As happy as Briar will allow herself to be at this point in her short, delicate life.
Redmond has been a win-win.
Until recently.
I’ve never been in a police station, let alone sat in an interrogation chair for any reason. Honestly, I’m a bit disappointed. It looks nothing like it does on TV. It’s not dark or dingy, and there’s no bright lights blinding me. It’s clean, simple, and the coffee smells good. I would have accepted a cup had I not brought my own in with me.
And no one is playing good-cop, bad-cop. Rather it’s their curiosity that puts me on edge.
“So you went to an auction and bid on Mr. Vitale—”
“No. I bid on the dog. A date with Brand Vitale just came with it. I told him I didn’t want any part of the date, but he insisted I get my money’s worth, so I went. We had dinner last night.”
“Did he mention his wife?”
Doctor-patient confidentiality is the groundwork for trust. Even though Brand is definitely not my client, it still feels weird to speak about his sex life. There’s something about our dinner and brief conversation that I want to protect. Not to mention I already said I knew nothing about him so it would come across odd that I knew he hadn’t had sex with his dead wife in years. Truth and lies fog over like a cloudy sunrise on water. “He informed me he’s been single for six months. I didn’t ask anything further because I don’t plan to ever see him again. It was none of my business.”
Detective Osborne leans back in his chair and studies me. “Six months ago, Marcia Vitale was found dead, floating in the lake behind their house.”
My eyes widen. “That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, it is,” Osborne agrees. “She drowned and we have reason to believe it was not accidental.”
I look from one detective to the other. “Really?”
“Yes. Vitale’s house sits on thirty acres and there’s enough surveillance and security cameras on that land to rival The Pentagon. But during the projected time frame of her death, the feeds from the security cameras went dead. Or they were deleted. Whatever it was, we were told there was no footage.”
My palms are so sweaty, I have to white-knuckle my coffee when I take another sip. “You think Brand Vitale killed his wife? And how did the security feed disappear?”
“There was a storm and power outage that night. Vitale insists he doesn’t have his cameras on any type of backup power source.” Trudeau rolls his eyes. “Vitale is our main suspect and the only person with motive. They weren’t known to be … happily married.”
I’d say so. No sex for years on end certainly screams troubled marriage, but I don’t express that. “That is horrendous, but lots of people are not happily married. I should know, I counsel them. What I don’t understand is why you’re telling me this.”
Trudeau leans forward and points to me. “Because you’re the first woman he’s been seen with since her death.”
I frown and shake my head. “Our meeting was a chance encounter. Do you really expect me to know something about his marriage or this poor woman’s death? And how do you know I’m the first woman he’s been with?”
They glance at each other and Trudeau shrugs, taking the lead. “He’s our only suspect. We keep close tabs on him.”
“But he’s a firefighter. A paramedic. You really think he could kill his wife?”
“His alibi is … murky.”
“How can an alibi be murky?” My words are rushed, edging on anxious. “An alibi is black and white. Either he has an alibi or not, right?”
“He had a shift during the time the coroner estimates Marcia Vitale was killed. His unit had a call, but Vitale didn’t go. He wasn’t feeling well—it was a small job and they could spare him. He stayed behind. Everyone on duty that night confirmed it.”
I lean back in my chair. “That sounds like an alibi.”
“By himself,” Osborne stresses. “His cell phone shows he was there the whole time. But he was alone. See? Murky.”
“You consider that murky?” I pull in a big breath and try to keep my heartbeat from racing out of control. “Wait. What do you want from me? I don’t even know him. Why am I here?”
“We told you—you’re the first woman he’s been seen with since his wife’s death. And we wanted to give you the heads up. The Vitale family…” Osborne trails off without finishing.
“What about the Vitale family?” I ask.
“They’ve managed Marcia’s death in the media. They can be influential, to say the least,” Trudeau says.
“Influential?” I echo.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Osborne deadpans.
I tell them the truth. “I don’t know what to say.”
Osborne digs through his wallet and slides a business card across the table. “If you think of anything, or if Vitale starts acting … odd, let us know. But be careful.”
“I don’t plan on seeing him again. My schedule is hectic.” I take the card and drop it in my bag. “I especially don’t have time for someone who may or may not have an alibi during the time of his wife’s murder. I appreciate you bringing this to my attention.”
Detective Trudeau has not stopped scrutinizing me since I sat in this chair, so his words don’t match his demeanor. “It was the least we could do. It’s our duty to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Just being vigilant.”
I stand and shake both their hands before gripping my travel mug to my chest. “I rescheduled my first patient of the day to this evening, I really need to get going. I have a long day ahead of me.”
Detective Osborne gestures toward the door. “Thanks for making time for us. I’ll show you out.”
I hurry out of the police station and hope it was a once in a lifetime event. I have no desire to return.
Ever.
In the early hours of the morning, police were called to the home of Brando Vitale, Jr. where his wife, Marcia Vitale, was found dead. A call to 911 reported a body washed ashore at the prestigious Gray Mountain Lake. The body was found approximately one-half mile from the Vitale home. Preliminary reports from the coroner suggest Vitale drowned in shallow waters twenty-four to thirty-six hours prior to being found. Evidence shows there could have been signs of a struggle and police are investigating her death as a murder.
Arthur Ramos, Vitale’s attorney, has made a statement on behalf of the family. “We are devastated by the loss of Marcia and expect whoever was responsible to be charged to the fullest extent of the law. We appreciate privacy during this time.”
Saul Ricci, Marcia Vitale’s father, has not minced words and wants Brando Vitale, Jr. investigated in his daughter’s tragic death. Vitale is a decorated firefighter of Redmond Station Six and was on duty during the time of his wife’s death.
The investigation is ongoing.
One Google search is all it took. I have memorized every detail of the investigation into Marcia Vitale’s untimely death.
I can’t lie. It haunts me.
“When you texted me for an appointment, it sounded urgent. Now you’re here and haven’t said a word.”