“No,” he says without hesitation. Despite everything, I feel a flash of relief. “You were at work until thirty minutes before the body was found. Mrs. Archer saw your car pull up to the house, and she said you were in the Lowells’ house for only a couple of minutes. And this was after she had already called 911 because of concern of a disturbance. So no, you are not a suspect.” He adds, “I can see why you would be concerned though, given your… history.”
I shouldn’t be even the slightest bit surprised that he knows about my criminal history. I would have lost respect for any police officer in this situation who didn’t. But it always feels like a slap in the face when someone brings it up. “Yes,” I say tightly.
“Mrs. Accardi,” he says, “what do you know about your husband’s relationship with Mrs. Lowell?”
“The Lowells are our neighbors, obviously.” I lift a shoulder, trying not to let my nerves show. “He was helping her with her backyard in exchange for referrals. They were friendly.”
“Did you ever suspect anything more?”
“No. Never.”
He flashes me a conspiratorial smile. “Never? Not even a little bit? Especially when he was over there all the time? I mean, Suzette Lowell is a very attractive woman.”
My jaw tightens. “I said never.”
“I see.”
This detective is not going to trip me up. I’m too smart for that. He is not dealing with a rookie.
“Mrs. Accardi,” he says. “Did you know that your husband recently purchased a gun?”
My mouth falls open. “A… a gun?”
“That’s right.” He is watching my expression. “He withdrew a thousand dollars from your joint bank account and then used some of that money to purchase a firearm. Illegally. But we have contacts.”
“I…”
My heart is slamming in my chest. It’s hard to imagine it could be true, but I can’t deny the money was missing from our account. Enzo claimed it was to replace broken equipment. But if that’s all it was, why wouldn’t he have told me about it?
But then again, so what if he bought a gun? I mean, I’m not thrilled about it, and I’m most definitely wondering where it is right now and what he intended to do with it. But Jonathan Lowell was not shot. He was stabbed. So whether Enzo bought a gun or not, it’s not the murder weapon.
“Also,” Willard adds, “did you know that he checked into a motel with Suzette Lowell four nights ago?”
Now I feel like I’m going to choke. I suspected when Enzo told me he had just gone out for a drive that he wasn’t being honest. But this information floors me. I desperately want to believe that the detective is making it up just to shake me up, but everything he is saying fits. The missing money, Enzo’s disappearance…
Willard doesn’t even wait for me to answer his question. He got all the information he needed from the look on my face.
“Mrs. Accardi,” he goes on. “You and your husband… Your financial situation is not great, is it?”
“We’re doing fine,” I say defensively.
“So you didn’t recently bounce a check?”
Oh my God, this detective knows everything. I squirm in the plastic chair, wondering if he knows what color underwear I’m wearing right now. I wouldn’t be surprised.
“That was a miscalculation,” I say.
“Do you know,” he says, “that Jonathan Lowell had a substantial life insurance policy and Suzette Lowell is the sole beneficiary?”
Again, I am trying not to react. “No, I did not. But I’m not sure what that has to do with me or my husband.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”
I take a deep breath, remembering what Ramirez told me to say if the questions start going in the wrong direction. I might not be a suspect, but I’m pretty damn sure that my husband is. “Detective Willard,” I say, “I am not answering any more questions without a lawyer.”
FORTY-EIGHT
The detective decides he doesn’t have any more questions for me.
But the same is not true for Enzo. I wait in the station for him, and they keep him there for hours. I doubt they’re questioning him the whole time. They’re just trying to wear him down and sweat the truth out of him. I’m sure he has asked for a lawyer too, and that will have taken time.
He finally emerges three hours later, looking exhausted. There are circles under his slightly bloodshot eyes. His lips are turned down, and he looks like he wants to throw up.
“What happened?” I ask him.
“We go,” he says. “Now. Please.”
We took my car to the station, which turns out to be a good thing because he does not look like he’s up for driving (and I am slightly terrified of driving his truck with its stick shift). He climbs into the passenger seat beside me and stares out the window.
I wonder what they said to him in there.
He’s quiet for the first five minutes of the drive as he watches the streets zip by. Finally, he says, “Millie, you know I did not cheat on you with Suzette?”
I grimace. I don’t want to have this conversation right now, because between my prior suspicions and everything I heard from Detective Willard today, I can’t imagine how Enzo wasn’t cheating on me. And if he says otherwise, it’s all a bunch of lies.
“I would never.” He turns away from the window to face me. “I swear to you.”
I remember Ramirez’s words from this morning: One thing I know about Enzo Accardi is that he is a good guy. I don’t think he would kill anyone. But if he did, it would be for a damn good reason.
