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62
D.C. JAIL
THURSDAY AFTERNOON
Agent Dillon Savich, Agent Pippa Cinelli, Chief Matthew Wilde, and federal prosecutor Sonja Grayson sat in the small conference room and watched two guards bring in Marsia Gay, one holding each arm. Her wrists were pressed together with flex-cuffs. She stopped in the doorway and looked at each of them in turn. “What’s all this? All the top guns here to visit me? To bring me news? Good news, I hope. And who are you?”
“I’m Chief Wilde of St. Lumis, Maryland. I believe you’ve visited my town.”
She shook her head at him. “Sorry, never had the pleasure.” Her smile stayed fixed as she turned to the prosecutor. “I suppose you’re here, Ms. Grayson, to tell me I’m not going to trial? Not enough proof, is there? Poor Veronica. Does anyone know who attacked her? Such a pity. Of course, since I’m innocent, it will mean justice for me. When will I be released?”
Sonja said, “We’ll talk about your legal status in a moment, Ms. Gay. First, Agent Savich wants to speak to you.”
“Sit down, Marsia,” Savich said.
The guards sat her down, placed her hands on the table in front of her. She said to Savich, “Isn’t life strange, Agent Savich? You simply never know when misfortune will befall you. Me, being here, you, with that fire at your house? I have to say, in all fairness, what you did to me, putting me here, was worse.”
Savich studied her face, saw the banked excitement in her eyes. Yes, Marsia thought she was about to waltz out of here. “I’d like you to hear what Agent Cinelli has to say. She was in St. Lumis to investigate the red boxes you had sent to me, the ones containing pieces of a puzzle depicting Major Trumbo hanging out of a burning hotel window.”
“Sorry, Agent Savich, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Savich continued over her, “Agent Cinelli worked with Chief of Police Matthew Wilde.” He nodded to Pippa.
Pippa said without preamble, “Ronald Pomfrey and his mother, Lillian Trumbo, told us what happened that night in Ronald’s cabin in the Poconos, where you witnessed Ronald stab Major Trumbo in the back. They’re more than willing to testify against you.”
There was not a single sign Marsia found this news upsetting. She even smiled. “Of course I know those people. I dated Ronald briefly when we were in school. But I have no idea what they’ve been saying to you.” She tried to rise, but a guard pushed her back down. She smiled up at the guard. “Sorry.”
Pippa said, “We know you dated Ronald Pomfrey in your first year at Maryland Institute College of Art. He thought you loved him, you were planning to move in together, but by the time you first showed him your black heart that night in the Poconos, it was too late for him.
“When Ronald and Mrs. Trumbo realized Major Trumbo was dead, you watched them try to figure out what they should do. You must have despised their shock, their dithering, their horror at what had happened. You bided your time, took pictures of his body without their knowing it, and you told them you knew exactly what they should do. You told them to bury the major’s body where it wouldn’t be found and forget him, go about their lives. They could say he died of a heart attack, pretend they’d had his body cremated. Otherwise who knew what would happen to them?
“You were careful not to help them bury the major’s body. You stood back and filmed it all. After that, it would look like they’d simply murdered him, no matter what they claimed. You sent Ronald some of what you’d filmed, and they’ve been paying you ever since to keep it secret. You were careful not to empty the well. Besides, you thought you might need them, use them, someday. And you did.”
Savich said, “You’re smart, Marsia, loaded with talent, but you threw it all away because you’re a psychopath without any sense of remorse to restrain you. You wanted your revenge on me and Sherlock, the other two witnesses against you. You picked my wife first because you wanted me to suffer losing her, losing my son.
“You’re going to face attempted murder charges, namely of my wife and son, a conspiracy charge for arson, and, of course, charges for blackmail and extortion. I’m sure Ms. Grayson will tell you those are only a start.”
Marsia drummed her fingers on the tabletop. She began humming under her breath, then sneered. “Is that your wish list, Savich? On the word of killers? And that’s what they are.”
Savich saw her pulse pounding in her throat. She hadn’t expected this; she’d been simply too arrogant to believe Mrs. Trumbo and her son would ever confess to anything. Savich pulled Marsia’s cell phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “Your first mistake was sending Ronald a sample.”
Savich was pleased to see the sneer fall off her face. It was replaced not by rage, but by frenzied thought. She grew perfectly still, her hands fists in front of her. He said, “We located your old cell phone in a safe deposit box. If you’ve forgotten, take a look.” Everyone crowded in close as he punched up the images. There were stills of Major Trumbo’s body lying on a floor, a knife in his back.
“Now the burial.” Snippets of video appeared, less than a minute long, but they showed both mother and son digging frantically into hard earth. When the hole was big enough, they rolled Major Trumbo into it and shoveled dirt over him, strewed dead leaves and branches over it all.
Pippa said, “Of course, you didn’t film the major hitting his wife, trying to strangle her before Ronald stabbed him. That would have shouted self-defense. No close-ups of Mrs. Trumbo or Ronald, either, not a surprise, you would have edited them out, with all the bruises Ronald had from Major Trumbo’s fists. And you made sure we don’t see the bruises on Mrs. Trumbo’s neck from the major trying to kill her. You’re an artist, Ms. Gay. You know what has punch and what doesn’t.”
Savich switched off the cell phone, sat back, crossed his arms.
Marsia laughed. “That doesn’t prove anything other than those two are murderers.” She leaned back in the chair, raised her chin. “What I saw was cold-blooded murder, and now you’ve seen it, too. I documented what they did to protect myself so they wouldn’t kill me, too, and bury me like they did Major Trumbo. I was grateful to leave that place alive. You should thank me for providing the proof. It’s about time they go down for murdering her husband.”
Wilde said, drawing her attention to him, “Blackmail only works so long as there is something left to hide, Ms. Gay. While there was, Mrs. Trumbo and Ronald did as you demanded, but then you asked too much of them. Ronald Pomfrey couldn’t bring himself to torch the Savich house with Agent Savich’s wife and son inside. He set a fire, yes, but only in the kitchen so he could show you he’d tried.
“It probably didn’t matter to you whether he killed Agent Cinelli, but it did to him. And everything Lillian Trumbo did, she did to protect her son, from you.”
Savich said, “I’ll bet you were very angry at Ronald, Marsia, for failing at what you’d told him to do. Did it ever occur to you this man simply couldn’t do it, couldn’t kill two people?”
Marsia didn’t move, didn’t say a word. There was no expression on her face at all, but Savich knew she was hiding a deep black well of rage. She looked down at her fingernails, filed short. Finally she looked back at him. “As I said, Savich, it’s my word against a couple of murderers trying for a lighter sentence, murderers you choose to believe.” She looked at Wilde. “And you, the chief of police of that bum-crap little town, are you all aflutter the FBI is letting you play with them? You’re a fool.”
