Page 139 of One of Us Is Guilty

‘She was insanely jealous, and she hated Molly.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘We fought about it. She said—’

‘Objection, Your Honor . . .’

Flynn again. This time, Patrick wrinkled his nose at the defense lawyer. He wasn’t used to being interrupted by anyone, except his father.

‘The witness and the defendant had many conversations when they were married, and all such conversations are privileged, and neither spouse can divulge the content of those discussions. Mr. Ford has precedents he will hand up.’

Flynn’s partner, or lackey, the old man in the tweed jacket, Ford, got up from his chair and gave a pile of documents to the judge and Riley. They scanned the pages.

The courtroom was quiet, like a funeral parlor. Patrick hated funerals. They always reminded him of his mother’s. He saw her face in the coffin again, eyes closed unnaturally, like she wanted to open them, but they were glued shut. Her skin had so much make-up on it, layers upon layers, like she was hiding her bruises, even in death. He remembered the little boy that he had been back then, wondering if his mother’s face had been horribly beaten, and if all that product on her face was there to hide the horrors beneath.

‘Mr. Riley, what do you say to this?’ asked the judge.

‘Your Honor, this isn’t matrimonial court. This is a murder trial. A young, innocent woman is dead and we have to be able to get to the truth, for the jury.’

‘Did you read this? Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be bound by these decisions?’

‘Your Honor . . .’ began Riley, then tailed off. He had nothing.

‘I have no choice, I’m afraid. Objection sustained. Move on . . .’

‘Mr. Vanderpool, were you at the victim’s apartment on the night she was killed?’

This was it. The tricky part. The uncomfortable admission. Patrick remembered his media training, and put on a somber look, deepened his tone to a respectful depth and said, ‘We were working on my political campaign. It wasn’t unusual to have long days. Sometimes I needed to go over notes for meetings the next day and I would occasionally do that in Molly’s apartment. It saved her the expense of travelling to my home, or the office. I left around ten fifteen.’

‘Right before your wife is shown in the security camera footage entering the victim’s building?’

‘Correct.’

‘Did you know she was there that night?’

‘No, not until I heard about the charges in this case.’

‘Mr. Vanderpool, I have to ask this, because Mr. Flynn will likely ask you. Did you kill Molly Green?’

Patrick lowered his head.

He had prepared himself for this question. He knew it was coming. He had rehearsed his answer in the mirror many times. When he raised his head, there were tears in his eyes. He looked at the jury . . .

And lied.

‘No, I did not kill Molly Green.’

58

Eddie

Damn, he was a convincing, slimy son of a bitch.

I know a tell. A lie leaves the lips, but the eyes hold on to the truth.

His emotion wasn’t fake, though. That looked real. That felt real. Whether he was channeling some dark, tragic incident from his past, or maybe he was allowing his true emotions for Molly to come to the forefront, I couldn’t quite decide.

His testimony had not done as much damage as I’d thought, which was largely down to Harry’s research and Riley not being prepared. The DA had been caught off guard and hadn’t recovered. If he’d been smarter, or better prepared, Patrick could have won this case for him. Instead, he let uncertainty cloud his judgement. The number-one thing you want to avoid while running a trial is making a mistake. It’s almost better to do too little, than too much. The more you’re talking, the greater the chance you will slip up.