by P. J. Vernon
“Recorded? You never said anything about recording our conversation. You asked me to come in for a chat.” She paused, gulping perhaps. “Do I … Do I need to have an attorney present?”
I opened the interview room door, revealing a cramped space with a single table against the wall and plastic chairs. “You’re welcome to have one present if you’d like. Although, I’m unsure why you would need one. If you did, it might change my approach.”
Hovering in the doorway, her mind appeared to race, likely second-guessing every decision she’d made before this moment. Perhaps even the ones that had gotten her here in the first place. Her eyes went to the ceiling. To the camera with the blinking red light perched in the corner.
“Charlotte? Would you like an attorney present?” I asked for the camera’s benefit.
White-knuckling the strap of her bag, she said, “No. No, thanks. That won’t be necessary. Not for a chat.”
She came off as genuinely nervous. But if she was playing a part for me … I recalled the ease with which the woman had lied to me in the past. Florencia.
“Have a seat, please.” I motioned to one chair and took the second one for myself. Her folder sat waiting on the table. I reached for it.
Charlotte blinked at me in silence. She let her purse slide to the linoleum floor.
After half a minute or so passed, I spoke up. “What can you tell me about your relationship with Mr. Godfrey?”
She bit her lip. “He’s my brother-in-law. Was my brother-in-law. You know that. I thought you’d want to talk to me about Gray—”
“We’ll get to Gray,” I interjected. “But right now, I want to know about Paul. I want to know about you and Paul.”
“There’s not much more than that…”
I shifted in my seat. “Let me adjust my question. I want to know about you and Paul from you.”
Charlotte tensed her jaw. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, let’s see, I’ve heard about you and Paul from others. And now I want to hear about you and Paul from you.”
She ground her teeth as she spoke. Confusion, pretend or otherwise, marked her face. “Me and Paul? Others? What others?”
“From the private security firm contracted by Cooper and Waters, for instance.” I flipped my folder open on the table. A printed email sat deliberately on top.
“The private security…” As her voice trailed off, she grew pale. Even her lips purpled.
“They conducted forensics on Paul’s devices. His work devices. Personal ones in the Georgetown place. All of them.” I tapped the printed email with my index finger.
Her bottom lip trembled. She looked as though she wanted to say something but then thought better of it.
“You lied to me. I know about the affair, Charlotte. There’s a paper trail. Emails, phone calls, receipts. I know that’s why your husband left you.”
“I don’t … how?” she stuttered. Her eyes searched the paper beneath my finger. She wanted a closer look. To read exactly what it said. But I kept it at arm’s length from her on purpose.
“Bank card receipts. They place Paul physically in Raleigh at times Gray believed him to be traveling on business. To Canada, funny enough.”
Still only wide-eyed silence from Charlotte.
Clasping my hands together, I leaned forward. “Do you know what that means?”
Shivering, she managed to shake her head. A damn good actress.
“It means that in addition to you also being at Ruby’s the night Paul was murdered, you were his mistress. How do you think that looks?”
She rubbed the back of her neck, maybe to stifle the tic she’d begun showing.
I glared at her now. “Tensions ran sky-high that night. An intoxicated Gray? Paul flying into a jealous rage over her and Jacob? Tell me, did you fly into a fit over Paul’s jealousy towards your sister?”
She shook her head. “No,” she answered, hardly above a whisper.
Rubbing my palms together, I softened my expression. “If you did, I can understand why.”
“What?” She met my eyes. “Why?”
“After everything that’s happened to you. You and Gray both,” I replied. “I don’t only know about you and Paul. I know about Gray and Matthew. Your sister told me, and my aunt confirmed her account. If Matthew had … a thing … for children, then…”
“No,” Charlotte said sharply. She clenched her fists atop the table. “Matthew never touched me.”
I sat back in my seat, folding my arms. “You were so young, Charlotte. There’s nothing you could have done. You were left alone and defenceless with a dangerous man. A predator. Something like that messes up a kid. They grow up with skewed ideas of right and wrong. Maybe they don’t even know there’s such a thing as right and wrong.”
“I said Matthew never touched me!” Her fists shook.
Charlotte’s eyes bolted from one side of the tiny room to the other, like a cornered animal just waiting for the walls to close in. The trap to spring shut with a metallic whine.
“I get Paul. I get why you blew up at him. Seemed like a real asshole when he was alive. But why Gray? Why torture your own sister? This Annie business, it’s … sadistic.”
Charlotte muttered. Nothing coherent, her act unraveling in front of me.
I pressed, “And the cat? You need help, Charlotte. Serious help.”
“I love…”
“I can get you help. But you have to start by talking to me. You have to tell me the truth, or I can’t help you.”
“I’m not Annie.” As she spoke, a tear cut a path down her right cheek. “I love Gray.” She cast her eyes down as though ashamed to cry in front of me. Or maybe … ashamed of what she had done? Was she still acting?
“If you love her, why hurt her? Why twist the knife?” I asked, leaning into the table.
“I said I’m not Annie! And I never wanted to hurt Gray.” She reached for the tissue box sitting flush against the wall. “Paul pressed so hard. It’s almost like he wore me down. The worse things became between me and Will, the better Paul looked.” Her shoulders shook as sadness swept over her. “Paul loved Gray. He really did. But she’s just so … she’s got problems. More than once he called me her name by mistake.”
Dabbing her cheeks, she coughed and continued, “The first time, I figured it was because we look so much alike. But then I realized he was with me because of our looks. I was the version of Gray he wanted. Put together. Well-adjusted. I don’t even care for wine.”
Sincere pain marked her words, and hurt hid behind her eyes. She appeared to love her sister while harboring feelings for the woman’s husband. The situation she’d found herself in must’ve been impossible. But impossible enough to kill? Paul’s stabbing had been a crime of passion. And passion poured out of this woman now.
Launching into a second coughing fit, she shredded the tissue in her hands.
I narrowed my eyes. “And that night? What happened on Paul Revere Highway?”
Her eyes locked onto mine again. She spoke with steely determination. “I was never on Paul Revere Highway with them. I told you that from the start. I left the bar early. It was Christmas Eve, and I wanted to kiss my kids goodnight. Paul called me from the highway.”
My mind switched tracks to Matthew. To the sexual abuse. “And what about Matthew? You knew what he’d done to your sister as a child?”
She glanced at the ceiling and back at me. “Of course, I did. I was young, but Gray and I were thick as thieves back then. She told me in her own way before she told Mamma. We’ve spoken of it a handful of times since, but delicately. Carefully.”
“He never touched you?” I strained to hide the incredulity in my voice.
“No. It makes me sick to say it this way, but…” Her next words appeared to genuinely pain her. “He only had eyes for Gray.”
“Did you know your mother had Gray tested for sexually transmitted infections?”
Charlotte sneered, eyeing the strips of tissue
on the table before her. “It doesn’t surprise me. If she did, it’s one of the few good decisions she made regarding that whole situation.”
Leaning in a second time, I added, “I believe she had Gray’s samples labeled as my Auntie Tilda’s so there’d be no record of it. Did you know anything about that?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t, but that’s not shocking, either. You’ve met Mamma, haven’t you?”
“Who was the family doctor? The one who ran the tests?”
She glowered. “Dr. Conner. Mary-Ann Conner. She has a practice on Main Street but she used to make house calls.”
I scratched a checkmark next to the name Mary-Ann Conner in my notepad. Two people now put her at Piper Point on the night in question. Confronting her was my next stop.
Pushing the pile of tissue to one side, Charlotte pressed on. “I’ve told you what happened. I’ve told you what I know. I’ve confessed to sleeping with Paul for Christ’s sake. Do you know what it’s like? To grieve in silence? To be Gray’s shoulder to cry on while hiding my own tears? I’ve lost someone, too. I might’ve been a stand-in for Gray, a sober replacement, but I did care for him, Nina. There’s a part of me—a significant part—that felt something for Paul. I still do.”
I searched Charlotte’s face for something to hang on to. Every crease, every wrinkle, every freckle. Something to let me know she was telling the truth. Or lying. It didn’t matter which so long as it was the right answer.
“Can I go, Nina? Do you want anything else from me?” The bags beneath her eyes had grown heavier since we’d begun the interview. “Am I under fucking arrest?”
Rubbing my temples, I sighed. “Don’t leave town, do you hear me?”
She nodded.
“Say it aloud,” I instructed, my own head whirling. “Say you understand what I told you.”
She sniffed. “I won’t leave town.”
* * *
I exhaled shakily as Gray’s sister vanished through the station’s front door. I turned on my heels and headed back to Sammie.
“Interview with Charlotte’s done,” I announced, stepping into his cubicle. “First one, anyways. She confirmed the family doctor, but otherwise stuck to her story. Wiretaps catch anything?”
“Mother hasn’t made any unusual calls. Neither has Charlotte—before the interview, at least. Certainly no calls from Annie. But…”
“But?”
Sammie threw an edge into his voice. “Andrew—your pal from Security Solutions—took a call from Gray.”
“What about?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“She was looking for Annie’s identity. Thought Mr. Huang might have gleaned something during his own investigation.” Sammie continued, “He drew a connection between Charlotte and Annie.”
40
Gray
My eyes burned. My jaw tightened. My ribs could barely contain the swelling fire in my chest. Uncut, unadulterated rage.
The quiet serenity of it frightened me. Silent anger. The closest I’d ever been to such a wrath had been witnessing it from Paul. Christmas Eve at Ruby’s, for example. Even shit-faced, I saw how much he seethed that night. I could practically taste it in the air.
And now I saturated the room with it, too. It spilled out from my eyes. Leached from beneath my fingernails. Slipped through the cracks of my grinding teeth. And it rushed towards Charlotte. My sister.
After I hung up with Andrew Huang, I walked into the salon where I took a seat on the couch facing the foyer. My eyes froze on the front door. I’m not sure how many minutes passed. The grandfather clock wasn’t in my field of view, and if it chimed, I didn’t count the number. Finally, the gravel outside crunched beneath Charlotte’s rental. A car door slammed. Slow steps up the front porch. Keys jingled.
“Gray,” she said, closing the front door. “You scared me half to death. What are you doing sitting here alone?”
I said nothing, felt only coldness as my fingertips tingled.
“Gray? Did you not hear me? Are you okay?” She paced towards me. I sat on the couch like petrified wood. Ancient and angry.
“Did you have a nice time with Nina?” I whispered.
She knotted her brow, halting her steps. “A nice time? Why would I…”
An uneasy silence passed between us. Her eyes grew wide as she pieced together what was happening. She knew I knew. She knew I’d learned the truth about her and Paul. Her and my husband. Judging by her wary face, she wasn’t sure how I’d learned. Undoubtedly Nina had been asking her about it, too. Fatigue stained her eyes a pale yellow. I could tell she was tired of answering for it.
I didn’t give a shit how tired she was.
“Gray.” Her voice caught in her throat. “Gray, let me explain.”
“How long?” I asked.
“What?”
A sudden rush of fire burst through me. The rest of my body remained still as I screamed, “How long have you been fucking my husband?”
Charlotte shook, losing her balance at my outburst. She fell back onto the couch opposite me. She began to cry. “Gray, please. It’s not like that … he loves you … he loved you. He just couldn’t…” Her crying turned to sobbing, and heaves chopped up her words into bits and pieces. Dismembered them.
Reaching into the pocket of my slacks, I retrieved my phone. My shaking thumbs danced across the screen, opening the images from [email protected].
“You sent these to me.” I threw my phone at her. I intended to strike her face, but it hit her wrist when she raised her arm.
“No!” she sobbed. “No, I didn’t! I’d never!”
I stood slowly. “The phone calls. The pictures. The fucking cat.”
“Gray, please. You have to believe me.”
Laughter rose from somewhere inside me. “Cirilo’s? You put up such a fight over lending me your car. Such a fucking fight. You knew all along what would happen. You knew I’d drink. That’s what you wanted.”
“That’s not true!” Charlotte stood now, too.
“Did you kill him, too? Did you kill Paul?” My eyes bulged in their sockets. My ears rang so loudly, I expected blood to trickle out from burst drums. “Did you murder my husband?”
She held the back of her hand to her mouth as though she felt sick. “What makes you think I’d be capable of—”
I shoved her shoulder hard. “Capable? What aren’t you capable of?” I screamed, pushing her a second time.
She fell back onto the couch, rubbing her arm. “How could you even think that?”
As I closed in, she drew her legs onto the cushion. She felt threatened. Good.
My fists trembled at my side. Charlotte’s eyes locked onto them. ‘What the hell am I supposed to think? You’re my sister, and you’ve been sleeping with my husband! My dead husband!” I laughed a second time, shaking my head. “The pictures? The disgusting pictures!”
When I lunged at her, she leapt over the back of the couch, stumbling towards the front door. I followed her, keeping pace.
“Gray, what are you doing? You know I didn’t kill Paul. You have to know!” Tears soaked her splotched cheeks. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.
“You murdered him.” My voice lowered as the silent anger returned. Quiet, but I still trembled. “You fucked Paul. Then you killed Paul.”
As I said the words aloud, I wondered what Charlotte must be thinking. Why I hadn’t already called the police. If I thought she was Annie, if I thought she murdered Paul, and didn’t call them, it must terrify her to wonder why not.
Nina could handle all of this. But not the way I wanted it handled. Not the right way.
Reaching the front door, Charlotte shook her head. The fear scrawled across her face told me she’d wondered the same thing. Hesitating for a brief moment, she turned and bolted outside. I started to chase after her but froze in the open doorway. A surprising feeling washed over me. An entirely unexpected emotion.
Relief.
Not relief because Charlotte was
frantically getting into her car or because I’d run her off. A different, truly horrifying sense of relief.
I hadn’t killed her.
The invisible band around my head squeezed, and my entire body shook. I rummaged through a junk drawer in the kitchen, wet hands slipping from rubber bands to thumb tacks to—what I was hunting for—a screw driver. The wine cabinet was locked, and I planned to disassemble it. If I couldn’t remove the lock, well, I just might break it. I’d do whatever the hell I had to at this point.
* * *
I stood in the dining room, my memory snipped and re-stitched with pieces missing. I didn’t recall walking here. I’d lost time before, but I was excruciatingly sober now. The liquor cabinet doors, one part-ways off its hinge, swung open. On the table, a drink sat poured. A martini.
As an image of Charlotte fumbling with her car keys replayed in my mind—setting the alarm off twice before she managed to get inside—I reached for the drink. A sudden vibration caught my attention. My phone rang against the hardwood planks feet away in the salon. I guess it landed there from when I’d thrown it at Charlotte. Next to a hammer. But I’d grabbed a screwdriver from the kitchen, didn’t I?
A voicemail.
“Hello, Hummingbird, it’s me. Annie.”
When the hell had Charlotte called me again? While she barreled down the highway? The voice needled me, pricking me like a voodoo doll.
“I’m sure by now you’ve learned I wasn’t the only other woman in Paul’s life. Your sister fucked him, too. Oh yes, that’s right. Me and Charlotte both. You see, my name really is Annie. There’s no mystery to it. No pseudonym. No hidden identity.
“But on the note of what a sad sack of shit Paul was, I’m sure we both agree he deserved what he got. He deserved to die. You should’ve seen the look on his face when I did it. When the knife slid into his neck, his eyes bulged like they might explode. That look—the shock. The realization he’d been bested. Utterly blindsided. Come to think of it, his eyes looked the same as they did when he’d cum. Just saying it out loud now is making me wet.
“But enough about that. I’ve got my work cut out for me, Hummingbird. See you soon.”