Chapter 71
LUCY
That morning continued to feel like a fever dream.
Even though I knew it wasn’t.
Eddie was really dead, and they had me identify the body. I broke down in tears. I was no longer in love with him, but I had been at one point, and he was my husband, after all. I should be sad, and I was. Whatever his faults, he didn’t deserve to be shot to death.
Who would want to kill Eddie? I had no idea. Most people found him entertaining to be around. Yes, he rubbed a few people the wrong way, like Nia, but it’s not like he had a cavalry of enemies.
I asked the cops if they had any idea who’d killed my husband, and they said they’d only just started the investigation that morning. No, they didn’t have any suspects yet.
I was put in a room, and they peppered me with questions. The first fifteen minutes of the interrogation were good-natured, but that changed abruptly.
“How was your and Eddie’s marriage going?”
“Not great, actually. I was going to ask him for a divorce.”
“You were going to ask him for the divorce?”
The detective—someone named Abbott—had phrased the question oddly. He’d said “the divorce” like he already knew about it. I didn’t call him on it. I just wanted this all to be over. And I really wanted to talk to my parents.
“Yes, I was going to divorce him.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow night, actually.”
“Why tomorrow night?”
“I’m a lawyer, and I’m starting my first trial on Monday, so I was going to tell him on Sunday night. I know that may sound silly.”
Detective Abbott looked at me, and I assumed he was going to say something like “That doesn’t sound silly,” but he didn’t. He just kept staring at me.
“Did Eddie know you were going to divorce him?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Did anybody?”
“My parents did. I told them yesterday. They’re up in Tahoe, and my father had volunteered to drive back and be there.”
“Did you have something to fear from Eddie?”
“I don’t know. Probably not, but I didn’t know how he was going to react.”
“Did Eddie have any enemies that you know of?”
“No.”
“Was he beloved?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
This detective was being combative, and I had no idea why.
“I’d say people liked being around Eddie. The life of the party type. But I’m not sure people loved him. It’s not like he had a million friends, even though he knew many, many people.”
“Do you have any idea why he ended up at the Little League field?”
“I have no idea. He knew I was studying for the trial, so he offered to pick up some donuts for me. He told me he was just going to Safeway and would be back soon.”
“So, let me get this straight,” the detective said, and I was afraid to hear what came out of his mouth next. “The husband whom you were planning on divorcing had gone out of his way to get you donuts because you were studying for your first trial?”
That was the first time I thought I might need a lawyer. I should have considered it from the get-go, but my mind wasn’t all there. Plus, I was Lucy, the girl who was nice to everyone. No one could ever think I’d kill someone.
But I didn’t like the vibe in this room. Why was this officer being so combative? I was the one who’d just lost a husband.
“Am I a suspect?”
It sounded cartoonish when I said it. We’d all heard dozens of actors say the same thing on TV or in the movies, so it doesn’t sound authentic when an actual person says it.
And should I really be surprised that they suspected me? The spouse is always a suspect.
“I’m just asking questions, Mrs. Sykes.”
“I don’t need a lawyer, do I?”
“Well, you’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”
I started crying. This was all too much. I know I was a grown thirty-year-old woman, but I really wished my parents were there with me.
If the detective asked one more accusatory question, I was going to ask for a lawyer. I should know that better than anyone.
“I’m sorry,” the detective said. “Maybe I’m being a little too insensitive. I’m very sorry about your husband.”
It’s like he’d read my mind and was going to try a more compassionate approach.
“Thank you.”
“Did you love him?”
“I did at one point, but does that really matter? I’m terribly sad he’s dead. He was my damn husband. And just for the record, I had nothing to do with it. I’ve noticed your little innuendos.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sykes. Once again, I apologize.”
“Thank you.”
I preferred the conversation continue in this direction. I didn’t want to have to call an attorney in. Would it be one from my own firm? How would that look two days before I was starting my first trial with them?
I bowed my head.
What the hell had happened? Eddie was going out for donuts, and then he ended up dead at a random Little League field ten minutes away. None of this—and I mean none of it—made any sense.
“Do you or your husband own any guns?” Detective Abbott asked.
“No. I hate guns. If Eddie had asked me if we could have one in the house, I would have said no.”
“Understood. Okay, Mrs. Sykes, I think that’s going to do it for now. I’ll be reaching out again soon.”
“Okay. Is there anything you can tell me?”
“You know what we know. He was shot at that Little League field. We really don’t know much else.”
I didn’t believe that. The police—especially detectives—were never going to tell you everything they knew. And that goes double if you’re potentially a suspect, which I’ve felt like periodically.
“I can go?”
“Yes, you can go. Thanks for coming to meet us.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, despite hating how this had gone. I was polite to a fault sometimes. It’s how my parents raised me.
Once I left the police station, I immediately called my father.
“Hey, Luce. What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about divorcing Eddie?”
“Eddie is dead.”
“Good one.”
“I’m not kidding, Dad. The cops came to the house and woke me up this morning. They then took me down to the morgue, where I had to ID his body. Then they grilled me for like thirty minutes.”
“I have so many questions. How did he die? Why are they grilling you? Do they suspect you?”
“Eddie left our place around eleven p.m. last night. He’d offered to go and get me some donuts because he knew I’d be up late preparing for the trial.
When he wasn’t back by like two, I called the cops, but they weren’t helpful at all.
So I decided to wait until the next morning, and that’s when they knocked on my door.
Apparently, Eddie had been shot at some Little League field a good ten minutes away from the Safeway he said he was supposed to be going to. ”
“Holy shit. Do the cops have any suspects?”
“Just me,” I said, only half joking.
“You’re kidding.”
“Mostly, but they were asking some pretty tough questions.”
“Did you ask for a lawyer? You should have.”
“I know, but we never quite got to that point.”
“This is crazy, Luce.”
“Tell me about it.”
“How do you feel? I mean, about Eddie.”
“I’m terribly sad. He was my husband.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks, Dad. I wish you guys were down here.”
“I’m going to tell your mother all of this, and then we will be getting on the road immediately.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Lucy, this isn’t up for conversation. Of course, we are driving back.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Can I give a lawyer one piece of legal advice?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t answer any more of LAPD’s questions without a lawyer present.”
“That’s probably good advice.”
“Even though you didn’t have anything to do with it, you might say the wrong thing.”
“You’re right.”
“And you didn’t have anything to do with it, right?”
“Dad!”
“I’m sorry, honey. I had to ask.”
“You know the daughter you raised.”
“You’re right. I really am sorry.”
“So, I’ll see you guys tonight?”
“Yes. Try to avoid the LAPD until then.”
“I imagine they won’t contact me again until tomorrow.”
“Okay. We’ll get through this, Lucy. I’m very sorry about Eddie.”
“Thanks, Dad. See you guys soon. Tell Mom I love her, too.”