by Lexi Blake
But he should. She got back to the issue at hand. The faster she got through this, the quicker he could be out of here and back to his life. He’d had to practically hold her hand all day. She wasn’t this girl. “So I got dressed and took a cab. I still have the receipt. He dropped me off at roughly two forty-five and the doorman let me in. Miranda was already waiting, but I decided to go up first.”
“Why?” Garza asked. “If those were my parents, I would have gotten up there as quickly as I could.”
“She’s twenty and her father has health issues.” Mental problems. Sometimes he didn’t recognize his own daughter. Sometimes he scared Miranda. “I asked her to wait for me. I didn’t want her to walk in and see something she couldn’t unsee.”
“Are you saying her father is violent?” Campbell sat back.
“She’s already stated that Trey Adams has health issues. She’s not his doctor,” David said. “And I believe this interview is about what she witnessed this morning. Could we stick to that?”
The detective’s disappointment was a palpable thing, but he nodded for her to continue.
“I went up in the private elevator.”
“Is that locked down?” Garza asked.
“Yes, but it’s not the only way in. I know there’s a delivery entrance and there are stairs that connect the penthouse to the rest of the building. You’ll have to talk to the doorman. When I got there the door wasn’t locked and no, that’s not normal. Portia is careful about security and they have a high-tech system.”
“With cameras?” Campbell had a notebook out despite the fact that they were recording the interview.
“There are cameras around the building but not around the penthouse. The only thing Portia valued more than security was privacy. You’ll see me before I get into the elevator and on the elevator, but once I get off, there’s no tape.” And she was grateful for that because what happened next was something she wasn’t proud of.
“Why didn’t you call the police when you realized the door was open?” Campbell asked.
David leaned in. “I thought we were dealing with the timeline, not questioning her. Again, if we’re going to do that, I’ll stop the process here and now and get her an attorney.”
“You’re acting like she’s guilty, Counselor.” There was no small amount of provocation in Garza’s tone.
“Like I said, my clients value their privacy. I wasn’t about to call in the authorities until I knew what I was dealing with. We were trying to keep his condition quiet,” Isla replied. “For all I knew Trey had been out and he’d forgotten to close the door, and before you ask, yes, he did forget things. I tried calling both Trey and Portia, but I couldn’t get either to answer. Again, not surprising since it was early in the morning and they should have been sleeping. I called out but it’s a big place. I didn’t see anything wrong until I got to the second floor.”
She didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to remember. God, how had it been less than twelve hours? It seemed like this was something that had been weighing on her forever. The world had flipped and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“Isla, we can leave if you need to. They obviously aren’t charging you with the crime and the material witness statute doesn’t apply here. You’re not leaving town and you’re willing to talk to the police and the DA’s office,” David said quietly. “He’s being an ass, but there’s not a lot he can do here.”
She shook it off. She had to get through this because she was the only one who could. No one else knew what she’d seen, could explain what had happened in those moments. “I went to Trey’s bedroom first.” She knew the question that was coming. It was none of their business, but Portia’s precious privacy was gone, eliminated in the act of her murder. It was the sad truth of the crime. Portia would be a victim twice. Her very life had been taken from her. And then her life would be ripped apart, vivisected and examined by people who couldn’t understand the uniqueness of how she passed her days. Every choice she’d made would now be judged, her life a measure of the way she died. All to answer the question everyone asked and no one voiced, that secret fear—did she deserve it? It was a natural thing. People blamed the victim, found a way to distance themselves so they never had to think that kind of death could come for them. “They’d had separate bedrooms for years, but it doesn’t say anything about their marriage except that Trey snored.”
“All right,” Garza allowed. “Was Mr. Adams in his bedroom?”
She shook her head. “No, but that was when I heard something. I heard someone crying. I followed the sound. There was one lamp on, but it was in the living room. It was dark up the stairs. That was odd because there are sconces in the hallways that are usually on at night. I found my way down the hall to Portia’s bedroom.”
This was where everything went dark. One long breath and then another because she didn’t want to be in this place, didn’t want to think about or see this again.
Someone was crying. The sound was guttural and low, as though the voice that held the sorrow had been decimated. As if the soul it represented couldn’t take much more. That was what she heard. The pain registered in her very ears. Isla stopped in the middle of the hall. It was dark, but there was light ahead. Portia’s bedroom was open. Isla could close her eyes and see that pretty, feminine bedroom. Sometimes she would sit in there while Portia dressed, taking notes and discussing business. They would have coffee if it was morning. Tea was for the afternoon. If she happened to be there after five, wine or a martini would be served. Portia enjoyed the ritual of days and god, she so loved each holiday.
Why was her door open at this time of night? Why was that sound, that terrible sound, coming from her room? It was the sound of a wounded animal.
She knew she should be running toward that sound. If she was the person she thought she was, she should race to it, try to help, but something deep inside her, some internal instinct knew that wasn’t a sound that called for help. It was a sound of death. It was beyond help. It was despair, and she would know despair if she walked into that room.
Yet she forced herself to keep going. If she didn’t step into that room, Miranda would. Someone had to. Someone had to know and it couldn’t be a person who didn’t care. Someone from the family had to step up, to begin to chronicle how that sound had come to be.
She walked, her feet slapping against the marble floors. Every step seemed hard, but she wouldn’t back down. She moved down the dark corridor and into the light. She turned into that room she knew well and she stopped.
If something could be overturned in the room, it had been. Portia’s perfectly organized outer room was complete chaos. Her Theodore Alexander desk had been turned over, the drawers pulled out and tossed around like children’s toys. Someone had taken a knife to her chaise. Her precious books had been pulled from their shelves and thrown out like trash.
The lights were all on. Why would they be on at this time of night?
She moved past the small living room section of the suite. Someone was sobbing. Call the police. Walk back out and let someone else deal with this.
She kept going, her feet on the plush carpet because she’d moved from marble in the hall to the luxury of the bedroom. She moved because she could do nothing less. Portia was her friend. When her own parents hadn’t believed in her, Portia was there.
You don’t have to marry someone to make your life meaningful. Quite the opposite. Make your life meaningful and then you’ll be ready to love someone fully because you’ll love yourself.
She couldn’t walk away.
But that sound. It was visceral. A low cry that came from someone’s soul.
“Trey?” There was a quake to her voice she wished wasn’t there. She sounded like a scared child, but then she felt like one, too, because she knew this didn’t end well. This didn’t end in some kooky adventure where Portia had sprained her ankle b
ecause her heels were so high. This was no sitcom.
She moved past the bed. It had been slept in at some point. The silky cover was pushed back and the pillows had indentations in them. Her slippers were still on the floor as if waiting to be used, her robe draped on the edge of the bed.
She turned, the world seeming to slow. Light spilled out from the bathroom and that was when she saw it. For a moment it didn’t quite register in her brain. As she stood there, she wondered how they would get that dark stain off the milky white marble. Had Portia gone crazy and decided to play around with hair dye? There was so much of it. It was almost to the carpet. Should she get some towels and sop it up?
It was blood. Some practical part of her was still thinking, still capable of reason. That was blood, so much blood that whatever body it came from had almost certainly released the soul it held.
She started at the sound of another animalistic groan.
If she stayed here, she wouldn’t have to see it. If she stayed here, it wouldn’t haunt her.
If she stayed here, she would be a coward.
She stepped around the blood and saw a sight that would be with her forever.
“Do you need a break?”
David’s quiet question broke through her memories and she realized she’d been talking for a while. She shivered despite the warmth of the coat around her body.
The detectives were staring at her expectantly.
If she took a break, she might never come back. She shook her head. “I want to get it over with.”
“You stepped into the bathroom,” Garza prompted.
She had to divorce her emotions. She forced herself to look at the detective. “That was when I found Trey and Portia. He was holding her.”
He had his arms wrapped around his dead wife like holding her could somehow bring her back, like she could absorb his life’s energy and somehow find a way home.
“She was dead at the time?” Campbell asked.
“Oh, yes. There’s no question in my mind. I couldn’t see much of her because Trey wouldn’t let go, but she was covered in blood.” Her skin had been like the marble, contrasting starkly against the dirty, almost muddy color of the blood.
“Did you speak to him?”
She shook her head. “Not then. I . . . I turned and ran back out to the hallway. I’m not proud of it, but I threw up. There are several large potted trees on that floor. I threw up in one and then I called the police.”
Campbell looked down at his file. “Our records show you called the police at 3:14 A.M. That’s when 911 logged the call.”
She wasn’t sure of the exact time. “Okay. I’m sure that’s right.”
David tensed beside her and she knew something had gone wrong.
Garza glanced back at her notes. “We have the elevator log. You went up the private elevator at 2:50 A.M. Are you telling me it took you twenty-four minutes to get from the elevator to that moment when you called the police? Because that must be a very big house.”
Had it taken her that long?
“This interview is over.” David stood up. “Detectives, if you want more from her, call my office.”
Campbell shut his notebook. “I think we have what we need for now, but we’ll be in touch.”
She was sure they would.
As David led her out of the interview room, a door down the hall came open and Royce stepped out.
All the way down that long hall, she could feel his eyes on her.
THREE
“You don’t have to walk me up,” Isla said as the car stopped in front of her building. She wanted him there, right beside her. Over the course of one day, she’d come to view the big, gorgeous lawyer as something of a teddy bear. Could she call him an emotional support attorney and take him with her everywhere? David had been smart and, beyond that, kind and patient with her.
Which was precisely why she needed to be a big girl and let him get on with his life.
It had been hours since she was released from the station. They’d gone to the hospital, where she met the other two lawyers aside from Noah in David’s firm. Margarita Reyes and Henry Garrison seemed solid. Reyes had successfully argued that Trey Adams should be held in the hospital until he was well enough for a physical and psychiatric evaluation.
They’d waited for a while, hoping Trey would wake up long enough for them to speak, but he’d been heavily sedated and didn’t seem like he would come out of it any time soon.
Everywhere they’d gone there were press. She’d had to fight through them at the station and the hospital. She was worried about the rest of the family. It seemed there were reporters camping out close to Miranda’s apartment, but they hadn’t found Oscar yet.
They would soon enough, but for now the kids were safe.
Tomorrow might be another story.
“I thought we could talk,” David said. “We’ve avoided the subject, but there’s no way we’ll get around it forever. Unless you don’t want to talk to me. Do you have a lawyer you prefer?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “Please come upstairs. I’ll tell you anything you need to know. I think I still have some lasagna leftovers.”
“Food and information. What more could a man ask for?” He said something to the driver and then followed her out.
The black sedan drove off.
“Did your driver want to come up, too?” She hated the thought of the poor man driving around and around Manhattan.
“I gave him the rest of the night off. I’m only a block away from here. I can walk home.” He nodded as the doorman let them in. “I believe they’re going to arrest Trey in the morning. The ADA is hungry and this is a red meat case.”
“They don’t have any evidence.”
“Not that we know of. That’s kind of why I want to pick your brain.” David stopped at the elevator, pressing the button to call it down. “I’m worried given Trey’s state of mind and overall health that they’re going to railroad this through. Is there any way he might be able to take the stand? Not that I would do it. I would prefer not to, but I have to be able to question him.”
The doors opened and she followed him in, selecting her floor and watching the doors close.
“Some days he’s perfectly coherent.” She needed him to understand something. “He couldn’t have killed her.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care if he’s guilty or innocent.”
“He’s innocent.” She knew it deep in her heart. Trey hadn’t done this. She looked up at David, willing him to understand. The elevator that seemed roomy most of the time now felt the slightest bit cramped. He took up a lot of the space, but in a good way, an I’m-safe-with-this-man way.
“I’m glad he has someone who believes in him, but that’s not my job.” David stared down at her, but his eyes seemed kind. “I know it sounds harsh, but my job is to put on the best defense for him, to get the absolute best outcome we can given the circumstances we’re in.”
“And you don’t think that’s an innocent verdict.”
He shook his head and looked back at the doors. “I think it’s too soon to make any kind of call, but trying to kill himself this afternoon certainly didn’t help. It’s already all over the news.”
The elevator opened and she led him out, pulling her keys from her bag. “I hate that the kids are hearing this on the news.”
“What’s their family dynamic like?” David asked. “Are they happy?”
“As any family, I suppose. But if you’re asking if either of the kids had a problem with their mother, I would say no. Oscar is embarrassed by his father, but he was close to his mother.”
David seemed to have stiffened beside her. “Embarrassed because of the CTE?”
She brought the keys up to the lock, deeply grateful she wasn’t walking in here alone. Her hands were still shaking. Damn it
.
“Allow me.” David stepped up, took her keys, and swiftly had the door open. “After you.”
She tried not to think about how her skin had warmed where he’d touched her, how close he was as he held open the door. She stepped inside. This was her sanctuary. At least it had been. Now she wondered how long it would be before she felt safe again. Despite what the police believed—what David probably thought—she knew Trey hadn’t killed his wife. Someone had done that to Portia. Someone had snuck in and watched her while she slept and then took a knife and ended her in a viciously brutal fashion.
How long had she suffered? How much pain had she been in? Isla tried to shake it off. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this fragile. I would have told you I was tough. I guess today proved me wrong.”
“You’re close to these people.” David set his briefcase down on her coffee table. “You can’t expect to see something like that and not fall apart. I would think you were a little cold if you didn’t.”
She’d done worse than falling apart. “I froze. I froze for twenty minutes. Well, when I wasn’t puking my guts out. How could that have happened? How could so much time have gone by and I didn’t even realize it?”
“You were in shock, but they’ll use this against us if they can.”
Her mind was still whirling. Ever since they’d left the police station she couldn’t help but wonder why Royce seemed determined to put her in some kind of a corner. “Use it for what? To prove I was in on it? Or that I covered something up?”
She’d promised him food. She’d made that lasagna to eat for the next few days, but she could share. She moved into the kitchen.
He followed. “You wouldn’t be the first attorney to help a wealthy client get away with a crime. Some people would say private lawyers are also known as excellent cleaners.”
“Well, there goes my career, because I was terrible at it. If I was going to cover up his crime, why would I let the police catch him covered in his wife’s blood? I at least should have made him shower.” Had she done everything she should have? She’d panicked and gotten emotional. She’d known Miranda was downstairs, known she would have to be the one to tell her that her mom was gone.
