In Her Eyes

by Sarah Alderson

  Laurie sits down beside me and puts her arm around my shoulders. The relatives’ room in the ICU is empty and for that at least I’m grateful. I drop my hands away from my ears. ‘It can’t be true,’ I whisper, feeling like one of those cartoon characters that walks into a wall and then stands there twanging like a plucked guitar string. Laurie doesn’t answer and I whip my head around. ‘You don’t think it’s true, do you?’

  She shakes her head firmly but perhaps a beat too late. ‘Of course not. Look, we need to get down there to the station and find out what’s going on.’ She pauses. ‘And maybe you should think about calling a lawyer?’

  I pick myself up from the sofa. ‘With what money?’ I ask tersely.

  It turns out that we don’t need to hire a lawyer. They’ve appointed a public defender; a disheveled man called Horowitz, who has tufts of hair sprouting from his ears like succulents and who is wearing what I think is a polka-dot patterned tie at first, until I realize the dots are splashes of coffee.

  ‘They’ll set bail at around half a million dollars,’ he tells me when I arrive at the police station and he’s shown me into one of the interrogation rooms.

  ‘What? We don’t have that sort of money,’ I splutter. ‘We don’t have any money.’ Has he not been watching the news?

  The man sniffs and shrugs his indifference.

  ‘I don’t understand the charges,’ I say, indicating the sheet of paper they’ve given me.

  The lawyer sighs. ‘Your husband has been arrested for conspiring to commit a robbery.’

  ‘But he can’t have,’ I say plainly. ‘He wouldn’t.’

  ‘You’re in significant financial difficulty. Three weeks ago your husband pawned some jewelry of yours.’

  ‘What?’ I gasp.

  He opens a folder and spreads some photographs across the table.

  ‘What are these?’ I ask, picking them up.

  ‘These are CCTV images from a downtown Oxnard pawnshop, taken three weeks ago.’

  I snatch up a photograph. It’s pixelated but it’s still obvious to anyone that it’s Robert in the photograph, handing something over to the man behind the counter.

  ‘He was pawning these items.’

  Horowitz lays out images of my stolen jewelry one after the other like cards from a winning poker hand.

  ‘They weren’t stolen in the burglary then?’ Laurie asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I stammer.

  ‘You didn’t know that he was pawning the items then?’

  I shake my head indignantly. ‘Of course not. I didn’t know anything was missing. I don’t wear jewelry all that often. They’re heirlooms, not things you’d wear every day.’

  He takes umbrage at my tone and sniffs. ‘I’m not suggesting you were aware of what your husband was doing, Mrs Walker.’

  ‘I don’t believe this. It’s just . . . unbelievable. He wouldn’t do this.’

  Horowitz sighs and then hands me a photocopy of something.

  I take it. ‘What is this?’

  ‘It’s your home insurance policy. If you look at where it’s highlighted – that’s a request for a policy increase, made just a month ago.’

  I glance at the highlighted area.

  ‘Your husband increased your insurance specifically for those items. He stood to make over two hundred thousand dollars if those items were stolen.’

  ‘But he didn’t make a claim, did he?’ I say, trying to muster some defiance. ‘I told the police, there were some car break-ins happening in the neighborhood. Robert wanted to make sure we were properly covered. And those are my most valuable pieces of jewelry.’

  ‘But the intention was clear, they’ll argue. They’ll go before the judge, lay out your financial situation, show them those photographs and the insurance paperwork and make a case that your husband arranged for some as yet unknown men to break in so you could benefit from a fraudulent insurance claim that would clear all your debts and bring you back into the black.’

  Oh my God. All the puzzle pieces fit together. Is that why Robert wanted to take me out to dinner on the night of the break-in? Did he think we’d all be out and it just went badly wrong? I think about how he cried at the hospital when he told me about June. Was it sorrow or was it guilt?

  Horowitz starts to gather up his papers. ‘Listen, if I were you I’d speak to your husband and get him to admit it. If he does we can plea bargain, especially if he gives up the names of the men he hired to carry out the burglary. He might get ten years, maybe less, but the conspiracy charges, they’re likely going to stick.’

  He clicks the locks on his briefcase shut as though to signal the conversation is over.

  ‘Ten years?’ I stammer.

  He swings his bag off the table and walks to the door. ‘I’m due in court,’ he says, glancing at his watch.

  ‘But . . . What will they do to him?’ I ask. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘They’ll arraign him in the next twenty-four hours and then he’ll be transferred to the county jail to await trial.’

  ‘Jail? He’s going to jail?’

  ‘Yes, unless you can make the bail payment.’

  I turn around, feeling dizzy, the walls closing in. All I can think about are the crime shows I’ve watched. How will Robert survive even five minutes in prison?

  ‘How long until the trial?’ I ask.

  Horowitz draws in a breath and shrugs again. ‘How long’s a piece of string? If he pleads guilty, then it’ll just go to sentencing, so it’ll be quicker. Maybe a couple of months. If he doesn’t, then you’re looking at a year to eighteen months before it comes to trial.’

  I collapse onto the nearest seat. It’s a dream. A nightmare. It has to be.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘If you need me, here’s my card. Office hours are on the back, otherwise I’ll be in touch as soon as I have news.’

  I put my head in my hands. This can’t be happening. I can’t believe it. I know Robert. He wouldn’t do this. He pawned my jewelry though. He lied to me about our finances. He stole money that was rightfully mine. He did so much behind my back. Maybe he is capable of this. I always thought of Robert as a gentle, honest man, but, looking back, weren’t there signs?

  What about how he dealt with that person who tried to claim the idea for his app was stolen? He left him penniless. Even when the man dropped the case and offered to pay costs, Robert insisted on suing him for slander and emotional trauma. He can be ruthless when it comes to business.

  But I saw how scared he was during the break-in. I saw him cowering in terror. He was smashed in the face and hurt. He didn’t do that to himself. God, I don’t know what to believe anymore.

  ‘Ava?’

  I look up. Nate is standing in the door to the interrogation room. At least he has the good sense to look sheepish. ‘Do you mind?’ he asks, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

  I glare at him as I swipe at my tears. How could he not have warned me this was coming?

  ‘How did it go with the lawyer?’ Nate asks.

  I shake my head.

  Nate grimaces. ‘Yeah, public defenders vary. You pulled a dud, I’m afraid.’

  I glare at him, my eyes burning. ‘How could you?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did,’ Nate says, sitting down opposite me. ‘It did not play out how I wanted it to at all. Someone leaked the news to the press, someone inside my department, I’m looking into who, but it meant we had to move faster than we had planned.’ He sits down at the table opposite me. ‘I wanted to be the one to break it to you. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to before you heard.’

  I purse my lips, anger building. I want to scream, punch something. ‘How long have you suspected Robert?’

  His eyes flash hurt. ‘When we discovered the truth about your financial affairs. We did a little more digging after that and . . .’

  My face flushes. I’m not sure if it’s due to embarrassm
ent or anger and I find myself leaping to Robert’s defense. ‘Just because we’re broke doesn’t give him a motive. How could he be involved anyway? You saw him. Is he supposed to have done that to himself? Did he punch himself in the face? I was there, Nate. You weren’t. I saw how scared he was. I saw! And God, if he wanted to make an insurance claim, if this is what you think it’s about, then why not just set fire to the house when we were all out? Why not just fake a break-in?’ I take a deep breath. ‘This is crazy. Why would anyone do this to their family?’

  Nate studies me for a beat, his lips pressed together into a tight line, then finally he exhales softly. ‘Ava, I’m afraid it’s not all. We’re about to file another charge. I wanted to make sure you heard about this from me, now.’

  I can hear my heart starting to thud louder and louder. ‘What do you mean? What other charge?’

  Nate takes a breath and swallows. ‘The prosecutor’s given us the go-ahead. We’ve got enough evidence to charge him with conspiracy to commit murder.’

  I have to play the words over in my head a few times. ‘Wait, what are you talking about? Why would Robert have wanted June dead?’

  He shakes his head slowly. ‘Not June. We’re charging him with conspiracy to commit your murder.’

  I stare at him blankly and then I laugh. ‘What? But . . . that’s . . . oh my God. You think he was trying to kill me? Why would he want to kill me? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.’

  Nate opens a manila folder and hands me a sheaf of papers. It’s the same insurance policy Horowitz handed me but with a separate part highlighted.

  ‘Robert made a request for cover in case of a home invasion.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, trying to grasp at something, something that will prove Nate is wrong, has to be wrong, but the words are jumbling on the page in front of me.

  ‘I don’t know anything about this,’ I hear myself say. ‘Maybe it was part of the policy, something they offered as an extra.’

  When I look up at Nate he looks like he’s wincing, in pain. He shakes his head at me. ‘We spoke to the insurance broker. Robert was asked if he’d like to add the home invasion cover.’

  ‘He was asked if he wanted it or he specifically requested it?’ I snap back.

  ‘Either way he said yes,’ Nate answers. ‘Per the terms of your policy you’re entitled to half a million dollars compensation in the event of a home invasion, half a million more for a life threatening injury, up to five million in medical costs incurred as a result of any injury and ten million dollars for any death resulting from said home invasion. That’s a lot of money. A lot of incentive.’

  He points at the figures on the piece of paper so there’s no way I can deny them. ‘I’m sorry, Ava. I know this must be difficult.’

  I look at him. ‘No, it’s not difficult. It’s absurd. It’s crazy. You really think Robert would arrange to have me killed just so he could collect on a life insurance policy?’ I burst out laughing again. ‘You have no idea what you’re saying. This is Robert. He wouldn’t . . .’

  ‘There’s more.’ He reaches for another sheaf of papers from the folder.

  A shiver of dread rides up my spine.

  Nate pulls out some photographs. I think at first they’ll be the same ones that Horowitz showed me of Robert in the pawnshop but they’re not. These aren’t CCTV images but surveillance ones, each of them large format and glossy. The images are fuzzy, as though they’ve been taken at night without a flash. The first thing I recognize is our car in the corner of one shot. And then I make out Robert, though he has his back half turned away from the camera. He’s talking to two men on a street corner, handing them something. I don’t recognize the men. They’re in their twenties, I would guess. One looks like he might be Hispanic, the other white.

  ‘What is this?’ I ask. ‘Who are they? Where was this taken?’

  ‘These two men,’ says Nate, pointing at the men, ‘are Raul Fernandez and James Hill. Oxnard have had them under surveillance for months. They’re drug dealers. Rap sheet a mile long between them. Aggravated burglary, sexual assault. Both of them have done time before for dealing as well as robbery. Fernandez was charged with homicide eight years ago and stood trial twice but was acquitted after the jury couldn’t reach a unanimous verdict.’

  ‘OK,’ I say slowly, staring at the photo in horror. ‘What was Robert doing with them?’

  ‘Soliciting their help. We believe he’s handing them cash – these photos were taken on the same day Robert visited the pawnshop three weeks ago, two and a half weeks before the break-in. The DEA had Fernandez under surveillance, which is how we have these photographs.’ He points at the item in Robert’s hand. ‘We think this is Robert handing over the five thousand dollars he made from pawning the jewelry earlier. That it was the down payment on the job.’

  ‘No.’ I can’t help smiling. This is all a joke. It has to be.

  ‘You’d like to hazard a guess then,’ Nate says. ‘What was Robert doing at two a.m. talking to two of Oxnard’s least upstanding citizens?’

  He’s got me there. I stare at the photograph. ‘I don’t know. Have you tried asking him?’ I shake my head, tears welling. ‘He didn’t do it,’ I whisper, but there’s a plaintive note in my voice.

  ‘Ava,’ Nate says gently. ‘Robert specifically asked you to go out for a date night, something you admitted in our second interview was not something you regularly did. In fact, you said it had probably been three or four years since the last time Robert instigated a date.’

  ‘It doesn’t prove anything,’ I argue. ‘And you’re contradicting your own argument. You claim Robert was targeting me but if he was why would he have planned for us to be out having dinner?’

  Nate shakes his head. ‘He wanted to make sure he knew what you were doing that night so there could be no surprises. And it gave him an excuse to get June on a sleepover. He planned the break-in for when you’d be home.’

  ‘No,’ I push back, refusing to accept it.

  ‘You were the target, Ava. He unset the alarm.’

  ‘To put out the trash.’

  ‘He didn’t put the trash out. The trash was empty.’

  I shake my head, confused.

  Nate’s eyes burn into mine as he waits for the penny to drop. And then it does. Robert told me he turned the house alarm off to put out the trash. He lied. What else has he lied about?

  Chapter 21

  Robert shuffles into the room with his head down, looking like a man who has just been given a terminal diagnosis. He doesn’t look at me. Is that a sign of guilt, or just embarrassment? He’s wearing a too-big orange jumpsuit and a pair of white paper slippers. His hands are cuffed. I glance at the door, checking my escape route, realizing with a shock that for the first time ever I’m afraid of the man I married.

  He slumps into one of the plastic seats opposite me and I stare at him. Who is this man in front of me? Have I ever really known him? I leaped so readily to his defense earlier with that lawyer Horowitz and with Nate – but did I speak too soon? Is Nate right? Did my own husband conspire to have me killed? It’s such a horrifying thought, but even worse is the knowledge that I just don’t know.

  Robert casts a glance at the door and then at the two-way mirror.

  ‘No one is watching,’ I tell him. ‘The lawyer told me we’re not being recorded. So you can tell me the truth.’

  He turns to me with a queer expression on his face.

  ‘Did you do it, Robert? Did you organize the break-in? Did you pay those men to do it?’ My voice trembles.

  Robert glowers at me.

  ‘They told me that you planned this,’ I say, trying to read him. ‘That you pawned all our things, you planned the break-in, paid people to do it . . . that you wanted me dead.’

  Robert puts his clasped hands on the table and bows his head. He takes a deep breath then looks up at me. ‘Is that what you think?’ he asks.

  ‘I . . .’ I break off. I don’t know what I think.<
br />
  ‘Do you believe it?’ he asks, startling me with the anger in his voice.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admit, shaking my head and fighting back tears.

  The look he gives me could slice through flesh.

  I swipe at my tears. ‘I’ve seen the evidence, Robert. What were you doing with those men? How do you even know them? Why did you increase the insurance premiums?’

  He just stares at me and his expression is impossible to fathom. I’m the one who has to look away first because I can’t bear it. It reminds me of the time we went to the Grand Canyon for our honeymoon. One glance over the edge had me scrambling back to safety, away from the abyss. I couldn’t look down again. I was too afraid of how it made me feel.

  For a minute Robert and I sit in silence, the fissure between us widening.

  ‘How’s June?’ he suddenly asks.

  I look up. How are we talking about June? ‘She’s the same,’ I hear myself answer. I close my eyes again. Did he do it? If he did, then he’s the one responsible for what happened to June. It’s on him.

  ‘And Gene?’ Robert asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I snap. ‘I haven’t seen him. I had to call him and leave a voicemail telling him about you, just in case he hadn’t seen the news yet. I’ve had to leave a hysterical Hannah with Laurie. She’s asking me what the hell is going on and what do I say? What do I tell her?!’

  Still more silence.

  ‘For God’s sake, Robert . . . talk to me! Tell me what you were doing with those men. Tell me the damn truth!’

  He snorts a little at that. ‘The truth? That’s rich, coming from you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Asking for the truth. When all you do is keep secrets.’

  I draw in a sharp, stabbing breath and stare at him, alarmed.

  ‘You think I didn’t know?’ he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

  ‘Know what?’ I ask, my back stiffening, my pulse skittering.

  ‘About you and the Sheriff.’

  The air is punched out of me. ‘There’s nothing to know.’