The Wife Who Knew Too Much

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The Wife Who Knew Too Much Page 20

by Michele Campbell


  “What’s that got to do with us?”

  “Without him, there’s no basis for saying it was suicide. The whole inquest was built around his testimony. He said he diagnosed her with terminal cancer a week before she died, that she was despondent. That he gave her a prescription for painkillers. That’s how they explained the drugs they found in her system.”

  The silence stretched out as we looked at each other.

  “But that wasn’t true?” I said finally.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I told you, I wasn’t involved with Nina’s death. I don’t know whether he was telling the truth or not.”

  “You weren’t involved. Was someone else?”

  He looked away. “How would I know what anybody else did? She had a lot of enemies.”

  “Why won’t you look me in the eye?”

  He met my gaze.

  “Because the fish are distracting,” he said, and signaled for the check.

  * * *

  The Levitt Global team had been invited to go on a yacht belonging to the chief executive of their Saudi counterpart. It seemed to me to be an awkward moment to party on a boat with Connor’s business associates. But he couldn’t say no without giving offense, and he refused to leave me behind at the hotel.

  “Besides,” Connor said, “it’s not the worst thing if we’re out of reach in the middle of the ocean for a few days.”

  That afternoon, we boarded a helicopter, flying for an hour high above sparkling waters before touching down on the deck of an enormous yacht. Connor gave me a peck on the cheek and went off to find the conference room where they’d be meeting to finalize the agreement. Juliet and I were escorted to a lounge to wait for our rooms to be ready.

  The lounge was decorated in pristine white, its walls made entirely of glass, retracted and open to the air. Music played softly and a delicious breeze blew in from the deck. A uniformed steward brought us figs, watermelon juice, and a tray of cold towels. I buried my face in the ice-cold towel, drinking in its lemony scent and sighing with pleasure.

  “I guess I knew people lived like this. But to see it for real. Just, wow,” I said.

  Juliet had gotten up. She was standing at the open wall, staring out at the deck with a hard expression.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Lauren Berman is here. I see her by the pool.”

  “Oh.” I paused. “I knew she was on this trip. She’s part of the deal team.”

  Juliet looked at me like I was crazy. “And you’re okay with that?”

  I swallowed hard. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “Lauren’s a snake. Don’t ever turn your back on her.”

  I was surprised by the venom in Juliet’s voice.

  I put it down to, they must have a history.

  The steward came back and escorted us to our cabins. My room had picture windows, its own balcony, an en suite bath, and décor straight out of a magazine. It also had twenty-four-hour room service and spa treatments on call. I booked a massage and facial, and ten minutes later a matronly woman who spoke heavily accented English showed up with a massage table. For the next two hours, she rubbed my back and legs with essential oils and applied various potions to my face. At the end of the treatments, I was refreshed and glowing, smelling of lavender. I asked her for the bill.

  “No bill. Compliments of host.”

  I realized I had no idea who the host was.

  “Please thank him for me. And this is for you.”

  I handed her a hundred bucks from my handbag. She looked shocked, but the waitress in me always tipped, whether it was expected or not, and the amount I tipped had gone up commensurate with my newfound wealth. It just seemed like I had so much, it would be wrong not to share.

  Hungry now, I got dressed and made my way to the lounge, hoping to find Connor so we could eat dinner together. I paused on the deck to admire the setting sun, its blazing circle just touching the water, spreading vivid pinks and oranges in all directions. In my old life, at this hour, I’d’ve been in the middle of dinner service at the Grill, sweating, carrying heavy trays, my clothes reeking of that night’s special. Instead, I was on a fabulous yacht in the middle of the ocean. But was it worth the pit of dread in my stomach, the certainty that everything was about to come crashing down?

  In the lounge, there were no men in sight, only a gaggle of tall, gorgeous young women in tiny bikinis, speaking a language I didn’t recognize. They lounged at the bar, giggling, and shot me hostile looks when I came in. The proportions of their bodies were so extreme that they looked more like gazelles than humans. I felt like I’d landed on a distant planet.

  “Russians,” a voice behind me said.

  I turned to find Lauren Berman, dressed for dinner in flowy white pants and a beaded halter top, a martini glass in her hand. I realized that I looked wrong, wearing the black dress I’d bought for that other dinner, which was too hot for this climate.

  “They’re Russian? I figured they were the Saudi wives, talking Arabic.”

  “God, you really are from the farm. They’re prostitutes.”

  Lauren had been drinking again and spoke much too loudly. One of the young women turned and actually hissed at her.

  “I think they understand English,” I said.

  “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

  I believed her about the Russian women, and it bothered me. But who was I to judge? This was a world I didn’t understand. Maybe inviting prostitutes on your yacht was normal.

  “Pax, by the way.”

  She held out her hand to me. I stared at it, not sure what to do.

  “Look, I was drunk, okay? Yes, I had a thing with Connor, but it was two wives ago. Even if I were still interested, which I’m not, he’s obviously mad about you, and not in the market.”

  “You’re not interested?”

  “No. If nothing else, he’s a risky proposition right now.”

  She saw the expression on my face and guffawed.

  “You are too much. Just kidding, okay? Hank and I are reconciling.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really. Now, chillax. We can do dinner on the deck or in the dining room. I just have to tell the purser.”

  “I’m waiting for Connor.”

  “Of course, so am I,” she said, adding, “And the rest of the team. But we can sit and chat until they arrive.”

  A crew member escorted us to a table in a secluded part of the deck. It had been set with flowers, crystal, fine china, and silver. Twinkling white lights strung from the bow combined with soft music to create a lovely ambience. A warm breeze blew. With no lights visible as far as the eye could see, we might have been a thousand miles from land. As a waiter in a white jacket took drink orders, Juliet joined us. She wore her long, dark hair down, and a pretty floral dress. It brought up a memory that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The tension between her and Lauren was palpable. I looked back and forth between them, trying to discern what it was about. There was an undercurrent of something, but it was beyond my ability to understand.

  “Have you seen the latest ChitChat garbage?” Lauren said.

  “Do we have to talk about that?” I said.

  “It’s smart to know what’s being said about you.”

  “About me?”

  “Yes, girlfriend. They’re digging into your background. I saw photos of the restaurant where you worked, and your apartment complex. My, but you’ve come up in the world. And so quickly. They made a point of noting that.”

  “Is that it? That’s all they said?”

  She looked at me cannily. “Why? Is there more?”

  “What you’ve described doesn’t bother me at all. Being middle class is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Lauren raised a luxuriant eyebrow. “Middle class?”

  “God, would you leave her alone?” Juliet said, glaring at Lauren.

  “Hey, you know what I wonder, Juliet? What do you have aga
inst me? One of these days I might take it upon myself to find out.”

  The rest of the party arrived, putting an end to the squabbling. Hank, Connor, and the other Levitt Global execs were accompanied by several Saudis and the Russian women we’d seen in the lounge earlier. Hank kissed Lauren on the lips and took a seat beside her, his hand on her bare back. Maybe she was telling the truth about their reconciliation. Connor sat across from me, between Hank and one of the Saudi men. Now and then during the dinner he would catch my eye and smile. I relaxed a little. The food was Middle Eastern and delicious. Grape leaves, hummus, broiled lamb, rice pilaf, yogurt and honey for dessert. The wine was French and expensive. Everybody drank copious amounts of it, except me and the Saudis, who abstained from alcohol. We retired to the lounge for a nightcap. The steward served a flight of rare artisanal scotches, flown in from an award-winning distillery in Scotland. Everybody drank, and laughed loudly, though with an edge of hysteria like they were partying through the sack of Rome.

  I was returning from the bathroom, lingering to appreciate the moonlight on the water, when Juliet stumbled out of the lounge onto the deck, about twenty feet ahead of me. She glanced over her shoulder, and I drew back into the shadows. Connor came flying out of the lounge after her.

  “What the hell was that? Don’t you walk away from me,” he said.

  “Fuck off.”

  She started up the stairs to the flybridge.

  “Don’t be like that. Come on.”

  He followed her up the stairs. I emerged from the shadows, heart pounding, and stood at the bottom of the staircase, looking after them in shock. I couldn’t hear them anymore, over the sound of the breeze and the waves lapping at the boat. I had to get closer. I climbed slowly, one step at a time, until I was a couple of steps below the top. One more rung, and they’d see my head. But it wasn’t enough. I could make out the tone of their conversation—angry and filled with recriminations—but not the words. Then I heard a sound. Was that—? Juliet. Sobbing. Connor was silent, and a terrible thought crossed my mind.

  He’s holding her.

  I backed down the stairs like I’d been burned and made my way to our cabin, where I threw myself onto the bed. What had I just witnessed?

  Connor and Juliet knew each other better than I’d ever imagined. That much was clear. But—in what way? Were they lovers? Co-conspirators? Something else? And which answer would hurt worst? I’d been grappling with the idea that Connor had slept with Lauren. Yes, it was years ago, and things between them were over. Yet, it still upset me very much. And now Juliet? If there was something romantic between them, even if it was in the past, I was not okay with that. Already, I felt like the earth had shifted beneath my feet. Juliet lived in our house. She’d snooped in my room and found out about my pregnancy. When she’d seemed angry about it, I’d put that down to her loyalty to Nina. Was there a different reason? She was the one who’d suggested I wear the Levitt emeralds, setting off the tabloid scrutiny that had caused so much trouble. She pretended she was trying to help, but in retrospect, it seemed obvious she wanted to hurt me. The Juliet I knew was pleasant, somewhat distant, formal, a bit dull. I couldn’t reconcile that persona with the woman I’d just seen tell Connor to fuck off, arguing with him, sobbing on the flybridge. The face she showed me was a false one. That must mean that she was hiding something. That they both were.

  Connor didn’t come back to the room for another hour. I pretended to be asleep. I heard him stumbling around, swearing as he bumped into things. When he got into bed, I could smell the liquor on him. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, snoring loudly, keeping me awake. I lay beside him, wondering who I’d married.

  The next day, the yacht set sail. People kept to their cabins. Everyone but me was hungover. I spent most of the day sitting by the pool, under an umbrella, taking in the exotic sights and sounds and smells. We were somewhere in the Arab world; exactly where, I never learned. By sunset, we’d docked in an industrial-looking port city in an unnamed country. I saw the towers of the mosques silhouetted against the sky and heard the call to prayer blaring from loudspeakers. The wind blew from the direction of the city, carrying the scent of smoke and oil. There was another fancy dinner that night, but I begged off, claiming illness, and had a tray in my cabin. By the time Connor came to bed, I was asleep. We sailed overnight, reaching Dubai early in the morning, and transferred to the airport.

  Hank and Lauren were staying on in the UAE for another few days with the rest of the team. Connor, Juliet, and I would fly home. Her ticket was business class, and ours was first. I was relieved that we wouldn’t have to sit with her, not even in the lounge, which was segregated by cabin class.

  My mental state fluctuated between denial and panic. At moments, it seemed not only like nothing was wrong, but like I was living a dream life. Connor and I waited in the first-class lounge, side by side in luxurious leather chairs, surrounded by well-heeled business travelers filling up on free food and booze. When I got bored, I took a stroll to the duty-free to stretch my legs and bought anything I liked. Makeup and magazines and a cashmere wrap in case I was cold on the plane. But Connor was distant, absorbed in his phone. He said he had a headache. He claimed to have documents to review for the Saudi deal. He barely spoke to me, though that came as a relief. If we’d started talking, I doubt I could’ve held my tongue about what I’d seen. But neither did I want a confrontation in public that might end up in the tabloids. On the flight home, he was seated in the row behind me, so I couldn’t even see him. I lay wide awake on my lie-flat seat, worrying about the days ahead. The baby was unusually active, and I put my hand on my abdomen, trying to feel her, wondering what her future held.

  At the baggage claim, Juliet smiled and nodded as she collected our luggage tags. She’d wait for the bags, then follow us to Windswept in an Uber. She seemed so calm, so normal, so much her pleasant, efficient self, just doing her job, that I started to question what I’d overheard on the boat. It was so far away—another climate, almost another planet. Maybe I’d misunderstood. Maybe it was nothing.

  That would be so much easier.

  As Connor and I exited through Customs, I saw that it was evening here. We’d been on the plane forever, and I’d lost all track of time. The smell of car exhaust and cigarette smoke hung on the chill air. The pavement was slick with rain as Ubers and limos jostled one another for space at the curb. Connor took my arm protectively.

  “I see Dennis. This way,” he said.

  Dennis waited by the Mercedes. As we approached, he nodded crisply and opened the rear door. Connor stepped aside to let me get in first. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two figures approach the Mercedes, a man and a woman. The woman was pulling something from her pocket. The long flight, the jet lag, the lack of sleep—it took me a moment to understand that it was a badge, and that they were coming for me. They’d been waiting.

  “Mrs. Ford?” the man said.

  He stepped up and grabbed me by the arm.

  “Tabitha Ford, I’m Detective Ryan Hagerty. I have a warrant for your arrest. Come with us, please,” he said.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Connor demanded. “Get your hands off my wife.”

  The female detective held up a piece of paper.

  “Sir, Detective Denise Pardo. This is a copy of the warrant. You can have your lawyer review it if you like. You’ll find it’s in order.”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Nina Levitt,” Hagerty said. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…”

  My knees buckled, and the world went dark.

  30

  I woke up on a cot in the secure medical facility at JFK Airport with an IV stuck in my arm. Detective Pardo sat on a chair next to my bed, scrolling through her phone. After a moment, she looked up and noticed that I was conscious.

  “She’s awake,” she called.

  The medical personnel were busy with other patients and ignored her.

  Pardo expla
ined that I’d fainted and had been taken to the “van,” which was actually a trailer in the middle of a parking lot somewhere, fitted out with medical equipment and staffed by a doctor, a couple of nurses, and numerous law-enforcement officers. It was there to treat drug mules who’d been arrested smuggling heroin-filled condoms in their stomachs. I felt like Cinderella at midnight. The day before, I’d been on a yacht. Now I was here, surrounded by men and women of every age and color who looked beaten down and exhausted. Some looked angry. One woman sobbed pitifully, repeating over and over that she was innocent and didn’t belong here. You and me both, sister. I knew how this went. I could protest my innocence, but no one would care.

  Eventually, a nurse came by and checked my blood pressure. She removed the IV, then had me sit up in a chair and drink some orange juice from a can. The juice tasted sour and metallic. But it had enough sugar in it that the baby suddenly kicked me hard, making me gasp. I put my hand on my abdomen. The nurse asked how far along I was. Feeling Detective Pardo’s eyes on me, I just shrugged and didn’t reply.

  It was after midnight by the time the doctor signed my discharge papers. Detective Pardo handcuffed me and walked me down the steps of the van to the parking lot, where an unmarked police car sat spewing exhaust into the cold night. It was raining steadily, and the handcuffs were cutting off my circulation. Hagerty got out and opened the rear door, and only then did it hit me that I wasn’t going home tonight. I was going to jail.

  “Where’s my husband? I want to see him.”

  “We told him there was no point in waiting around for you tonight,” Pardo said.

  Anger seared me. How dare she send Connor away? In that moment, I hated her so much I could have hurt her. Her sharp, nasty features, her smug, clipped way of speaking. Hagerty was just the opposite. He had a soft face, blondish hair. He reminded me of a golden retriever.

  “Let’s get you out of the rain,” he said, sympathy in his eyes.

  Hagerty put his hand up to protect my head as I slid into the hard, cold backseat. It occurred to me that they were playing good cop/bad cop, and they were just right for those roles. The mind games were having their intended effect. I hated Pardo’s guts, and felt a powerful rush of emotion toward Hagerty, like he was my best friend, and I should tell him my secrets. I had to be stronger than this, to remember what my lawyer up in New Hampshire taught me about when to talk to the cops. The right answer was never.

 

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