Free Accused by Mark Gimenez Page A

night."
    "Then what?"
    "We took a walk on the beach. Right here. Then we went to bed."
    "What time?"
    "Eleven. Trey was going to get up early, practice for the Open."
    "Then you woke up?"
    "I was cold."
    Her eyes fixed on the deck above them. Her voice was dispassionate, as if she had been a third-party observer of the events that night.
    "The bedroom's right there, just off the deck. We slept with the French doors open, to hear the waves. I got up to close the doors, but I came out onto the deck. It's quiet out here, just the waves … the sea spray hit me, I wiped my face … but I still felt wet … I looked down at myself, saw something dark all over me … I ran back inside, turned the lights on … blood was everywhere … all over him … all over me. I slept in his blood."
    She started crying again. He put an arm around her shoulders.
    "Rebecca—"
    He waited until she turned to him. He needed to look into her eyes when he asked the next question—and when she answered.
    —"did you kill him?"
    She did not avert her eyes.
    "No. I swear to God. Scott, I loved him."
    And Scott Fenney had loved her. Maybe he still did. He wasn't sure. But he was sure about one thing: after eleven years of marriage—eleven years sharing the same bed—he knew her. Rebecca Fenney was not a murderer.
    They walked back to the beach house and found Consuela and Louis cooking breakfast, Karen feeding Maria—the baby wasn't taking to the broccoli any better that day—and Bobby, Carlos, and the girls watching TV. Boo jumped up and ran to him.
    "A. Scott, we've got cable!"
    "Just for the summer—and only the Disney Channel."
    She looked at him with an expression that said, As if , but she said, "Did you check your pulse?"
    "No."
    "Do you feel faint or dizzy? Are you experiencing chest pain?"
    "Boo, I feel fine. Stop worrying."
    She frowned and turned to Rebecca. "Mother, you were gone when we woke up."
    "I took a walk on the beach."
    "I would've gone with you."
    "Get dressed, Bobby," Scott said. "We're going to see the D.A. And bring the camcorder. Karen, take Rebecca's statement."
    "Mr. Fenney," Louis said, "how about some pancakes and sausage?"
    "Maybe one. Or two. Of each."
    "Coming right up."
    "Louis, go over to Gaido's today … Carlos, you go with him, you might need to translate. Talk to a waiter named Ricardo. Find out what he knows, if he saw any strangers there Thursday night, someone who seemed interested in Trey." Scott went into the kitchen and stepped close to Louis; he faced away from the room and said in a low voice, "Ask him if he heard Trey propose to Rebecca."
    Louis nodded. Scott turned back to the room.
    "Let's go, boys and girls, it's a work day."
    Scott ate breakfast then showered and dressed in what would be his standard Island attire: jeans, topsiders, and a knit shirt. He only wore suits to court now, a benefit of not working in a large law firm, albeit one that did not quite offset the $750,000 salary. He went downstairs and out to the back deck where Karen was interviewing Rebecca. He paused and observed his ex-wife like a juror observing the defendant's demeanor. She was the accused and the only eyewitness. The jury would have to believe Rebecca Fenney.
    "Rebecca," Karen said, "what'd you do after you came back inside and found Trey lying in bed with a knife in his chest?"
    "I called nine-one-one."
    "From the bedroom?"
    "Yes."
    "What'd you do after you made the call?"
    "I stayed on the phone until the police arrived."
    "You didn't give him CPR?"
    "No."
    "Why not?"
    "There was so much blood … I knew …"
    "Do you have a life insurance policy on Trey?"
    "No."
    "Any joint bank accounts?"
    "No. I don't even have a bank account."
    "How'd you pay your bills?"
    "I didn't. Trey did. Or his accountant did."
    "What's his name, the accountant?"
    "Tom Taylor. He has an office on the Strand."
    "How'd you buy things?"
    "He gave me money. Trey."
    "How much did he give you, at any one time?"
    "A thousand, sometimes