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She raises her hands in aSearch megesture. They exchange a knowing glance, then Jones turns back to me. “Let’s accept that your husbandhadbroken off the relationship.”
I wince at the word ‘relationship’. Such a happy and committed word, utterly inappropriate in this instance. But I let it pass.
“Then why did you feel the need to go and see her?”
I rub my finger again on the same spot on my forehead. The skin is starting to peel there. “Because I didn’t actually know at that point in time.”
He leans forward. “See, if that was me, Mrs. Sanchez, and I went to see my wife’s lover—for the sake of argument—and I waspolitelyasking him to stay away from my wife, and he said no, I don’t know what I’d do. I’m being honest here, I really don’t. But you accepted her response and walked away, is that right?”
“I wouldn’t say I just walked away.”
“Because you said, you called her names, and you left. You’d gone all that way to save your marriage, then you just took it on the chin and left?” He lets the question dangle between us.
“How did you get that mark on your hand, Mrs. Sanchez?”
I look at the welt. It’s almost gone now. “I told you. Gardening.”
“Did you know your husband had gifted Ms. Wilcox a necklace? She was very fond of it. She wore it all the time. In fact, she told her colleague that she never took it off.” He opens the folder and pulls out a clear plastic envelope. Inside is a photo of Isabelle and another man at what looks like an art opening. They’re standing close together smiling at the camera, a glass of champagne in one hand. Clearly visible around her neck is the necklace.
I can’t stop staring at her. I can’t stop thinking how beautiful she is, and a flash of outrage bolts through me. How could Luis possibly resist? She’s like one of those plants that are beautiful on the outside but carnivorous on the inside, all bright colors and pearls of dew, but get too close and they’ll entrap their prey and won’t let go until they’re completely suffocated.
“Mrs. Sanchez?”
I raise my head. “She never took it off?” They exchange a glance, and I know it was the wrong answer.
I sit back. “I didn’t know that he had given this to her, no.”
“Not even when you visited the jewelry store on November 12th with the receipt from your husband’s purchase, claiming your husband had in fact given the necklace to you?”
For a moment I feel like I’m falling, the ground rushing towards me and I’m scrambling to hold onto something. “I knew,” I say, feeling the corners of my mouth pull down.
“So that was another mistake then, you not telling us just now?”
I don’t know what to say. My eyes well up, and a fat tear rolls out onto my cheek. I brush it off.
“Why didn’t you say so, Mrs. Sanchez?”
“Do you know why she didn’t have the necklace on her that night?” Dalloway asks. “She had it on her during the day. She didn’t have it on her when she died. We searched her house. We didn’t find it.”
“Because I took it from her,” I say. “She was playing with it as we spoke, taunting me. I–I grabbed it and pulled it off her.” I rub the side of my hand. “It was fastened more tightly than I’d expected.”
“I see. So you did assault her.”
“No!”
“Come on, Mrs. Sanchez. You said so yourself, she taunted you. She was pregnant. She wasn’t going to end the relationship with your husband—”
“It was already over! He’d already ended it!”
“So you keep saying, but you also admitted you didn’t know this at the time. You don’t think grabbing someone’s throat qualifies as assault? How did you get her upstairs?”
“What?”
“She fell from the top of the steps leading to the main bedroom. She was pushed. Did you follow her up the stairs?”
“Was that when you pulled the necklace off her? Is that what happened?” Dalloway says.
“Was it an accident?” Jones says.
