Chapter Fifty-Five
KONSTANTIN HAD NOT slept well. He is not happy with the situation, not happy at all.
He’d been delighted when he first watched those recordings all those months ago.
The Westcotts had clearly been terrified, panicking when they knew they’d been caught on camera.
And he’d been patient, all these months, waiting for the inheritance to go through.
Their refusal to pay yesterday was a nasty surprise.
He hadn’t seen any footage that indicated that they weren’t going to pay – they must have been off-camera when they’d discussed it.
His first thought was to send a couple of guys who weren’t afraid of violence to the Westcotts’ to get them to change their minds.
It would have felt good. It might even have been effective.
But he thought about it long and hard all night.
As much as he wants the money and would like to have them roughed up, he wants to stay out of prison even more.
Violence against Jill and Ted Westcott would bring a lot of attention.
He decided it wasn’t worth the risk. He has other streams of income to focus on.
He knew the reputable news outlets wouldn’t pay. He considered selling the files to the tabloids. But he couldn’t do that as anonymously as he thought. They wanted a contract, for fuck’s sake. Fuck that. He’d hung up on them. He really doesn’t want to go to prison.
He decides to cut his losses, but the fuckers will be sorry.
Wearing latex gloves, he makes copies of the most damning files and puts them on four thumb drives.
He prints four copies of a typed note explaining what the files contain and addresses three envelopes to the editors in chief of three major New York newspapers.
He hopes they splash it all over the front page.
He addresses a fourth envelope to the commanding officer of the 84th Precinct of the NYPD, which serves the Brooklyn Heights neighbourhood where the Westcotts live.
Finally, he pulls on a dark hoodie and mails the anonymous envelopes from a mailbox in downtown Manhattan.
He looks forward to seeing the Westcotts ruined.
Special Agent Ramirez is at his desk in his office when he gets an unexpected call from a friend at the NYPD in Brooklyn.
‘Ramirez, you got a minute?’
He recognizes the voice of Charlie Cousins. ‘Yeah, sure, what’s up?’ He’s buried deep in his current case, but he always has time for a friend, especially a friend who’s a detective in the NYPD.
‘I have something you might like to see.’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s about the Westcott case.’
Suddenly Ramirez is all ears. He’d shared his suspicions about the Westcotts with Charlie one night over some beers, ages ago.
He’d told him about their obvious fear when he mentioned the possibility of cameras on the boat, the strong financial motive, but he’d had no evidence of murder and had been told to move on.
Now Ramirez says, his heart beating faster, ‘What about it?’
‘An envelope came in the mail from an anonymous source. It had a note and a thumb drive. I think you should come down and take a look.’
‘I’m on my way.’
At the station, Ramirez is met by Charlie, who introduces him to the commanding officer, Captain Ed Silva.
‘Have a seat,’ Silva tells him. ‘Charlie here says you’re with the CGIS and were investigating the incident at sea in which Greg Westcott died.’
‘Yes.’ Ramirez tries not to show his excitement. ‘I don’t think things happened on that boat the way they said they did.’
Silva hands him a note inside a clear plastic bag, saying, ‘Forensics has already had a look; no prints or anything. No way to know who our friend is.’
Ramirez takes the note and reads it.
Thumb drive contains camera footage of Ted and Jill Westcott clearly admitting they murdered Greg Westcott at sea.
Thought you might be interested.
Christ. He was right all along. He knew it. He looks up. ‘Have you reviewed the footage?’
‘We have. It was taken from inside their house. Of course, it’s inadmissible unless we get the two of them in here and one of them admits they knew they were being recorded.
’ He snorts, showing what he thinks the likelihood of that is.
Then he nudges the monitor on his desk around and leans away so that Ramirez can see it more easily.
He puts in the thumb drive and cues it up.
‘There’s a lot here, but we’ve already noted the time stamps for the most interesting parts.
This is the two of them, the same date as the memorial for Greg Westcott.
’ He plays it, while Ramirez watches, holding his breath.
Jill and Ted are in their front room having drinks, Ted in his leather chair, and Jill on the sofa.
[Jill] I’m worried about Ramirez.
[Ted] Don’t be.
[Jill] How can you be so relaxed about it? He thinks we murdered Greg.
[Ted] So what? He can’t prove it.
[Jill] Maybe he’s the one sending the texts.
[Ted] It’s possible, I suppose. But why would he?
[Jill] To freak us out. To be nasty. Who knows? He obviously suspects us.
[Ted] I think it’s because of how we reacted when he said there were cameras on the boat. I think we gave ourselves away.
[Jill] What are you not telling me, Ted?
[Ted] When I saw him, the day after, when he told me there were no cameras on the boat – he said to me, ‘I bet that’s a relief.’
[Jill] So he knows.
[Ted] He doesn’t know! He suspects, that’s all.
[Jill] Fuck! I don’t think he’s going to give up.
[Ted] Jill, He wasn’t there. He didn’t see us push Greg off the boat and leave him there to die. There’s no evidence! You need to stop worrying. I spoke to John.
[Jill] What did he say?
[Ted] He said he didn’t send the texts.
[Jill] Do you believe him?
[Ted] I don’t know.
[Jill] What are we going to do?
[Ted] Do you really think Lara could do something like that?
[Jill] I don’t know.
[Ted] Don’t. Why did you do that? We shouldn’t engage! That’s what they want! We’ll change your number too. We just have to hold our nerve. If you want, we can go away for a while. Maybe we should.
[Jill] What’s that?
[Ted] What?
[Jill] That! What the fuck is that?
Ramirez gets a close-up of Ted and Jill’s faces, distorted and ugly with fear as they discover the camera.
[Jill] Is that a camera? Oh fuck. 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!
The footage goes all topsy-turvy and ends suddenly.
Ramirez sits back in his chair, stunned.
He takes a couple of deep breaths. He feels vindicated and frustrated at the same time.
He’s always trusted his instincts, and it’s good to know they didn’t mislead him here.
But it’s painful to know that this evidence counts for nothing in a court of law.
It’s not the first time he’s had to abandon a case because the evidence just wasn’t there, even though he was convinced of someone’s guilt.
Why does it bother him so much this time?
He doesn’t have to dig very deep for the answer.
It’s because of who they are. Because they’re rich and greedy and entitled.
It’s because they already had more than 99.
9 per cent of the population, but they wanted even more.
They felt they were entitled to it and thought nothing of killing someone else to get it. That’s what sticks in his throat.
They were obviously being blackmailed. Someone was recording them, sending them texts.
They even suspected him. They also suspected someone called John.
And Lara. Ramirez knows what happened to Lara Donleavy and her husband.
Her husband is dead. He looks up at Ed Silva, his mind going a mile a minute.
Silva says, ‘We have no jurisdiction over what happened to Greg Westcott, but you do. We’re happy to bring them in and play the footage for them.’
Ramirez nods. ‘One of them might slip up and say something under questioning, and that would be admissible.’
‘They obviously already know about this footage, though,’ Charlie says doubtfully. ‘They found the camera. They’ll be prepared. They’ll bring their attorneys.’
Silva nods agreement. ‘Looks like this was a blackmail attempt and they didn’t play. They must know this is inadmissible.’
Ramirez nods too. ‘They’ve probably already lawyered up.’ He looks at the two of them. ‘But let’s do it.’
Silva nods. ‘There’s more to see here too,’ he says, indicating the monitor. ‘Have a look.’