Olivia shrugged. “She fell backward. She . . . hit her head on something, then fell to the floor and hit her head again. I heard her skull crack. I saw the blood pour from her head. I didn’t mean to hurt her. It . . . it just happened.”
“I believe you. So what did you do after she fell?”
“I was in shock.”
“I’m sure you were. Did you try to help her?”
“No.”
“Did you call 911?”
“No.”
“Did you call anyone?”
“Not right away, no.”
“So think back, Olivia. What did you do immediately after Katrina Belfort hit her head?”
Olivia’s dry eyes focused on Decker’s face. She shrugged again. “I watched her die.”
CHAPTER 36
SHE CALLED ME on my office phone,” Ferraga told Decker. He was with a lawyer named John Granger—white-haired man in his early seventies. Greenbury was filled with semiretirees in a variety of professions.
“When was this?” Decker asked.
“It was after I had knocked on Dr. Zhou’s door. So it must have been around one-fifteen or maybe one-thirty.”
“Olivia called you at around one-thirty?”
“Around that time, yes.”
Silence.
“What did she say?”
“She was distraught. She told me that something terrible had happened. I thought it was one of the children. Then she said she was at Katrina Belfort’s house. My heart sank.”
“What did you do?”
“I grabbed my keys and sprinted over to her house. I didn’t have my car.” He shook his head, his eyes far away. “She’s on medication, you know.”
“Who is?”
“Olivia.”
“What kind of medication?”
“Antipsychotics. She doesn’t always take it. She doesn’t like how it makes her feel. She forgets, but sometimes I know it’s deliberate. Her mother was like that. She ended up in a mental institution. I didn’t want to subject Olivia . . . I tried to look after her. We have a person come in for a couple of hours each day to look in on her. I wish I could afford someone full-time, but I just don’t have the money.”
“What happened when you arrived at Katrina’s house?”
“The door was unlocked. I walked in and saw what had happened.” He looked at his lawyer, who gave him a nod. “Katrina was dead. She appeared as if she had been lying there dead for some time.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Her complexion was gray. There was a pool of blood on the floor. The blood did not appear fresh.”
“Where was Olivia?”
“Sitting on a chair . . . mute, paralyzed, terror-stricken, blood on her clothes. I . . .” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “I was about to call the police from Katrina’s home phone. Leave an anonymous message until I could think clearly. But I heard knocking on her front door: someone calling out her name.”
“So what did you do?”
“I panicked. I grabbed Olivia’s arm and we hid in her bedroom. I had locked the door behind us. That’s why I know it was impossible that a witness saw us.”
“Nothing is ever impossible, Dr. Ferraga. Did you know who it was at the time?”
“Not at that time, no. But once I found out you arrested Alistair Dixon, I recognized the voice . . . in my head.” He pointed to his temple. “But when we were hiding, I was in an altered state. All of my senses had shut down.”
Ferraga closed his eyes and opened them. “It was horrible being in her bedroom. It was doing awful things to Olivia’s mind. She kept looking at the bed. No matter how many times I told her to be still, she kept pacing back and forth.”
The shuffling that Dixon heard. Decker said, “About how long were you in the bedroom?”
“The alarm clock on her nightstand read one fifty-six when we went inside the bedroom. Around fifteen minutes later, it became quiet. We left the bedroom around two-thirty. Alistair was gone.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I drove Olivia home, gave her a sedative, and put her to sleep.”
“And then what?”
Again Ferraga looked at his attorney. Granger whispered in his ear. “I went back to Katrina’s house. It was almost three.”
“Why didn’t you call the police then?”
“I was not thinking clearly. I had no conception of time or even where I was or what I was doing. I was very confused.”
So that’s going to be his defense—diminished capacity because he was in an altered state of mind. Decker said, “So, for whatever reason, you didn’t call the police.”
Again, the lawyer whispered in Ferraga’s ear. “I was not thinking clearly.”
“Okay. You weren’t thinking clearly. Do you remember what you did when you went back to Katrina Belfort’s house?”
“Not exactly.”
Inside, Decker was growing impatient. He had to use another approach. “The more you forget about what happened, the more it seems like you’re protecting yourself—or even Olivia. I mean how do I know you took her home, gave her a sedative, and put her to sleep? Maybe she was the one who cleaned up the crime scene.”
“No,” Ferraga said. When Granger tried to talk to him, he shook his head. “No, it was me. But I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“I believe you. Just tell me what you were thinking even if it was crazy,” Decker said. “I have to know what happened; otherwise it all falls on Olivia.”
Granger said, “You don’t have to tell him any more.”
Ferraga ignored him. “For some reason, I kept on thinking about Elijah Wolf’s suicide. No one knew why he did it. In my scrambled thoughts, I supposed that if I could imply that their deaths were a pact between them—a love affair gone wrong—I could convince everyone that she killed herself like Elijah. As I said, I was confused and deranged.”
“So you decided to shoot her and make it look like suicide.”
Granger said, “He already admitted to accessory after the fact.”
“I need to hear what he has to say, Counselor.” Decker turned to Ferraga. “Where’d you get the gun?”
“It was Katrina’s.”
“Okay. So you decided to make it look like suicide. Why drag her into the mountains?”
“To make it look similar to Elijah Wolf’s suicide, of course.”
“Any other reason?” Decker said. “For instance, you knew that firing a gun in her house would make too much noise? That it might arouse the neighbors?”
“I was only thinking that Elijah had killed himself in the woods. So I figured, she had to kill herself in the woods. How many times do I have to tell you that I wasn’t in my right mind?”
“But you were aware enough to make it look like Elijah Wolf’s suicide.”
“Yes. It was an obsessive thought that was running through my mind.”
“Okay. So when you came back, what exactly did you do? Think about it, Aldo. I want a step-by-step.”
“First, I removed her bloody clothing and placed that in a bag. Then I washed her off with a towel and placed the towel in the same bag as her clothing. Then I grabbed some clean folded clothing from her drawers . . . to make it look like Elijah Wolf’s suicide. Then I wrapped her body in a sheet and dragged her up the hillside. “I dragged her up until my arms were breaking off and I could go no farther. I took her out of the sheet and . . . I took the folded clothes and placed them by her body . . . just like Elijah.”
Silence.
“And then what did you do?” Decker asked.
“I came back to the house.”
“You left out a few things.”
“Yes, I tried to obliterate my footsteps and the drag marks. I admit that.”
“And I suppose you weren’t thinking clearly when you shot her in the back of her head?”
Ferraga said nothing.
“Why don’t you tell me in your own words how you shot her?
”
“What’s to tell?” Granger told him. “She was already dead.”
“So if she was already dead, why not just leave her in the woods? Why shoot her in the back of her head?”
Ferraga said, “I told you I was trying to make it look like suicide . . . to tie it to Elijah Wolf’s suicide. So she had to shoot herself.”
Decker said, “Obviously she couldn’t shoot herself.”
“Obviously,” Ferraga admitted. “I put the gun in her hand and pulled the trigger with her finger.”
“Aldo, you didn’t shoot her in the temple. That’s the obvious place to do it. That’s where Elijah shot himself. You, on the other hand, shot her in the back of her head. You shot her in a way to obliterate the injury she sustained when she fell on the corner of the end table.”
Ferraga looked down. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“On the contrary, I’d say that you were thinking very clearly.”
“My client has already given you an answer,” Granger said. “Please move on.”
Decker said, “When did you type her suicide note?”
“After I . . . when I came back to her house.”
“You used the very words she used when she wanted to end your love affair.”
“I used them because it sounded like Katrina. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible.”
“Her suicide.”
“Yes.” Ferraga shook his head. “It was insane what I did. I was insane! I was . . . crazy. I will admit my part in this charade. But I didn’t kill her. You must believe me.”
Decker’s face remained flat. “What did you do after you left her body in the woods?”
“I went back to Katrina’s house and mopped up the mess with paper towels and threw them in with the bloody clothing. I washed the floor with dishwashing liquid.” He wiped his wet eyes.
Granger said, “In his confused mind, Ferraga felt like he was helping Olivia. Certainly he wasn’t helping himself by doing that.”
“Or just maybe he thought he could get away with something.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Ferraga said. “I don’t remember.”
“What time did you leave Katrina’s house? Do you remember that?”
“I suppose it was around five.”
“And you went straight home after that?”
“Yes.” His eyes watered. “She was already dead. You have to believe me. If she was even the least bit alive, I would have called the ambulance. I loved her. I wasn’t ready to end our relationship. I kept telling her I would never leave Olivia, that she didn’t have to worry about the affair being too serious.” He swallowed hard. “She must have tired of me.”
Decker said, “You got to your house around what time again?”
“Maybe five-thirty.”
“You walked home or drove home?”
“I had Olivia’s car.”
“Okay. You drove home and it was around five-thirty.”
“Maybe a little later. It was still dark.”
“What did you do with the clothes you were wearing? I assumed you changed your clothes.”
“I did change my clothes.”
“So what did you do with your bloody clothing?”
“I must have put them in the same bag with all the other blood-stained clothes.”
“Where is the bag?”
“I threw it away.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember.” When Ferraga’s comment was met with silence, he said, “I swear I don’t remember. I was completely insane by that time.”
“Aldo, our techs found remnants of cloth in your fireplace.” That part was true. Probably not enough to use for forensics, but there were definitely bits of cloth that survived even after Ferraga cleaned up.
Granger said, “That means nothing.”
“He burned his clothes in the fireplace,” Decker said. “That shows intent!”
“If I burned them, I don’t remember,” Ferraga said. “All I remember is showering a very long time. Then I shaved and went to work around seven. When I heard the news, I was truly horrified. It was as if I heard about it for the first time. It was as if someone else had to have done it.” He put his hands over his mouth and shook his head. “I was in a dissociative state.”
“Did you learn that word from your lawyer?”
Granger said, “We’re cooperating with you. No need to get snide.”
“Sometimes you just do things,” Ferraga said. “You know you’re not thinking optimally. You know you’re really not thinking clearly at all. But you’ve come this far and you see no other way out. You just go to the bitter end and hope for the best.” He looked up at Decker. “I’m not a criminal. I’m not a psychopath. I’m just a man who was trying to do the best I could.”
“You were having an affair.”
“Olivia and I have not been intimate for a very long time. It’s part of her medication. You lose the drive.”
“Did she know about the affair?”
“She found out about three months ago.”
“Was she surprised by it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Katrina couldn’t have been the first.”
Ferraga looked down. “She told me to end it and I told her I would.”
“You would what?”
“I told her I would end the affair.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I knew Katrina was tiring of me. It really was over by the time this tragedy happened.” Again he caught Decker’s eye. “What will happen to my children?”
“Do you have relatives who’d be willing to take them?”
“My brother, perhaps. He’s divorced. He doesn’t see his own kids very often.” His eyes leaked tears. “What charges do I face?”
“Tampering with evidence, defacing a body, obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting.”
“I will face prison time.”
Granger said, “Not necessarily.”
Decker said, “Diminished capacity. I get it. You know, Aldo, if you had called up right away—even anonymously—you wouldn’t have faced jail time. Yes, you were trying to shield your wife, to spare her for the ordeal, but judges understand mitigating circumstances.”
“I told you I wasn’t in my right mind. But whatever I did, I did it to protect my wife. She can’t go to prison. She isn’t stable.”
Decker said, “Aldo, if she isn’t stable, why in the world do you have a gun in the house?”
There was a long pause. Granger said, “You don’t have to answer that.”
“I will answer that because the answer is innocent,” Ferraga said. “Frequently, I am gone at night. And please do not snicker. It was not just the affair. I actually work in my office at night. I find the peace and quiet conducive to getting things done. Olivia told me when the hour gets late and I’m not home, she feels vulnerable and scared.”
A pause.
“She asked me to buy her a gun because she couldn’t buy one—her mental state is on record. So I bought it for her. I felt . . . I owed it to her.”
“You owed it to her?” Decker was floored. “You knew she was unstable. She could have killed one of your children.”
“She would never do that.”
“She could have killed you. She could have killed herself. She almost did kill herself.” Decker paused. “Or maybe that was the ulterior motive.”
“That’s a horrible, untrue, vicious thing to say. I have given my life to that woman.”
Decker said, “I apologize if my comment seemed rude.”
“It was . . .” Ferraga didn’t finish his sentence.
That was okay.
They both knew the truth when they heard it.
MCADAMS CLOSED HIS duffel. His shoulder was still sore, but since it could have been a lot worse, he refused to complain. He hoisted up the bag with his good arm and walked into the hallway, where Decker immediately relieved him of it.
“I can do it, Old Man.�
��
“I know, but why should you?” Decker smiled. “You’re used to people doing your bidding anyway. I’m just one of many.”
“That’s true. Do I tip you?”
“Don’t bother. You’ve already done your good deed for the month.”
“Her gun wasn’t anywhere near you,” McAdams said.
“It was pointed right at me . . . or at Ferraga. It was pointed at both of us. Whether or not she would have hit him or me is another question. I’m glad you acted before we both found out.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” McAdams said.
“Not consciously, no. But your subconscious was thinking very well. You were there when it mattered. I’m proud of you, kiddo. You are the consummate professional.”
McAdams smiled broadly. “Thank you, Old Man. How about we do Kevlar next time?”
“How about if there is no next time?”
“Even better.”
Rina came in. “Here’s your lunch.” She handed Decker a paper bag. She turned to Tyler. “And here’s lunch and dinner for you.”
McAdams took the proffered bag. “Thanks, although I probably won’t eat too much. Not good to study on a full stomach. It shunts the blood to the gut instead of the brain and I’ll need every bit of brainpower I have.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“Yeah, I’m really not worried.”
Decker said, “When do you find out the results?”
“At the end of the next week. I still have the weekend to prepare. I’ll be fine. You know the administration told me that if I need more time to recuperate, I can take the exams a week later.”
“And?”
“I told them it was only a graze, that I’d be fine. Besides, you don’t know how venal people can be. For all I know, some of my classmates will think I shot myself to get more study time. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them attempted a copycat.”
Rina laughed. She kissed his cheek. “Good luck.”
“Thank you.” He turned to Decker. “You know I really can hire a car.”
“I’m playing chauffeur for the day. Just don’t ask me to wear a uniform. I have a little business to do on the way back, so it’s no problem.”
“Okay. Let’s rock-and-roll.”
They stepped outside and Decker popped the trunk. After placing McAdams’s duffel inside, he slammed the trunk and turned around. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mallon Euler obscured by a bush. Gently, he nudged McAdams’s good arm. “I’ll wait inside.”
The Theory of Death Page 32