Red Leaves by Paullina Simons
‘Yes, she was a jealous girl,’ said Spencer. ‘There was a triangle of sorts –’
‘Are you saying Frankie’s testimony is not compelling?’ Gallagher said loudly.
‘I’m not saying that, sir,’ said Spencer. ‘But compelling us to what? Over-look other things?’
‘Other things like what?’ the chief said unpleasantly. Spencer looked at Will. Even Will didn’t seem to be on Spencer’s side.
Spencer opened his mouth to try again with Katherine Sinclair. Wait, Spencer wanted to say. Listen carefully. Hear me out. But nothing he had to tell them would have given them the same intense, zealous look in their eyes.
The chief had to take a call. John Artell had to make a call. Will patted Spencer on the back. Daphne sat across from Spencer and stared at him.
And then the blood-work report came through the fax machine.
In the middle of reading the report and looking at the jubilant faces around him, Spencer broke off and excused himself. Will followed him out of the conference room.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Will whispered. ‘What the hell has gotten into you?’
‘Nothing,’ said Spencer, quickly walking to his desk and grabbing his keys and coat. ‘I’ll be back.’
‘Spencer!’ Will exclaimed. ‘What the hell is going on? We are in the middle of a –’
‘No, see, that’s the whole trouble,’ Spencer said. ‘You all seem to be at the end of a murder investigation, and at the beginning of a people’s case. I am still in the middle of a murder investigation.’
‘O’Malley,’ said Will, ‘what are you talking about? Did you see? Did you see all the evidence? Did you listen to Frankie?’
‘I saw all the evidence. I listened to Frankie.’
‘So where the hell are you going?’
‘I’m going to talk to Conni Tobias,’ said Spencer.
On the way to Hinman Hall, Spencer thought about Molly’s potato skins, which he hadn’t had yesterday for the first time in two hundred Sundays, because yesterday he had been in Norwalk State Hospital for the chronically ill. His only source of nourishment had been five cups of black coffee, which were lifting him off the ground, and Jack Daniel’s, which he had stumbled on late last night after he returned from Connecticut.
Spencer knew he didn’t have much time.
Conni was not in her room. Neither was Jim, nor Albert.
Spencer figured Conni had to have lunch eventually, so he walked to Collis Café. There was a big bay with four ten-foot-tall windows. Spencer waited at one of the round tables in the bay.
Constance Tobias, the nice girl from the right side of the tracks, from Cold Spring Harbor, from where only one kind of girl ever came – the loved, pampered, well-bred, well-educated kind. Cold Spring Harbor, where the trees were taller than the tallest house, where Long Island Sound peeked through the sycamores, shined, reflected, danced through the oaks and the pines. Cold Spring Harbor, where the driveways were an eighth of a mile long, where the houses had two maids’ quarters and two guest quarters and seven bathrooms and heated, lighted pools and tennis courts and French-brick siding and slate roofs. Cold Spring Harbor, where Conni Tobias colored her hair lighter blond to look pretty for Albert Maplethorpe, where she put Lancôme blush on the cheek with the gash on it.
In high school Spencer hadn’t even known girls like Conni. Spencer’s high school hadn’t had girls in her league. Girls who had thought they were too good for Spencer, who would walk past him with their books and their white sweaters and their upturned noses.
Spencer sometimes thought he had become a Suffolk County traffic cop so he could give all those girls speeding tickets as they raced by in their Trans Ams breaking eighty. Sometimes when he was in a generous mood, he let them go with a warning.
But this could not be one of those times.
After all, this was not about a Trans Am breaking eighty.
This was about being close to death.
Dressed in tight jeans and a high-waisted pink sweater, Conni walked in with friends Spencer didn’t recognize. When she saw Spencer, she stopped smiling. Spencer nodded and stood up, thinking, she’s hoping I’m not waiting here for her, but I can see by her face she knows I’m waiting only for her.
Spencer slowly walked toward her. Conni put on a brave face. ‘Detective O’Malley, can I have my lunch? I haven’t eaten since seven this morning.’
There she is, peeking at me out of the window of her black Trans Am, saying in a high-pitched, flirtatious voice, What’s wrong, officer? Was I going too fast?
‘No, Conni,’ said Spencer. ‘You can’t. I have to talk to you.’
‘Okay, sure, anything. After lunch?’
‘Not after lunch,’ Spencer said, raising his voice. ‘Now.’
He caught her by surprise. She said, trying to smile, ‘I’m not going to lose my appetite, am I?’
‘You might,’ replied Spencer.
His own stomach grumbling, aching from emptiness, he sat down, having bought a cup of coffee and nothing more. This time he drank it with lots of milk and lots of sugar. A liquid lunch, he thought, amused at the irony.
‘Conni,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to beat around the bush. In about half an hour, maybe less, the chief of police is going to come here with a warrant for your arrest.’
‘Arrest?’ Conni said, whisper-quiet. ‘Arrest for what?’ She took a listless bite of her burger.
Their dark cherry-wood table was round; Spencer thought it was appropriate, as though they were back at headquarters. But this table was better suited for questioning, even over a burger.
‘Conni, Frankie Absalom, you remember him?’
‘Of course I remember him,’ she said. ‘He’s a friend.’
‘Frankie saw you on the bridge the night Kristina died.’
She didn’t miss a beat. ‘So?’
Spencer looked away from her. ‘Conni, he saw you on the bridge minutes after Kristina disappeared from sight, and when he saw you, you were already coming back from the woods.’
Conni didn’t say anything, and Spencer didn’t look at her.
‘Do you remember going outside that Tuesday night?’
‘I guess so.’
Spencer lifted his gaze toward Conni. ‘You guess so? I’ve asked you where you were that Tuesday evening a dozen times in a dozen different ways. You never mentioned you went down to the bridge. That’s an important part of your evening, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I didn’t mention it because it had nothing to do with anything.’
Spencer tried not to shout. ‘Yes, but you’re not the judge of that, Conni. You can’t be. Does that make sense to you? Haven’t your well-educated parents taught you that when you’re questioned about your alibi, you can’t omit going to the scene of the murder because you didn’t think it was important?’
‘What do my parents have to do with it?’ she snapped, and Spencer thought, that’s right, what do they have to do with anything? But he thought of the sycamores in Cold Spring Harbor hiding Long Island Sound from view, and thought, they have so much to do with you, Constance Tobias. They’ve made you into what you are, thinking you’re above the law and above me.
‘Let me explain. You disappear for forty minutes and no one sees you anywhere, except Frankie, who places you near the scene of the crime. You want to tell me what you were doing on that bridge?’
‘I already told you.’
‘No, actually. You never told me.’
‘Looking for Albert,’ she said, turning away.
‘On the bridge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you see him?’
‘No.’
‘What about Kristina? Did you see her?’
‘No,’ she said, picking up her burger with shaking hands.
Spencer laughed. ‘What are you doing, Constance? Are you saying you don’t want to talk to me? That’s fine. Because I’m about to leave.’
She exclaimed, ‘Why are they going to arrest
‘For jaywalking! God, Conni, for the premeditated murder of a human being.’
Now it was Conni’s turn to laugh. ‘I didn’t kill her, lieutenant, detective, whoever you are. I didn’t kill her.’
‘No? That’s fine. At your arraignment, you can enter a plea of not guilty. Make it heartfelt.’
‘Arraignment? What are you talking about? I didn’t kill her, I’m telling you.’ She spoke so loudly that everyone at the surrounding tables turned to look at her. It wasn’t often, Spencer guessed, that a Dartmouth College student would be proclaiming her innocence in a murder case during the lunch-hour rush in the middle of Collis Café. Maybe it was a first. People stared.
‘Tell me what happened,’ Spencer said in a gentler voice. ‘Tell me.’
Conni started to cry. ‘Don’t I need a lawyer to talk to you? I’m not allowed to talk to you unless I have my lawyer.’
‘If that’s what you want, have it your way. Just remember, there is no bail for those accused of murder one.’
‘I haven’t been accused of anything by anybody yet,’ she said. ‘Except you.’
Spencer sighed. ‘Miss Tobias. Do I look like a mean man? I’m here to help you. Why are you making this so hard on yourself? If you are innocent, tell me everything, and then I’ll be on your side. That’s my job.’
‘I’m innocent,’ Conni said quickly.
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Because it’s true.’
‘True?’ Spencer searched for words. ‘You just aren’t getting it, are you?’ He paused as he waded through his jumbled thoughts.
‘Why are you looking at me this way?’ Conni said. ‘Like you think I’m guilty?’
Spencer shook his head sadly. ‘You just won’t help me, will you? Why won’t you tell me? Is it my bedside manner? I don’t think so. I’ve been told I’m a decent interrogator. But still, not one of you volunteered information. Jim won’t tell me why when he saw Kristina’s black boots he ran the other way. Albert won’t tell me about him and her. And you won’t tell me what you were doing on that bridge.’
‘I’ll tell you, okay? But if I tell you, will you believe me then?’ she pleaded.
Spencer said calmly, ‘I don’t know, Conni. Let’s have it. But you won’t start telling me it was because you were beside yourself with jealousy, will you? Because when you’re convicted, you’ll be hearing yourself tell that one in prison for the rest of your life. So tell it carefully. And think! Think of everything.’
Conni stared at Spencer, dumbstruck. ‘There is no everything,’ she said, stammering over her words. Her fingers were pulling on her eyebrows and eyelashes. It was painful to watch. ‘Look, I admit, I went out there –’ Spencer saw the enormous effort etched on Conni’s face.
‘I went out there,’ she continued, ‘to look for Albert.’
‘For Albert.’
‘Yes, for Albert.’
‘Why would he be on the bridge?’
‘Because,’ Conni said, struggling over every syllable, ‘where she was, he usually was.’
‘Ahh. I see.’
‘This is so hard for me.’
‘Yes, that much is clear.’
‘I went out there because I thought he might be with her, and I went crazy.’
‘How crazy, Conni?’ Spencer asked her. ‘How crazy?’
She pushed the tray of food away from her, but pushed it too far, and it fell on the floor. They both looked at it but neither picked it up. Conni continued, ‘Don’t be stupid. I just went out there to confront him. Them.’
‘Confront them doing what?’
‘I don’t know. Having sex somewhere.’
‘Having sex in freezing temperatures? You’d have had to catch them quickly.’
‘Kissing, then. Something. I was completely at the end of my rope. You just have no idea what it’s been like for me. The constant nagging suspicion. He’s not in his room, she’s not in her room. He’s nowhere to be found, she’s nowhere to be found. Or … she’s at the library, he’s at the library, she’s walking Aristotle, so is he. She’s at Collis, so is he.’
Spencer was quiet.
‘Look, I was crazy with jealousy. I couldn’t see straight. Detective, I can’t even deny it – I’m happy she’s gone, I’ve wanted her to die for a really long time. She just made me crazy. That’s what I felt. She’d always been in the way between Albert and me. As long as she was around, I was crazy.’
Spencer listened in disbelief to Conni’s words and stared in disbelief at her contorted face. ‘Conni, you just don’t get it, do you? What you’ve just told me, together with the evidence we have – you’re looking at life.’ He paused. ‘A life without Kristina Kim, but certainly life.’
‘What are you talking about? I said I didn’t kill her. I just said I’m happy she’s gone.’
‘Conni, no one will believe you.’ Then he added, slowly, ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I’m telling you the truth. Why would I lie?’
‘Why would you lie?’ And Spencer thought, is she stupid? ‘Why would you lie?’
Then she seemed to get it. ‘Okay, okay. But I’m telling you the truth now. I didn’t kill her. I was looking for him.’
‘To kill him?’
‘Don’t be silly. To confront him.’
‘Confront him with what? And why?’
‘So I would know once and for all if it was true.’
‘True?’ Spencer laughed. ‘Constance, you can’t – you just can’t be this deep in denial. I have never seen them together, and I knew it was true three days ago. After speaking to you once and to Albert once, I knew it was true. You should’ve seen it long ago. Why did you take it?’ Spencer was angry at Conni for letting Albert betray her and Kristina lie to her. ‘Why didn’t you just break up with him, and end it there? Why did you stick around?’
‘Why?’ Conni seemed both surprised and embarrassed by the question. ‘Because I love Albert, that’s why. I love him more than anything. Because I didn’t believe it for a long time. I still kind of don’t in a way. He always looked me right in the face, he sounded so sincere. I just can’t believe he would do that to me, lie to me like that –’
‘Believe it,’ said Spencer. ‘It’s true.’
‘How? How do you know?’
‘She told me. And he told me.’
‘He told you?’ Conni breathed out. Something battled on her face, struggled, fought, and she finally said, ‘I – I can’t – can’t believe he’d tell you that.’
‘Why? He certainly didn’t want to tell me. I had to ask him twenty times. But then that’s par for the course for all of you. You don’t answer anything the first nineteen.’
‘It’s not important anymore,’ Conni said.
‘You’re wrong, Conni. It’s very important,’ Spencer said.
‘No, I mean it doesn’t matter now. It’s better between me and Albert. It’s like, it’s almost like she never existed, you know?’
‘Oh, I know,’ said Spencer, making an effort to stay composed. ‘But she did exist, she was once alive. Can you imagine it, Constance, being alive and young, and then dying?’
Conni said, ‘I’m trying to forget her. I know it’s only been a few days. That’s why I thought giving her money to Red Leaves House was such a good idea. That way she’s not always right there with us, you know? Buying us a house, paying for our wedding. Still in our lives.’
‘She’ll always be in your life now.’
Conni did not understand, or chose not to. Visibly upset, Conni said, ‘What kind of friend – I thought friends didn’t do that to friends.’
‘Conni,’ Spencer said slowly, enunciating every syllable. ‘You’re wrong, friends do that to each other all the time, it’s the oldest betrayal in the book. But boyfriends don’t do that to girls they love. What kind of boyfriend –’
‘That’s what I mean. Albert loves me. I didn’t think he would hurt me like that.’
‘But he did, C
Conni, pale, her mouth twitching, said, ‘I don’t believe it. I don’t think it was from the very beginning.’
Spencer was going to say, trust me Conni, from the very beginning, but instead he sat back. Will wasn’t here to put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. He asked, ‘Those scratches on your cheek, Conni – how did you get them?’
‘I told you, I was playing with my brother –’
‘Conni!’
She moved back in her seat.
‘Conni,’ Spencer said, quieter. He felt the veins in his forehead getting larger, and beating, coursing with frustration. ‘Conni, your blood, your blood, was under Kristina’s nails. We found your blood under her nails, and there is the mark on your cheek to show us where she scratched you.’
‘Under her nails?’ Conni said. Spencer could see she was about to deny it.
Spencer leaned closer, hollow-eyed, gaunt, pale, and, trying hard to stay in control, said, ‘Let me ask you, when you knocked her on the ground and put a pillow over her face to kill her, and she reached up with only one working arm to struggle for the last time and took that chunk out of your face, and you pressed the pillow harder into her, harder and harder, until her hand fell away and she stopped moving, let me ask you, did you then get off her, or did you sit on her for a while longer to make sure she was really dead?’
Conni nearly cried. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ she exclaimed in a frightened voice.
Spencer said quietly, ‘Constance, your blood was under her nails. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’
Spencer could see by Conni’s face she understood.
‘Listen,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Things were coming to a head between us. We used to be really good friends. But you just came into our lives at a really bad time,’ she added, sniffling.
‘Certainly a bad time for her,’ said Spencer.
‘No, a bad time for both of us. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’d try so hard to believe both of them, but it was getting harder and harder. My relationship with Albert and her was getting out of control.’
Spencer waited.