Beach Road

Chapter 96. Tom

WHEN NIKKI ROBINSON, eyes averted, walks past our table and takes the witness stand, the morning crowd ripples with anticipation. To be honest, Kate and I are a lot more on edge than the spectators. Nikki works as a maid for a local house-cleaning service. She hung around at Smitty Wilson’s-but what else? Why is she being called now?

“Ms. Robinson,” says Melvin Howard, “could you please tell us your relationship with the defendant?”

“Dante is my cousin,” says Robinson, her girlish voice faint.

“And were you at the game at Smitty Wilson’s that afternoon?”

“I got there just before the fight broke out, and Michael Walker got that gun.”

“Did you leave right after?”

“No, sir.”

“What were you doing?”

“Talking to Eric Feifer,” says Robinson, her voice getting even fainter.

“Was that the first time you met?”

“I had seen him around.”

“Did you talk long that afternoon?”

“No. I clean for Maidstone Interiors and had to go do a house. Eric asked if he could go with me. Swim in the pool while I worked. I said okay.”

“So the two of you left together?”

“He put his bicycle in my trunk.”

“What happened when you got to the house you had to clean?”

“Eric hung by the pool. I got to work. House wasn’t much of a mess. The owner’s gay, and gay people are usually neat.”

“Then what happened?”

“I was vacuuming the master bedroom,” says Nikki, her voice reduced to a whisper, “and something made me turn around. Eric was standing right behind me. Naked. At first, I was so shocked-I didn’t notice the knife in his hand.”

The entire courtroom stares at Robinson now, and Rothstein gently taps his gavel. I resist looking over at Kate, or especially Dante. What is this all about?

“What did you do then, Nikki?”

“I screamed,” she says, fighting through tears. “I ran and tried to lock myself in the bathroom. But Eric, he grabbed the handle. He was strong for his size.”

“I know this is painful,” says Howard, handing her a tissue. “What happened next?”

“He raped me,” says Nikki Robinson in a tiny, anguished squeak.

Then Robinson’s head falls onto her chest, and for the first time since the trial began, both sides of the courtroom are equally distressed. Within seconds of each other, one woman cries out, “Liar!” and another yells, “Lying bitch.” Each have different reasons for their anger.

“One more outburst,” shouts Judge Rothstein, trying to control his courtroom, “and I’ll clear the room.”

Still, it’s another minute or so before Howard asks, “What happened after you were raped?”

“I pulled myself off the floor. Finished my work. I don’t know why. Shock, I guess. Then I left the house.”

“Where’d you go, Ms. Robinson?”

“I was going to go home. But I got more and more upset. I went to the courts behind the high school. Dante and Michael were there. I told them what happened. That Feifer raped me.”

“How did Dante react?”

“He went crazy. He was screaming, stomping around. He and Michael.”

“Quiet!” shouts Rothstein again, calming the room some.

“What did you think when you heard about the killings, Ms. Robinson?”

“It was my fault,” says Robinson, staring at her lap. “I never should have let Feifer come to the house. Most of all, I never should have told Dante and Michael Walker.”

Dante leans in to me. “She’s lying, Tom. She made that whole thing up. Every word.”

Chapter 97. Kate

AS ROTHSTEIN BANGS his gavel like a jockey flogging a fading horse on the home stretch, Tom writes Lindgren on a piece of paper. He slides it to me before I get out of my chair. I’m already there.

“Ms. Robinson, we’re all hearing this for the first time. To say the least, we’re a bit overwhelmed. And confused. Could you tell us again why you decided to come forward now?”

“Jesus,” says Nikki, then pauses as if to let this sink in. “He came to me in a dream and told me it was my duty to tell what happened.”

“Does Jesus often come to you in dreams, Nikki?” I ask, provoking enough derisive laughter to have Rothstein pound his desk some more.

“That was the first time.”

“Ahh. But why wait this long to come forward? And why do it now?”

“I was afraid. I didn’t want to hurt my cousin. But Jesus said I should say what I knew.”

“After the rape, did you go to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Really? Did you see a doctor anywhere?”

“No.”

“You weren’t examined by anyone?”

Robinson shakes her head, and I say, “I didn’t hear your response, Ms. Robinson.”

“No, I was not examined by a doctor.”

“Weren’t you worried about contracting a sexually transmitted disease or getting pregnant?” I ask.

“I was on the Patch.”

“But you weren’t worried about an STD?”

“Not really.”

“So you didn’t tell anyone at all about the incident at the time. No one. There is no police record, no medical record, and you finished cleaning the house after the rape. So there’s not a single bit of evidence, even circumstantial evidence, to support or confirm your story.”

“Objection,” cries Howard.

“What’s your question, Counselor?” asks Judge Rothstein.

“When you decided to come forward two days ago-after your visit from Jesus-who’d you talk to first?”

“I called the East Hampton Police Department.”

“And who exactly did you talk to?”

“Officer Lindgren.”

I am thinking on my feet now, trying to, anyway. “Ms. Robinson, have you been arrested lately? Say, in the last few months?”

“Yes, ma’am. For possession.”

“Possession of drugs?”

“Yes.”

“And who arrested you?”

Nikki Robinson looks left and right, anywhere but at me, but there’s no getting around this. “Officer Lindgren,”