“Hello?” A crackly voice through the intercom. I’d forgotten that I’d even rung the buzzer. “Can I help you?”
“Lizzie Kitsakis,” I said. “Zach Grayson’s attorney.”
Such a long silence followed, I started to wonder if she’d heard me.
Finally, there was a buzz. I pushed through the two sets of locked doors and into the polished lobby.
The elevator opened directly into the Hope First Initiative offices, a bright open space with wood floors the color of wheat, vibrant yellow walls, and endless windows. There was a reception desk with a sign overhead—HOPE FIRST INITIATIVE—in playful blue type. And not a soul in sight.
“What do you want?” came a voice from behind me.
When I turned, there was a petite woman with short, dark brown hair standing near an office door, a sweater wrapped tight around her shoulders. Her pretty face was ashen and drawn.
She was Amanda’s friend, I reminded myself. She’s grieving. It’s not personal.
“I have a few questions,” I began. “Like I said in my voice mail.”
“Why would I answer any of your questions when you’re defending that monster?”
“Monster?” I asked stupidly.
Sarah advanced toward me so quickly that I reflexively took a couple steps back. “Yeah, monster. He bashed her fucking head in with a golf club, and—” Her voice caught.
Shit. Sarah knew about the golf club? Cops and investigators often shared details with witnesses when it served their interests—to get them angrier at a defendant, to make them more sympathetic to the victim. To motivate them to help. These disclosures skirted right up to the line of unethical, but didn’t technically cross it. I’d done it myself. But, wow, did it seem unsavory now. Unsavory and effective.
“Nothing about the manner of Amanda’s death has been confirmed,” I said, careful to stay polite. “And I don’t think Zach killed her.”
It was a deliberate choice of words.
“You don’t think so?” Sarah huffed. The anger had brought some color back to her face. “Well, that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. Aren’t you his attorney? If you aren’t even sure he’s innocent, then he must be guilty as hell.”
“To be clear, Zach hasn’t even been charged with murder. There was some sort of scuffle after he found his wife, during the course of which he accidentally struck an officer with his elbow. That’s what he was arrested for.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“And to clarify, I said I ‘think’ he’s innocent because I do strongly believe that’s the case. I could even offer you substantial evidence in support of my position. But it’s circumstantial. I imagine you’ll say it doesn’t prove what I say it does, and it seems you’ve already made up your mind. So instead of trying to convince you, I’d like to hear what you know.”
Sarah cocked her head, considering. Finally, her face softened the slightest bit.
“If Zach didn’t kill Amanda,” she asked, “who did?”
Fear, a flicker underneath. A homicidal stranger? I imagined Sarah thinking. No one would want to think there was a madman on the loose in Park Slope.
“I don’t know yet who killed Amanda. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Though to be clear, it isn’t Zach’s responsibility to find the guilty party. The finger shouldn’t be pointed at him just because there aren’t better alternatives. Also, once the police decide on a suspect, they don’t keep looking. They work to build a case against that person. I used to be a prosecutor—federal white-collar crimes—there’s literally no other way to do the job. But Zach shouldn’t be penalized for that.” I let it hang there for a moment, hoping some part might sink in. “I also think it’s important to move the focus from Zach, so we can find whoever really did kill Amanda. We need to get them off the street.”
Playing on Sarah’s fear of some random killer didn’t make me feel particularly great. But I needed her to reconsider her assumptions. She’d worked with Amanda. She was one of her closest friends. There was no telling what she might know, even if she wasn’t aware that she knew it.
“I don’t mean to be such a bitch. But I’m—Amanda was the sweetest person. Not an aggressive bone in her body. I don’t understand how anybody could do that to her. It’s like beating a …” She winced. “Here, let me show you something.”
Sarah waved me to an office on the opposite side of the room with a bright orange couch and a dramatic gray-striped rug. She pointed to some frames on the wall.
“They’re essays from scholarship students,” she said, approaching one and looking closer. “We’d barely started accepting applications. But Amanda was so touched by the essays we’d received, she framed them. Every single one. I teased her that she wouldn’t be able to keep it up, and she said she’d cover all the walls if she had to. She was a really special person.”
Sarah dropped down onto Amanda’s couch. She was rigid for a moment, then her body sank. She stayed quiet for a long time.
I took a seat in one of the guest chairs. “Was Amanda having problems with anybody that you knew of?”
Sarah shook her head. “If you ask me, Zach was a shitty husband, though. On a good day, he treated Amanda like she was a couch he’d bought to complete his living-room set. On a bad day, she was only an accent piece. And no—to answer your next question—she never said anything about Zach being aggressive or even yelling or anything like that. And I saw no evidence that he was physically abusive.” Sarah’s eyes got glassy. “But deception can be its own kind of violence.”
“Zach deceived her?” I asked.
Sarah’s eyes darted away. “She didn’t say that, specifically. But he was always ‘working.’ It didn’t seem to bother Amanda.” She was quiet again for a moment. “Maybe that’s what bothered me. Also, personally, I do think Zach is arrogant. He can’t even be bothered to show up for a birthday dinner for one of Amanda’s closest friends? And I know he’s a big, huge success or whatever, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be polite. Honestly, Zach cared more about his business than he cared about anything, including Amanda.”
“Was there anything else going on in Amanda’s life that she talked about?” I asked Sarah. “With Case maybe?”
“Are you kidding?” she huffed. “Case was a delight and Amanda was a devoted mother. And I mean that, like exceptionally good.”
“What about issues with other friends or family?”
I didn’t plan to reveal that Amanda’s father had raped her as a child. If she’d kept that to herself, it should stay that way. People had a right to their secrets.
“I know that Amanda’s mother died when she was young, which was probably why she was such an attentive mother herself. She grew up poor, too. She tried to make her childhood sound idyllic or charming or something, but I got the sense it was really hard.”
“What do you mean?”
“Amanda was wonderful, but she was also a closed-off person. Guarded. Like she’d been damaged.”
“Had she been?”
Sarah looked overwhelmed with regret. “I was her best friend in Park Slope, and honestly, I have no idea. Amanda was good at making you feel like you knew her really well, even when she was keeping you at arm’s length. What did, um, what’s her name … Carolyn. What did Carolyn say?”
“Carolyn?” I asked. Amanda had mentioned a Carolyn in her journals, but that had been years ago.
“Yes, Amanda’s best best friend,” Sarah said, with clear disdain for my investigative skills. “From what’s-it-called, St. Whatever. Practically like a sister. You should definitely talk to her. She lives in Manhattan.”
“Do you know how I can reach her?” I asked.
“Nope. Ask Zach. He must know, right?” She eyed me then. She knew as well as I did that he easily might not. “He is her husband.”
“Any conflicts here at work?”
“Amanda ran from conflict of any kind. She almost had a breakdown when th
e foundation accountant was trying to track her down.”
“About what?”
“Nothing, I’m sure.” Sarah waved a hand. “What I mean is that Amanda hated dealing with anybody in a position of authority.”
Except an accountant meant money, and money was another reason people were killed.
“Do you have that accountant’s name?” I asked.
“I might.” Sarah pushed to her feet. “I’d have to check my office. I’ll be right back.”
I stood once Sarah had gone, taking the opportunity alone for a quick look around Amanda’s office. Like at the house, there were shelves filled with pictures, but these were fantastic candids, almost all of Case. There was one posed shot of Amanda, Case, and Zach, but it was up on a high shelf and off to the side, as though kept deliberately out of sight. As I turned to check out the shelves over Amanda’s desk, I spotted a black Moleskine journal on top of a stack of papers in the corner. It looked like the fancy blank one I’d found at the house. Maybe Amanda’s most recent one. I could already hear Sarah’s heels clicking back down the polished concrete hallway. I lunged over the desk, grabbed the journal, and shoved it in my bag. My chair squeaked as I banged back down. Luckily, Sarah didn’t seem to notice when she reentered the office. She was too flustered herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have no idea where I put the accountant’s name.”
“That’s okay. I can get it from Zach,” I said, willing myself to look calm as I pressed on with my questions. “How did Amanda seem at Maude’s party the night she died?”
Died, not killed. I’d been practicing swapping out the terms. Admit nothing, not even the most basic facts. It was the first rule of criminal procedure.
“Oh, um, she seemed fine,” Sarah said. “She looked beautiful as always. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures. She was a woman that people gawked at. If you’re looking for alternative theories, I would look into that. There are a lot of perverts in the world.” She looked disgusted. “There are whole porn subgenres devoted to it.”
I nodded. But somebody with a crush was not the kind of alternate theory that would be useful. Juries wanted specifics. Something, someone, they could sink their teeth into. Anything else was too much like saying the bogeyman did it; you couldn’t put him behind bars.
“The two of you spoke at the party?”
“Only for a minute, and mostly about Maude—she was really worried about her daughter. So Amanda and I were worried about her.”
“What’s wrong with her daughter?”
“She’s a teenager at camp. What isn’t wrong with her?” Sarah said dismissively. “Maude’s not used to it, that’s all. She got some dramatic letters and panicked. I’m sure it’s fine now. Then again, we’ve all had more important things to think about.”
“Did you see Amanda talking to anyone else?”
“No, but I got all wrapped up talking to this Brooklyn Country Day mom who I barely even know—who I definitely don’t even like—about the Great Email Debacle.”
“Email debacle?” I asked.
“Somebody’s been hacking into the computers of the Brooklyn Country Day parents, using their dirty laundry against them.” She hesitated again and pressed her lips together. “Like Terry’s Bench, for instance. You know, the Tinder for married people? A bunch of husbands had their account info emailed to their wives, which makes that hacker Robin Hood as far as I’m concerned. There’s that and all the naked selfies that have been stolen. Oh, yes, and porn. Buckets of porn people are getting blackmailed for.” She laughed in a sharp burst. “Anyway, this was all supposed to be secret because the school’s investigating. But that night at the party, everyone got drunk and started spilling. Maybe if I’d been with Amanda instead of listening to all that stupid gossip, she’d be alive.”
“Do you remember what time it was when you last saw Amanda at the party?”
Sarah wiped at her eyes and sniffed. “Let’s see, I got there around eight thirty, and I was home by nine thirty. So sometime in there.”
Suspiciously short was the first thing that jumped to mind. “That’s not very long.”
“I know.” Sarah sounded annoyed. “My oldest was supposed to be in the Hamptons for six weeks. That turned into six days after some fight with his girlfriend. Anyway, he didn’t have house keys, and Thursday nights my husband is out angling to break a hip. Believe me, I never would have left the party if my son hadn’t called. Nothing is better than watching to see who uses the ‘upstairs’ at Maude’s parties. Everyone’s so hush-hush after. If you want to know, you have to be there yourself. I’m in awe of couples whose marriages are that adventurous. Like Maude and Sebe. They could walk through fire naked together and not get burned.”
“Did you see Zach at the party?” I asked.
“I chatted with him for a second,” Sarah said. “He was skulking at the edges of the party and then he left.”
“Did you actually see him leave?”
“No, but I’m assuming … I didn’t see him again.”
“And you didn’t see either Zach or Amanda go upstairs?”
“Please.” Sarah laughed. “You should have seen Amanda’s face when she heard about it. She actually looked like she was going to faint.”
“And Zach?”
Sarah’s eyes went hard. “He’s your client.”
“I’m asking what you saw.”
She snorted lightly, looked away. Lawyers, the look seemed to say. “Aside from our two-second exchange, I only saw Zach circling like some kind of shark,” she said. “Then I went home. I have no idea what he did after that.”
She stood then, heading to the open door. “And now I really do have to get back to work.”
I rose and followed her. “If you think of anything else, you have my cell number,” I said. “It’s the one I called you from.”
“Yeah, I have it,” Sarah said, then paused. She squinted at me, focused anew. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so.” I certainly hoped not.
“Do you have kids in the neighborhood?” she asked. “I’m really good with faces.”
“I live all the way in Sunset Park.”
“Where do your kids go to school, though?” she asked. “I feel like we all cross paths eventually in Brooklyn.”
“I don’t have kids.”
“Smart,” she said, and now she looked intrigued. She glanced at my wedding band.
“Is your better half also a lawyer?”
“No,” I said, with a too hard, bitter laugh.
Sarah leaned in. “What does he or she do?”
“He’s a writer.”
“Oh, that sounds exciting,” she said. “My husband is a lawyer. No offense, but you are all boring as hell. Or maybe that’s just my husband. He’s not a criminal lawyer.”
“No, all lawyers are boring. Boring, but reliable,” I said. “Writers, not so much.”
“Ah, yes, reliable.” She let out a knowing sigh. “It’s not sexy, but it is useful.”
“Can I ask you one last question?”
“I guess.”
“Can you think of anyone other than Zach who might have sent Amanda flowers?” I asked. “Amanda saved an unsigned card.”
“A secret admirer?” Sarah offered. “Like I said, Amanda inspired adoration. That’s what Sebe said once.”
“Sebe?”
“Maude’s husband. But don’t get any ideas. Sebe and Maude have an unorthodox arrangement with the whole ‘upstairs’ thing, but they don’t sleep with each other’s friends. Sebe is devoted to Maude. It’s sickening really. The note didn’t have a name?”
“No. ‘Thinking of you,’ that was all it said.”
“Oh, men. They are so original,” she said coldly. “Well, definitely not Sebe. He’s so French. He’s awkward with American colloquialisms. You think this person who sent the flowers had something to do with what happened to Amanda?”
“I’d like to know who sent them.”
>
“Right, an alternative theory of the case.” Her tone had hardened again. “Sorry, can’t help you there. Because the only theory that makes sense to me is that your client is an arrogant fuck who killed my beautiful friend.”
Amanda
FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE PARTY
As Amanda sat in the Seventy-Eighth Precinct waiting for her turn to speak with a detective, she was overwhelmed by second, third, and fourth thoughts about going there in the first place. It didn’t help that the precinct was even rougher than she’d anticipated—louder and dirtier and far angrier. A place you’d be only if bad things had already happened to you. A place that reminded Amanda too much of St. Colomb Falls.
If it hadn’t been for her promise to Carolyn, she would have gotten up to leave. Not to mention that she’d started thinking about how Zach would react to a restraining order. Were these things a matter of public record? Zach didn’t like anything that violated their privacy, and now she’d be making a public spectacle? She hadn’t even told him about the calls.
“Amanda Grayson?” The officer was on the short side, with dark hair and warm olive skin. His height made him seem boyish and unthreatening, like Zach when Amanda had first met him. He looked around when Amanda didn’t answer, consulted his clipboard again. “Grayson, Amanda!” He was quite annoyed now. That was like Zach, too, abruptly turning on a dime.
“Yes, that’s me,” Amanda said, rising to her feet.
“I’m Officer Carbone.” He motioned her back. “Right this way.”
A Good Marriage Page 15
