Chương 7
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The interior system does not retain footage automatically.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It was designed that way at Mr. Caldwell’s request. Recordings are held for six hours unless manually preserved.”
“Why?”
“Privacy.”
“For him.”
“For the family.”
Maya looked at Thomas’s face.
“Did you preserve the footage?”
“No.”
“Did Victoria ask you to delete it?”
“No.”
“Did Richard?”
Thomas did not answer quickly enough.
“What did he say?”
“After the police arrived, he told me not to touch the system.”
“That sounds correct.”
“It was already after midnight. The relevant footage expired while we were being interviewed.”
Maya felt the cold through the thin soles of her shoes.
“Did he know that?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he let it disappear?”
Thomas’s eyes shifted away.
“I don’t know.”
“You came here because you do.”
“I came because your recording may be the only visual evidence that remains.”
“Tell the detective.”
“I will.”
“When?”
He looked up at the apartment windows.
“My wife has rheumatoid arthritis. The gatehouse comes with my position. If I’m dismissed, we have thirty days to leave.”
Maya thought of her mother cleaning offices at night after Richard Caldwell let an accusation stand.
“Thomas, he almost drank poison.”
“I know.”
“You stood behind him.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still deciding whether your housing matters more than the truth.”
Thomas accepted the words without defending himself. That made them feel crueler.
“Yes,” he said. “That is exactly what I’m deciding.”
Maya looked at the mud on his shoe.
“You called my mother after they found the brooch.”
His face changed.
“She told you.”
“She should have told me years ago.”
“I was ashamed.”
“You still work for them.”
“I have been ashamed for a very long time.”
Maya did not know what to do with that. Shame was not repair. It did not restore wages or reputations. It also was not nothing.
“Go to Detective Patel tomorrow,” she said. “Tell her all of it.”
Thomas nodded.
“Not after talking to Richard’s attorney.”
His eyes lifted.
“You were going to.”
“I thought I should inform my employer.”
“He has been informed for twenty-two years.”
Thomas stood in the rain a moment longer, then turned away.
At the curb, he paused.
“Mrs. Caldwell was wearing the emerald ring when your mother was accused,” he said.
“I know.”
“She knew the brooch had been found.”
“I know that too.”
“No,” Thomas said. “I mean she knew before your mother was dismissed.”
Maya stepped closer.
“How?”
“The Palm Beach housekeeper later told me Victoria had asked her to repair the torn lining of the travel case before the museum dinner. The brooch had slipped into that tear. Victoria must have known it was possible.”
“Did you tell Richard?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said reopening the matter would create unnecessary damage.”
Maya laughed once, without humor.
Thomas looked toward her. “That was the phrase he used.”
Then he walked away.
Detective Patel called Maya the next afternoon.
“Thomas Reed gave a supplemental statement.”
Maya stood at the laundromat, holding one of Luis’s shirts. Washers turned behind her in slow, silver circles.
“Did he tell you about the cameras?”
“Yes.”
“Did Richard let the footage expire?”
“I’m not discussing conclusions.”
“He knew.”
“We are looking at the system logs.”
“What was in the wine?”
Patel was silent.
“Detective.”
“The laboratory identified a toxic compound in the decanter and in Mr. Caldwell’s glass.”
Maya sat down on a plastic chair.
A dryer door banged shut across the room.
“Could it have killed him?”
“Yes.”
The word was quiet.
Maya looked at the shirt in her lap. One sleeve had turned inside out.
“Was it meant to?”
“We don’t know intent yet.”
“She put it in his wine.”
“We have evidence that an object was placed in the decanter. We have evidence of a toxic substance in the decanter. We still have to establish what the object was, how she obtained it, and what she believed would happen.”
Maya closed her eyes.
She had known. Her body had known before the lab, before the police, before the headlines. Still, the confirmation made the laundromat seem unreal. People continued folding towels. A child rolled a quarter along the edge of a vending machine. Soap spun behind glass.
“Is she being arrested?”
“I can’t discuss timing.”
“That means no.”
“It means I can’t discuss timing.”
Maya opened her eyes.
“Her attorney says she put a sleep aid in the wine,” Patel said. “They claim she was trying to delay a confrontation because Mr. Caldwell was exhausted and behaving erratically.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you yet.”
“She could have killed him.”
“Yes.”
“And she’s home.”
“Mrs. Caldwell is not at the mansion.”
“Where is she?”
“I can’t discuss that.”
“Of course.”
Patel let the irritation pass.
“Maya, do not speak publicly. Do not respond to accusations online. Do not meet with anyone representing either Caldwell without counsel.”
“I can’t afford counsel.”
“We can connect you with a victim-witness advocate, but they are not your personal attorney.”
“I’m not the victim.”
“You may become a material witness in a serious criminal case. People will attempt to influence what you remember.”
“I remember what happened.”
“Memory is not a recording.”
“I made a recording.”
“And they will try to make the recording about you.”
That evening, Caroline Voss called again.
This time Maya answered.
“Mr. Caldwell would like to meet.”
“Detective Patel told me not to.”
“Detective Patel cannot prohibit a voluntary conversation.”
“She can advise me.”
“Then bring an attorney.”
“I don’t have one.”
“We can arrange—”
“No.”
Caroline exhaled.
“Mr. Caldwell has authorized a payment to compensate you for lost wages.”
Maya stood in the hallway outside the apartment so Elena would not hear.
“How much?”
May you like
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
The number seemed so detached from her life that at first it did not register as money. It was tuition. Rent. Her mother’s dental work. Luis’s final year without additional loans. It was the used Honda she kept postponing and the credit-card balance she paid in increments small enough to feel imaginary.
