'I agree,' Karen said.
'That's it, then,' Scott said.
'Okay,' Bobby said, 'let me see if I've got our trial strategy straight. We're going to call the golfer who just won the U.S. Open and try to get him to confess to murdering Trey Rawlins because he was screwing his seventeen-year-old daughter. If that doesn't work, we're going to call the Island's biggest drug dealer and accuse him and his Mexican cartel employer of killing Trey. And if that doesn't work, we're going to call the local bookie and go after the mob. Is that about it?'
'That's about it.'
'Sounds good to me.'
'Except for one thing,' Karen said.
'What's that?'
'Rebecca's got to testify, tell the jury she didn't kill him… and explain why her prints were on the murder weapon.'
Scott's cell phone rang. He answered.
'Scott, it's Rex. Can you come over?'
'When?'
'Now.'
On the computer screen, the black-and-white video showed the front entrance to a building Scott recognized. Two Latino thugs bookended the front doors under an awning. A dark Corvette pulled up at the curb, and a dark- haired woman got out and walked to the entrance. The thugs did not block her way; instead, one thug held the door open for her. She gave him a little wave as she disappeared inside.
'Like I said, Feds got Benito's place under surveillance twenty-four/seven,' the D.A. said. 'Black and white tape, they didn't put the woman and the car together.'
'She said she didn't know Benito.'
'She knows him now.'
'You figure she bought cocaine from him?'
'He doesn't sell designer shoes.'
'She's broke. How'd she pay for it?'
The D.A. averted his eyes then fast-forwarded the video until Rebecca reappeared in the doorway. She got into the car and drove off. Scott gathered himself and stood, but the D.A. said, 'I've got more evidence to share.'
Scott saw on the D.A.'s face that this wasn't going to be pleasant.
'My tech man, he's been poking around Trey's laptop, hacking through firewalls and whatever you call that security stuff, and he found some videos. Trey and women. Homemade porn.'
Dr. Tim had said Trey had made sex tapes. The D.A. could not make eye contact with Scott.
'Rebecca?'
Still no eye contact.
'I'm sorry, Scott.'
Scott stood and walked to the door and grabbed the handle.
'Scott, it's evidence. I'm obliged to give you copies.'
'I don't want them.'
Scott Fenney was thinking like a man as he shut the door behind him.
FORTY
The next morning at first light, Scott dressed in running shorts and shoes and went downstairs. Boo was already watching a cable show called I, Carly.
'It's appropriate,' she said.
'I'll be back in an hour,' he said. 'We'll have breakfast.'
She turned her eyes up to the clock on the wall. 'Okay. See you back at exactly seven-thirty-seven.'
Scott went outside and down the deck stairs then hit the sand. He headed west. He was alone on the beach and with his thoughts. Eleven years they had lived together, slept together, and had sex together, but he had never really known her. He knew now that he would never really know her. Expensive clothes and jewelry-he knew that Rebecca Fenney. But not the Rebecca Fenney who snorted cocaine and starred in sex tapes. Who was that woman?
He hadn't known his own wife.
And he didn't know his ex-wife.
That day the girls said she had left wearing her black wig and returned really happy, it hadn't been chocolate, shopping, or sex-it had been cocaine. She had gone to Benito's and bought cocaine. She had come home happy because she was high. Scott had confronted her last night. She swore she had used cocaine because of the stress of the pending trail and that she had paid Benito with her jewelry. She swore she had not found the mob money. Just as she had sworn she did not know Benito Estrada and did not kill Trey Rawlins.
Scott did not mention the sex tapes. But Renee Ramirez had on the evening news.
'Sex, drugs, and videotapes. Tonight, a 'Murder on the Beach' update. I've learned that the trial will reveal many salacious details about the lives of Trey Rawlins and his lover, Rebecca Fenney, on trial for his murder, including sex tapes. I've also learned that her ex-husband'-she gave her audience a sly grin-'I mean, her lawyer, has subpoenaed several professional golfers to testify at trial, including Pete Puckett, the reigning U.S. Open champion. You won't want to miss this. I will host the trial beginning Monday morning, from opening statements until the verdict is read.'
Scott soon arrived at the white house rising from the beach. He stopped and stared up at the second-story deck that led into the master bedroom where Trey Rawlins had died. If she were capable of cocaine and sex tapes, was she capable of murder? Had she lied to him about that, too? Was Rebecca Fenney the Guilty Groupie?
Louis went downstairs to the kitchen. Consuela was just stirring with the baby, and Carlos was rustling up his regular breakfast of chocolate milk and Cheerios. Pajamae was watching cartoons. Everyone else was sleeping in. Boo was standing outside on the deck in her swimsuit. Louis slid the glass door open and stepped outside. The sea breeze brought the smell of the ocean to him. He liked breathing the sea air, living on the beach. Maybe one day he would. After college. He walked to the far railing where Boo stood. She was staring out at the sea and gripping the railing real tight with both hands like she was afraid she might fall overboard. She did not turn away from the sea, so he talked to the top of her head.
'What're you looking for, Boo?'
'A. Scott.'
'Mr. Fenney out running?'
'What time is it, Louis?'
Louis looked at his watch. 'Quarter past eight. Something wrong?'
'He didn't come back. He said he'd be back in an hour.'
'What time did he leave?'
'Six-thirty-seven.'
'Maybe he's running slow 'cause it's Saturday.'
'Not A. Scott.'
'You want I should go look for him?'
'Yes, please.'
She now turned to him. Tears were rolling down her little face.
'Louis, I think he had a heart attack.'
'Which way did he run down the beach?'
'I don't know.'
Louis walked back toward the house and shouted, 'Carlos!'
Carlos came outside with a red plastic bowl of Cheerios floating in brown milk.
