“I promise. Forgive me, Suzanne. I appreciate your advice, and I’ll follow it.”
“All right. Ready? Deep breath.”
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.
“Detective Ryan Hagerty, escorting Mrs. Ford pursuant to court order to install her electronic monitoring device.”
“I’m sorry, come again?”
“She’s charged with a crime. Her bail was home confinement with an ankle bracelet.”
“Is that right?”
Kovacs shot me a hard, measuring glare. He must’ve heard by now that I’d been arrested for Nina’s murder. It was all over the news. They’d had to smuggle me out through the courthouse basement to avoid the mob.
“Detective,” Kovacs said, “I’m in charge of security at Windswept, so if you’re planning to install any equipment, I need to be involved with that. Can I see the warrant?”
Hagerty pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket.
“This is a court order directing persons in the home to allow installation of electronic monitoring devices. Obstruction of this order will subject you to contempt proceedings.”
“I’m not trying to obstruct. I just need to know what you’re doing.”
“Sorry, that’s not in the program. The installation and functioning of our equipment is confidential. Otherwise it would be too easy to subvert.”
“Nobody’s trying to subvert. My concern is interference with the other monitoring equipment on the property.”
“Tell me what you’ve got and where it is. I’ll make sure I don’t interfere.”
“I can’t do that.”
Hagerty shrugged. “Then I can’t help you, my friend. I have a court order to install my system, and I’m going to do that without anybody looking over my shoulder. You got a problem, talk to the judge.”
Kovacs grumbled, but signaled us to pass. We proceeded up the driveway to the porte cochere.
“Why did he give you a hard time? Is he on to us?” I asked Hagerty.
“I doubt it. He probably just doesn’t like having his authority challenged.”
I’d never been able to get a read on Kovacs. To this day, he’d never given any indication of recognizing me from the Fourth of July party. Yet, I had to believe he did. Maybe he was involved in setting me up by taking those pictures at the party. The one thing I could be sure of was that he was not on my side. I shouldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t trust anybody at Windswept.
“You doubt it?” I said. “Somebody at Windswept gave you those photos of me, and that person killed Nina Levitt. How can you not tell me? Was it Kovacs, or wasn’t it? I don’t feel safe here not knowing that.”
“All right, look. The photos were sent to us anonymous
ly. There’s no reason to think it was him.”
“No reason to think it wasn’t. It could be anyone at Windswept. How can I protect myself if I don’t know?”
“You’re the one claiming somebody else killed her. It’s up to you to prove that. Our best evidence says it was you.”
“I told you, I’m innocent. Are you gonna let them kill me, too?” I said.
“Tabitha, we’ll do our best to keep you safe. But wearing a wire, cooperating—that involves risk. My advice is, assume people around you are hostile and don’t take any unnecessary chances.”
At the moment the DA had suggested I wear the wire, I had felt so betrayed, so angry, that I jumped at the chance. Whoever thought I would be their patsy had another thing coming. But here, now, in the rain, with Windswept towering over me like a haunted castle, that nourishing anger was gone, replaced by uncertainty and fear.
“What happens if I get caught?”
“The ankle bracelet is equipped with a panic button. I’ll show you how to use it before I leave.”
“Panic button? Why can’t I just call you?”
“If you’ve been outed as a snitch and you’re in imminent danger, you probably won’t have time to make a phone call.”
“You’re scaring me, Detective.”
“Hey, if you’re uncomfortable, I understand. I’ll take you back to jail, and we can forget about the cooperation. Who knows, maybe you can beat the murder rap. But if not, you’re looking at life in prison.”
We’d pulled up to the door.
“What do you want to do?” Hagerty said.
I couldn’t breathe. Life in prison? Was this real? If I could’ve snapped my fingers and been back at the Baldwin Grill, setting up the dinner shift, I would have, in a heartbeat. If I could make it so I’d never met Connor—not now, not before—I would.
“You’re threatening me with life in prison?”
“It’s not a threat. It’s reality. I’m not the person who put you in this situation.”
He meant I’d put myself there, but he was wrong. Somebody else had, by manipulating the evidence to make it look like I murdered Nina Levitt. That person was willing to put me away for life, then go home and eat a nice dinner. I had to pull myself together. I had to get mad again. Not just mad—filled with a cold rage that made me smarter, bolder, more strategic. I should do it for my daughter. No way was she growing up without me. Never. I had to beat this rap, no matter what it took.
“I’ll do it.”
“All right, let’s go.”
I got out of the car. Hagerty took a briefcase from the trunk and came to stand behind me.
“Kovacs might’ve warned anyone inside that we’re coming, so just in case, don’t ring. Use your key. Let’s enter quietly and see what we see.”
I let us in. The cavernous foyer was silent and dark. I didn’t know where the light switch was. I had to hunt for it along the walls before I managed to turn on the lights.
“Can you call the staff? I’d like to know who’s home before I set up the monitoring system. I don’t need an audience.”
“Hello? Hello? It’s Tabitha. Anyone home?”
My words echoed off the walls. I turned to Hagerty and shrugged.
“Who would normally be here?” he asked.
“Gloria and Juliet at least. Maybe Connor.”
“Where would they be?”
“The housekeeper is probably in the kitchen, which is that way.” I gestured. “When they’re done working for the night, Gloria and Juliet have rooms on the third floor. Connor could be upstairs in our bedroom, or in the library, that way, in the opposite wing from the kitchen.”
“Wait here,” Hagerty said, then lowered his voice. “I don’t want you encountering anyone until the monitor is activated and you’re wired. That first conversation could be critical.”
He walked off toward the kitchen, leaving me alone in the hall.
My clothes were wet from the rain and stale from two days of travel. Rather than sit in the beautifully upholstered chairs that flanked the grand fireplace, I stood there, huddled into myself, rubbing my arms for warmth. The bleakness of this place descended on me. I’d never felt at home here. I’d always been an outsider—alone, afraid. Now I was actually a spy, returned to trick the occupants into confessing their crimes. The occupants. My husband and his accomplices. I told myself that he deserved it. That he’d murdered his first wife for the money and was now framing me for that crime. Me, his wife, the mother of his child. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. I was in denial. I’d loved him. I still did. To think he could do such a thing—it tore me apart.
Hagerty strode back into the hall.
“I found the housekeeper,” he said. “She claims to be alone in the house. Your husband and the assistant are both out. I told her to stay in the kitchen until further notice. That gives us the opportunity to install the system without prying eyes. Let’s get a move on, before anyone else shows up and starts asking questions.”
For the next hour, I followed Hagerty around Windswept as he set up the monitoring system that he’d brought with him in his briefcase. He fitted me with a padded monitor that clamped around my ankle and tightened with screws. It was an unwieldy black plastic thing that looked sort of like a giant Apple watch. No matter how he adjusted it, it wouldn’t get comfortable. Finally, he gave up and told me I needed to live with it.
“It’s not a bedroom slipper,” he said.
Once activated, the ankle bracelet would send a continuous signal to a receiver installed in Windswept’s landline telephone system. He installed receivers on several phones throughout the house, to ensure that I would always be in range.
“Never used one of these in a place this size. Hope it works,” he said.
The receivers would give the police department a twenty-four-seven readout of my location. If I left the premises, they’d know. If I cut the bracelet off, they’d know. And unlike your average ankle bracelet, mine had a bonus feature—a recording device. The bracelet was bugged. It would record anything said within range of it.
“Record,” Hagerty said. “Not transmit. We don’t have a van stationed outside listening to every word you say as you say it. That’s FBI stuff. We don’t have the resources. Anytime, day or night, you can get a confession out of your husband or anybody else who might be in on the crime, as long as they’re speaking within range of the device, it will be captured and stored. In forty-eight hours, you’ll go to your attorney’s office, and I’ll meet you there to retrieve and download whatever you got.”
Hagerty claimed the bug was hidden in the ankle monitor for my protection. A wire worn taped to the body was easily discoverable, he said, and could result in me being outed, retaliated against, even killed. The ankle monitor was a condition of my bail, ordered by the judge. Everyone expected me to be wearing it. Nobody would bat an eye. They’d never suspect. But, unlike a wire, the ankle bracelet and its recording device couldn’t be turned off by me. The DA and the cops would hear everything I said for the next forty-eight hours, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop them.
Before he left, he showed me that one of the screws on the bracelet was actually a panic button. The screw was flush with the plastic of the device in order to avoid triggering it unintentionally. But if you pressed it hard with something pointy, it would send an emergency signal to the police.
“Only use it if you really need to. If we get that signal, we rush over here and break the door down. At that point, your cover’s blown, and your cooperation is done. You won’t be any good to us, which means you won’t be any help to yourself. Got it?”
“I understand.”
“Your monitor is live now. You’re alone in the house at present except for the housekeeper. That gives you a window of opportunity. Use it. Poke around, see if you can find evidence to help the DA’s case. Get your husband talking, or anyone else who might know something. You need to produce if you expect to gain.”
I nodded. The fear must’ve been plain on my face, because Hagerty broke into a pep talk.
“Buck up. Keep your head down, watch your back. If things go south, trigger the emergency alert. We’ll come and get you out. All right?”
I nodded.
He swatted me on the arm in what I guessed was supposed to be a gesture of encouragement. Then he was gone.
35
I was supposed to be looking for evidence. Steeling myself to betray the man I’d loved into confessing a terrible crime. But all I could think of was taking a hot shower, crawling under the covers, and crying myself to sleep.
The master bedroom was cold and dark. I turned on every single light before going to stare at Nina’s portrait. It looked like a death mask, reminding me of how much was at stake. In the bathroom, I ran the hot water until steam poured from the shower stall. My clothes stank of the jail cell. I wished I could burn them, but I couldn’t even get them off my body. I yanked my jeans down until they got stuck on the ankle bracelet. How could I shower with this monstrosity attached to me? Was it waterproof? Or would it electrocute me the second the water hit it? Screw Ryan Hagerty for not cluing me in. I turned the shower off, pulled my pants up, and went in search of a plastic bag to cover it.
Gloria sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of Dewar’s in front of her. She jumped up when she saw me.
“Sit. It’s okay. I could use a drink myself.”
I took a glass from the cabinet and grabbed the bottle. She glanced at my stomach, then raised an eyebrow at me.
“Seriously?” I said, my voice thick with tears as I sank into a chair across from her. “I’m five months pregnant, okay, and I just spent the night in jail for a murder that I didn’t do. Don’t judge me.”
“I don’t judge anybody.”
“You probably think I did kill Nina, so I could live in her house and have her money.”
“I don’t think that.”
“I don’t care about any of that. I wish I’d never seen this place. I wish I’d never met Connor Ford.”
The Wife Who Knew Too Much Page 23