Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘OH FUCK,’ JILL whimpers, sinking to the floor, the floor that’s giving way beneath them.
Someone has been watching them in this room, has heard everything they’ve said.
They just talked about how they murdered Greg, left him to die.
They’ve talked about it many times, in this very room. How long has that camera been there?
She turns on Ted, panicking. ‘You said there was no evidence! That we could never be caught! But someone has seen and heard everything we’ve said in this room! Someone KNOWS, Ted!’
His face is an awful shade. She has never seen him look like this. He rips the device from its hiding place and hurls it against the wall in a rage. It smashes against the wall and falls brokenly to the floor. She stares at it, frozen in fear.
They’ve been tricked, she thinks. And they’re going to have to pay. For the rest of their lives.
Ted is in shock; he can’t process this new reality.
He was so sure they were safe. But they’re not safe at all.
Someone knows. He picks up the tiny black bundle and takes it into the foyer and, in a rage, crushes it to bits on the marble floor beneath his heel.
But it’s too late. They’ve already said too much, on numerous occasions.
He wonders how long the camera has been there, tries to remember when the texts started.
He stares at the tiny bits of debris on the floor, breathing heavily, his heart thudding in his ears.
Then he glances up at Jill, who has the look of a condemned prisoner.
‘Who put it there?’ she cries. ‘Whoever put it there knows what we’ve done! What if they go to the police? We’ll go to prison!’
He turns to her, grabs her by her upper arms to steady her.
He can’t have her going into hysterics. He needs to think.
‘It has to be whoever is sending those texts. They’re probably going to blackmail us,’ he says, thinking feverishly.
‘That’s what this is all about. Money. If they were going to go to the police, we would have been arrested by now. ’
She begins pacing up and down the hall, while he slumps to the floor, his back against the wall. ‘Who could have gotten into the house to put the camera there?’ she asks.
He thinks about that. Nadya, obviously. Ramirez had spoken to her. Perhaps his questions had given her the idea.
‘Lara has a key,’ Jill says, turning to him. ‘To water the plants whenever we’re away, and she knows the security code to turn off the alarm.’
He looks at her. ‘Fuck, you’re right,’ he says.
‘She could have done it, she knows our schedule.’
‘Nadya has a key and knows the security code too,’ Ted points out. ‘She could have hidden the camera. Ramirez spoke to her, planted suspicion in her mind. She probably needs money. Would she do that?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything about her!’ Jill wails.
He thinks about John Burnley. Could he have broken in without tripping the alarm? Maybe it’s possible, if you know how.
‘Maybe there are other cameras,’ he says suddenly, getting up. ‘We have to look.’
They begin to tear the house apart. They look everywhere, in light fixtures, in planters, behind books, but they find nothing. It feels like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Ted gets out his laptop and googles stores specializing in home security and counter surveillance.
He finds one that is open late and leaves, telling Jill to keep searching.
When he gets to the store, he purchases a small, handheld device that he is assured can detect hidden cameras anywhere.
The saleswoman in the store – a brush cut and tattoos – shows him how to use it.
All he has to do is hold it up with the LED light facing outward, place the viewfinder to his eye, and scan the room.
She explains that it has a range of two to forty-five feet, and that he should see a bright flicker of light when the device detects the curvature of the lens of a hidden camera.
She tells him to try it, see if he can find the hidden cameras they have set up around the store.
He is able to detect the hidden cameras in the store and pays for the device on the spot. He wants to be sure they don’t miss anything.
Now, as Jill watches, Ted moves through the house methodically, starting at the front door in the foyer, moving into the front room, then the dining room, up the staircase to the bedrooms and bathrooms, and then the top floor.
It takes him a long time to scan everywhere.
He finds nothing. They leave the kitchen till last. There, with the help of the device, they find another tiny camera, hidden in a light fixture.
A feeling of sickness washes over Ted as he pulls it from its hiding place.
Jill watches, speechless. He grinds it to a pulp beneath his heel.
Ted tries to remember what they’ve said in the kitchen. He can’t recall. They have talked about what they’ve done all over the house. They felt safe here. And all along they have been giving themselves away, slitting their own throats.
It’s almost midnight, but they hear a ping from Jill’s cell phone lying face up on the kitchen island, and they both immediately turn to stare at it.
SO YOU FOUND THE CAMERAS. NOW YOU KNOW I’M NOT BLUFFING.
The next morning, when Nadya unlocks the door and begins to enter the security code to the Westcotts’ brownstone, she gives a little gasp of fright as she is suddenly confronted by her employers, who step into the hall from the front room.
She gapes at them from the foyer. She was not expecting them to be here.
And she doesn’t like the way they’re now looking at her.
Mrs Westcott, especially, looks as if she hasn’t slept, and has a strange look in her eyes, almost like she’s on something.
Why isn’t she at work? Why are they looking at her this way?
‘What are you doing here?’ Nadya asks. And then she realizes how foolish that sounds – it’s their house.
But they’re never here on her cleaning day, and she’s taken aback, disoriented.
‘We’d like to talk to you Nadya,’ Mr Westcott says.
‘Please, come in.’ And he directs her into the front room and gestures for her to sit down, while the two of them remain standing.
They both look tense, and she immediately feels tense in response.
The room seems untidy, she notices, as if someone had been rummaging through it. She wonders if there’s been a theft.
They are going to dismiss her, she thinks. They seem angry at her. She presses her lips together and prepares to defend herself. She hasn’t done anything wrong.
Mrs Westcott begins. ‘Nadya, we have welcomed you into our home. We have trusted you.’ She glances at her husband. ‘But we’re not sure that trust was warranted.’
What is this? Nadya wonders. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asks, a tremor in her voice. She looks from one to the other. She hasn’t stolen anything. She looks up at them from the sofa. They seem to tower over her. They are behaving oddly. Her breath becomes shallow.
‘We think you know,’ Mr Westcott says roughly.
‘No, I don’t,’ Nadya answers, frightened now. ‘What are you accusing me of?’
‘Someone has been in our house,’ Mrs Westcott says.
‘I only come here to clean, you know that.’
‘Someone has been in here and planted hidden cameras,’ Mr Westcott says accusingly.
She looks back at them, stunned. She has done no such thing. ‘And you think it’s me?’ She tries to laugh, but fails.
‘You’re the only one who has keys to the house and knows the security code,’ he says.
She knows that’s not true, because she knows that Mrs Westcott’s friend, Lara Donleavy, looks after the place when they travel.
But then everything else empties out of her mind as a horrible thought strikes her.
Her son, Peter. He has been far too interested in the Westcotts ever since that boating accident a couple of months ago.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ she protests.
‘How can we be sure?’ Mrs Westcott says, an edge to her voice. ‘We don’t know anything about you!’
They don’t know about her son, Nadya thinks. They have never asked, never shown any interest in her or her life. But now they are going to look into her, Nadya thinks, they are going to find out about her son and the criminal company he keeps. What if he’s involved?
Her heart pounds. She looks up at her inquisitors.
For the first time, she realizes that they look truly frightened, and it’s a revelation.
Nadya is not stupid. Maybe there is something to it then, she thinks suddenly, all the speculation online about what happened on that boat.
And maybe whoever is spying on them caught something on those cameras.
She gathers her thoughts and her courage.
Is it possible? Could her employers be guilty of pushing that man off his boat?
To get his money? She remembers the man from the Coast Guard, and his questions.
Why is she sitting here, letting herself be accused by them, when they themselves might have done such a terrible thing?
She finds her voice, and it is surprisingly firm.
‘I had nothing to do with any cameras. I resent your accusations. I am a loyal and trustworthy employee. Perhaps you should talk to your friend who looks after the place when you travel. I am just a cleaning lady. I have impeccable references, as you know, as you checked them when you hired me.’ She says this with a measure of confidence and dignity she didn’t know she was capable of.
She adds, ‘Would you like me to offer my resignation, effective immediately?’
Her employers glance at each other and seem to come to a decision. ‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ Mr Westcott says. ‘I’m sorry about this. But we had to ask, since you have access to the house.’
After an awkward pause, she asks, ‘Do you still want me to clean today?’ She really doesn’t want to be here now, with them, and they seem to be able to tell. They don’t want her around either.
‘No, that’s okay, Nadya. Take the day off,’ Mrs Westcott says. ‘You’ll still be paid.’
Then she’s out of the brownstone and walking down the street and around the corner on her way back to the subway.
She can hardly believe what’s just happened.
Can hardly believe what her employers have accused her of, that they might possibly be murderers, as some of the tabloids have been suggesting.
Well, she thinks, if they did kill Greg Westcott for his money, and they’re being spied on, they deserve it.
She wonders how she can possibly continue to work for them after this.
But she really needs the money, and they are easier to work for than most, and generous at Christmas.
And as she rides the subway back home, the more ridiculous it begins to seem that Mr and Mrs Westcott deliberately murdered anyone.
But someone has certainly broken into their home and planted hidden cameras – no wonder they are so upset.
She tries not to think about Peter.