82

Philippe approached the witness and, after coolly reestablishing Wagner’s previous testimony, asked, “What was your opinion of Tamara Gee?”

“I thought she was evil and had too much power.”

Dead silence in the courtroom. This was a new side of Troy Wagner.

“What kind of power did she have, Mr. Wagner?”

“Isn’t it obvious? She was a succubus,” he said, shifting in his seat. “She had the power to ruin men’s lives.”

My palms grew sweaty as my heart pounded. This guy was crazy. Like, certifiably crazy. This was going to work. Please, please, let it work.

“Mr. Wagner, do you remember your thoughts when Ms. Gee came to pick up her dinner order on the last night of her life?”

“Yeah. Per usual, she dissed Matthew. She clearly didn’t understand the kind of person Matthew Angel is, what he means to people, what kind of athlete he is. He’s one of the greatest football players of all time. He’s going into the history books, or was. But Tamara’s loose ways, her disrespect, her downtown diva bitching, that was ruining his game. I thought it was time to take her out.”

There was a loud rumble in the gallery. The jurors gasped and covered their mouths and turned to one another. As I glanced around, I saw nothing but shocked faces, abject confusion, and reporters furiously scribbling in notebooks.

It was pretty clear that no one had even guessed at the reason for this witness to reappear, but it was hitting them now. Wagner saw himself as Matthew’s avenging angel.

I turned my palm up and clasped hands with Harry.

“To be clear,” Phil said, “do you mean it was time to kill Tamara?”

“That’s right. I couldn’t stand what she was doing to Matthew,” Wagner replied. “I’d thought for a long time how to do it, and now she was giving me a time frame. She was going to move out, and she was home alone. It was that night or never.”

More gasps and chatter from the gallery. So much that the judge had to bang his gavel a few times to shut everyone up.

“What happened after that?” Phil asked.

“Well. Like I said, I had thought about this for a while. I had the perfect setup. My shift is from eight until midnight. I sent the dishwasher home and locked up the restaurant. I watched to see if Matthew came home, and when he didn’t, I got it done.”

Phil froze in anticipation. I could hardly breathe. Harry’s tight grip on my hand was about the only thing keeping me from passing out.

“Could you be more specific, Mr. Wagner?” Phil asked.

“How specific? Oh, what I did? I am one of the few people who knew our old dumbwaiter still worked. I had a knife. Well, I had my choice. I chose a paring knife. I put on rubber gloves and an apron. I climbed into the dumbwaiter, pressed the button, and took it to the third floor. Is this what you are asking me?”

I glanced at Nadine Raphael. She had a death grip on a pencil and was staring straight ahead.

“Yes, it is, Mr. Wagner,” Philippe said. “Please go on.”

“Okay. So the elevator opens inside a closet inside Tamara’s kitchen. I went into the bedroom and Tamara was asleep, so I killed her.”

He said it so casually, it was like he was reading today’s specials off the board. The courtroom was practically sucked into oblivion by one group gasp. Then Tamara’s mother cried out, someone shouted, and chatter filled the room.

“Order!” the judge yelled, banging his gavel. “I will have order in my courtroom!”

Eventually everyone calmed down. Mrs. Gee was quietly crying against her husband’s chest. I couldn’t see Matthew’s face. He was looking down at his hands, still as stone.

“Please continue, Mr. Wagner,” Philippe said. “What did you do next?”

“I left the way I came in. I took off my gloves so I could get a grip on the door, and when I got down to the restaurant, I washed the knife, bagged the gloves and apron, and changed my clothes. Then I took all of it to Greenpoint, where I live, and threw it in a Dumpster. That’s it.”

Oddly, silence reigned throughout the large vaulted courtroom once the story was finished. Apparently a cold-blooded confession was a lot to process.

Phil turned the witness over to the prosecution, and Nadine Raphael slowly rose from her chair. I saw that a few hairs had slipped free of her bun. Otherwise, she looked perfectly calm and composed.

“Were you offered a deal to make this confession, Troy?” she asked.

“Unofficially. Cop said if I confessed, he’d try to get me a lighter sentence. Look, they had my handprint. The DNA will convict me, so I took my best shot. I’ve fully cooperated. Right, Your Honor?”

The judge was so stunned he looked like he was about to keel over. “Uh, yes. Right.”

“I have no further questions,” Ms. Raphael said.

“Hey, Matthew,” Wagner called out, leaning toward where my brother was sitting. “You’re free now, buddy. I’ve saved your life. I hope you appreciate all I’ve done for you.”

Matthew rose up like a grizzly bear, knocking his chair to the floor. His fists clenched and he looked like Goliath in chains. In other words, the Matthew I knew and loved was back.

“You killed Tamara, you sick son of a bitch!” he bellowed. “You killed my son!”

Matthew took one step forward, and that was all that was needed. Chaos erupted. Guards lunged for Matty. The audience rose to their feet for a better view as first two, then three burly men wrestled my brother back into his seat. The jurors were almost falling out of the jury box.

The judge pounded his gavel until the plate he was pounding it on shot off the bench. Then he pounded the bench itself until he got a semblance of silence.

“Bailiff!” he thundered. “Clear the courtroom! Do it now!”