Page 58 of One of Us Is Guilty

‘What was in the gym bag?’ I asked.

‘Patrick’s change of clothes, spare toothbrush, change of underwear, socks and spare shoes. I told Molly she had to stop seeing him. She agreed.’

‘You lied to us. You lied to the police. You told them there was no affair. You told them you had barely spoken to Molly. You told them you’d never been to the apartment. If you didn’t kill her, then why all of these lies?’ I asked.

Her head fell forward and she stared at her shoes. Her back, which had been straight before, hunched in a perfect arch. It was like watching somebody take off a disguise.

She looked at each of us in turn, but didn’t speak.

‘Don’t tell us you were trying to protect your husband’s political career,’ said Harry. ‘We’ve seen how he is with you. Other than a very misguided sense of loyalty, there’s no reason to protect him.’

‘I wasn’t trying to protect him,’ she said, finally. ‘I was trying to protect her.’

‘Molly?’ asked Harry.

She nodded.

‘Why should we believe any of this?’ I asked.

Vanessa rolled up her sleeves and displayed her arms.

‘Jesus,’ said Harry.

‘At first, he used his hands,’ said Vanessa. She spoke softly, but there was power and sorrow in every word. ‘It didn’t take long for things to get worse. We were married a year when . . . It was our first anniversary . . . He thought I wasn’t appreciative enough of the jewelry, and the dinner, and the ballet. That’s when he started to burn me. The first time it was a cigar, but it got worse. He would heat spoons on the stove or with a kitchen blowtorch. He laughed when the hot metal touched my skin. I remember that. I don’t think I will ever forget it. He said burns were a reminder – to avoid weakness.’

She fell silent. The sunlight from the window sparked in a tear that ran over her cheek as she rolled down her sleeves.

She said, ‘He’s careful. He won’t hurt me where someone could easily see. It didn’t start this way. It took time.’

It doesn’t matter if you live paycheck to paycheck, or if you’re staying in a hotel room that costs two grand a night, the feeling of powerlessness, of vulnerability, that sensation of being trapped in a nightmare, feels just the same for everyone.

I wanted to help her.

She sat down again, her face flushed hot with embarrassment.

It takes a lot to confess that you are a victim.

‘The night she was murdered, tell us what happened,’ said Harry.

‘I confronted her about Patrick. She denied it at first, but I told her I knew. I guess she felt guilty. I saw his gym bag in the corner of the living room. I said I was taking his stuff. That she had to stop seeing him. That she had to call the office in the morning and tell Geoff that she’d quit and she wouldn’t be back. And that was it. I took his bag, and I left.’

‘How did your DNA and Molly’s blood get onto that jewelry box?’ I asked.

There it was. The DA’s case, laid out for Vanessa’s response. If we couldn’t find a reasonable and rational explanation for this, the jury would again revert to the simplest explanation – that the blood was on the jewelry box because they fought with it, and only one of them is still alive. That’s a three-minute deliberation and a guilty verdict at the end of it.

‘I have no idea how my DNA got onto that jewelry box. I’ve never seen it before in my life.’

That wasn’t a reasonable explanation, but right then, that didn’t trouble me much. It was the way Vanessa gave her response. She’d clenched her hands, leaned forward, stared me straight in the eyes and spoke clearly and cleanly – like she was trying to persuade me.

Clients who tell the truth don’t have to persuade their lawyers of anything. They give their responses honestly and without affectation. I hadn’t spotted Vanessa’s tells yet, not all of them at least. But this . . . this was concerning.

I was pretty sure she was lying about the jewelry box.

Did that make her a killer?

For me, maybe not. For a jury?

No doubt.