the back room where I had a view of the Hart’s sun room. I figured I’d wait for the lights to go on.
Finally, he’s home! I polished off the rest of the glass in my hand. Just as I was about to leave the thought crossed my mind that it was possible that it was Julia, not Adam, who’d turned the lights on. Didn’t he say she was going to some event? Regardless, I didn’t want to go over there empty handed. Just in case, I grabbed a Tupperware from the cupboard that didn’t match any of the others in our collection, and let myself in their back door.
I took a few steps into the house and realized that the only light was coming from a lamp next to the couch. Otherwise the house was quite dark. Is that light on an automatic timer? I tried to remember whether it was always on at night. I should have waited in front until I saw his car. I thought about turning around and going home but then looked at the Tupperware in my hand and felt stupid. That bitch he’s married to would barge into my house for less any day of the week. Well, before Nate was arrested she did at least. I walked toward the kitchen.
As I got closer I saw a few pieces of glass on the kitchen floor. I took another step forward. More broken glass including the severed stem of a wine glass, and then I saw her. Julia was lying on the floor in the dark, her eyes were closed, her right hand was extended out toward the broken glass and her fingers were open, pointing toward a small puddle of liquid. She was wearing a beautiful, long black evening gown, gorgeous diamond earrings, and her make-up was picture perfect.
“Julia?” I said. She didn’t move. Holy shit!
“ADAM!!!” I yelled, hoping he had gone directly upstairs when he’d gotten home and just hadn’t seen her yet. No response. I ran to the door to the garage and opened it. Adam’s car wasn’t there. I ran over to the dining room and looked out at the driveway. Not there either. Shit!
I went back into the kitchen. Maybe she’s just passed out. I shook her a little bit but she didn’t respond. I shoved my fingers into the soft flesh of her neck, under her bony jaw. No pulse. I looked at her frail, disheveled body strewn out on the tile floor.
OH MY GOD! What do I do? If I leave and my fingerprints are here, will they think I killed her? What if Adam was involved? Is this what he meant when he said he’d take care of it? Why isn’t he here? Did he run? He wouldn’t do something like that, would he?
I steadied myself on the counter and took a deep breath. What if she wasn’t murdered? There are no visible signs of foul play. It wasn’t robbery because she has diamond earrings on. God, why am I so morbid? Maybe she just died. But she’s so young. Young people don’t just drop dead in the middle of the afternoon!
I grabbed my cell phone and began to dial 9-1-1. Maybe the neighbor finding her would look less suspicious than her husband finding her like this…maybe not. The police would want to know why I was here. Maybe I should wait and he should call it in. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I put my cell phone back in my pocket, wiped the garage door knob with the inside of my sweater, and rubbed both handles of the back door as I let myself out.
Back in my kitchen I poured myself another glass of wine and took a seat in the front living room with a clear view of their driveway. I waited.
I began to wonder what had happened to her. Was she murdered? I reminded myself that there were no obvious signs of foul play. Did she kill herself? But she had so much going, why would she do that? Maybe it was the pressure of being famous. Maybe she was having an affair. Well, she was, with my husband, but he’s been in prison for months now. Maybe he was blackmailing her. But for what? Maybe they were running some kind of scam together and now that he is locked up people are after her to get what they’re owed. She did seem to make a lot more money with that stupid blog and her Instagram account than I’d ever believed was possible. Maybe it was just a front for something else. My imagination ran wild. Maybe she and Nate knew each other a lot longer than I thought. Maybe they’ve been playing us the whole time. But why and for what? I pulled out my phone and clicked on Facebook. I opened Nate’s profile and scrolled down to the oldest pictures of him. Maybe there was some evidence on s
ocial media. He had never deleted any of the old pictures of him and his exes. There were tons of pictures of him with busty blonde toothpick women that I remembered seeing when I first friended him. Maybe she was one of those women.
Light thrown by approaching headlights bounced across the living room. I looked up. Finally, he’s home. I watched and waited.
About five minutes later an ambulance and two cop cars pulled up into their driveway. I can’t go over there now. I watched as more lights went on in the back of the house, and then I watched as an officer escorted Adam to a squad car and shut the door behind him. Did they arrest him? Oh my God. Do they think he did it?
A half an hour later there was a loud, aggressive knock on the front door. I engaged the security lock and slid the door open a few inches.
“Who’s there?” I said.
“Detective Scala,” came the man’s response. “Greenwich P.D. I just have a few questions I’d like to ask.”
“About what, Officer?”
“About your neighbor, Mrs. Hart.”
“Oh, okay,” I said and opened the door. “Please, come in.”
“Mrs.,” he paused waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“No, sir. Ms. Laurent.”
“Oh, you’re the…”
“The what?”
“Never mind,” he said. “I just have a few questions.”
“Would you like a glass of water?”
“No thank you, Ma’am.”
“Please sit down.” I motioned toward the living room sofa.
“Thank you.”
He sat and I took a chair across from him.
“Have you been home all day Ms. Laurent?”
“Yes.”
“Did you leave the house at all today?”
“No.” Shit, I don’t have an alibi!
“And what were you doing at home all day by yourself?”
“Oh, you know, just tidying up, doing some laundry.”
“And when was the last time you saw Mrs. Hart?” he asked.
“Oh it’s been awhile. I think a month, maybe two.”
“When and where did you see her last?”
“At her house. Her husband was there too.”
“Why were you there?”
“Just to say hi. Catch up. We’ve been friends a long time.”
“Friends?” he challenged.
“Yes. I’ve known her husband since I was born essentially. We grew up together,” I paused and he waited. “She and my husband were friendly too,” I said.
“Your husband?”
“Yes, Nathan Ellis. He’s in prison now, but before that they were friendly.”
“What do you mean by friendly?”
“Um, they did some business together.”
“Is that all?”
“No.”
“Were they having an affair?”
“Yes.” Crap, this doesn’t sound good for Adam, does it?
“Did her husband know about it?”
“I’m not sure,” I lied.
“Did she have any other lovers besides your husband?”
“How would I know?”
“Did you notice any changes in Mr. Hart’s behavior recently?”
“No.”
“What about hers?”
“No, although she just kept getting thinner all the time.”
“Do you believe that Mrs. Hart and her husband were unhappy?”
“Um, it’s hard to say, but I don’t think so.”
“Did you ever hear them fighting?”
“No, never.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that Mrs. Hart would hurt herself?”
“No.”
He stood up. “Thank you for your time today, Mrs.,” he stopped himself, “Ms. Laurent.” He handed me his card. “If you remember anything that you think may be relevant to our investigation please call me immediately.”
“Your investigation?”
“Into the death of Mrs. Hart.”
“Yes, of course,” I said.
I was in the grocery store an hour later when my phone rang. A 312 number I don’t know. Chicago. The State’s Attorney? I picked up.
“Hello?”
“Wyn Laurent?”
“Yes.”
“This is Connor Donoghue with the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office. Is this a good time?”
Not really, but it shouldn’t really matter if you have big news, should it?
“Fine,” I said as I found my way to the junk food aisle, which was usually empty at our specialty grocery.
“Wyn, we have reached an agreement with the defendant, which we believe is satisfactory to all parties.”
“What is it?”
“Mr. Ellis has agreed to plead guilty to aggravated criminal sexual abuse, a Class 2 felony, punishable by three to seven years’ incarceration. In this case, we have agreed to accept time served for the DUI plus probation for the remainder of the sentence. He will also have to register as a sex offender, and seek treatment for violent behavior and sex addiction. His probation will include regular psychiatric evaluations and continuing treatment if deemed necessary.”
“I thought he would at least get house arrest,” I said.
“Ma’am, you’ve been living with your rapist. Your behavior over the past six years has made this a very difficult case to prosecute.”
So that’s it. After everything I’ve been through. It’s my fault of course.
“Ms. Laurent?”
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Ms. Laurent?”
“When will he be released from prison?” I said between gasps for air.
“Whenever the paperwork is completed and processed. It could be days or weeks.”
“Will he need to be in Illinois after that, during his probation?”
“Typically yes, but in this case his attorney has requested an exception. We have agreed to transfer his probation to the jurisdiction of his domicile, which is in Fairfield County, Connecticut, I believe.”
I fucking know where he’s domiciled. At my house!
I couldn’t help myself; “So, he just gets to go home? After everything he did?”
“Ma’am, there were a number of complex factors in this negotiation. We feel that the accused is making a good faith effort to address his problems with this plea deal. He is an otherwise productive member of society, whose reputation will be irreparably impacted by his felony plea and registration as a sex offender.”
“What if I disagree?” I said.
“With what?”
“The terms of the deal,” I said.
“Well, there’s really no reason to disagree. A team of professionals evaluated the case, weighed the charges and the evidence, and determined that this is the best outcome. It is final.”
An eye for an eye?
“Ms. Laurent?”
An eye for an eye.
“Ms. Laurent?”
Click. He hung up. I put the phone back in my purse and stared at the wall of crackers in front of me. I closed my eyes. Is that it? Is it really over? What will he do when he gets out? He’ll be angry. Would he try to hurt me? I need to leave a.s.a.p. What about Adam? I need to talk to Adam first. It would be best if he comes with me, for both of our safety.
The nine o’clock local news came on as I began to pack my things.
“Breaking news tonight!” the anchor said. “A local celebrity was found dead in her Greenwich home today. Blogger and social media influencer, Julia Hart, was found dead by her husband this evening when he returned home from work.”
The screen filled with video footage of Adam being loaded into the back of the squad car. “Hart’s husband was taken to the Greenwich Police Station tonight for additional questioning in relation to his wife’s death. The cause of death is unknown at this point, but our sources are saying that there were no obvious signs of foul play. The Fairfield County Coroner’s office confirmed that an autopsy has been ordered.” Crazy. I
wonder what happened to her. There’s no way Adam had anything to do with it.