Carmen and Porter left Nora with the lab technician and followed Demi Kofatos upstairs to her tiny office, where they took the two chairs facing her desk.
“Are we clear that she’s not going to be asked any questions down there?” Porter asked.
“By the lab guy?” Demi replied. “I can assure you she will not. And that he could not. He’s gonna pull out her hair and take her blood. That’s it.”
“So what’s the big mystery?” Porter said, smoothing his goatee. “What do you need to show us that our client can’t see?”
“Oh,” Demi answered, “I’m fine if your client sees what I’m going to show you. I just didn’t want to do it in front of her and get accused of trying to get her to say something. There are two things.”
Demi passed a sheet of paper across the desk. “This is the only communication we have found so far between your client and Helen Carmichael on the day of the murder. It’s a text Helen sent Sunday evening at 8:25, not long before the ME says she was killed.”
Carmen and Porter looked down at the paper. Need to talk, Helen had texted Nora.
“Any answer?” Carmen asked.
“No,” Demi said, sliding a clear plastic envelope across the desk. “Here’s your client’s cell phone that we took with the warrant. The State’s Attorney is still working out a process to avoid any privileged stuff but she said we can return this now that we have a complete image. And we’re waiting on the results from your client’s cell carrier to see where her phone was that evening and whether there are relevant communications on the device. We’re also wrestling with Saugatuck to get all relevant emails or texts. Which is like pulling teeth.”
There was an awkward pause before Carmen asked, “And the second item?”
Demi opened her laptop and slid it across the desk so it faced the two attorneys. “This came in as an anonymous tip,” she said, pressing the space bar.
It appeared to be a cell phone video, taken at night, depicting two women standing talking on a street corner sidewalk. A few seconds into the video, the taller of the two leaned down and kissed the shorter woman, who responded by leaning into her and bringing her hands to the taller woman’s face shortly before the kiss ended. The video stopped there.
Porter’s brow grew more furrowed than usual. “Why are you showing us this?” he asked sharply.
“Because I think the taller woman is your client and the other is the dead woman, Helen Carmichael.”
“So the fuck what?” Porter said. “Surely you aren’t trying to say that’s a nonconsensual encounter.”
“Oh, no, no,” Demi answered. “Seems very much consensual to me. But the point is that your client and the dead woman seemed to have some sort of secret extracurricular relationship.”
“And?” Carmen asked.
“And nothing,” Demi said, “except that most murder victims are killed by someone close to them and, as you know, romantic relationships often go sideways, with bad results. So maybe that’s what happened here.”
“Stop, just stop,” Porter said angrily. “We’re not even going to dignify that with a response. And I’m grateful you didn’t try to show this silliness to our client. Honestly, in my forty years of practice—”
Carmen cut him off. “And I’m hoping you’re considering that whoever made that video and then sent it to you is the one with the bad motive in this situation.”
When Demi didn’t respond, Carmen asked, “Do you know when that was taken?”
“We do not,” Demi answered, “and it’s even hard to tell the time of year in the dark. And no metadata on it.”
After a few beats, Porter asked, “We done here?”
“Given that your client is not willing to be interviewed,” Demi said, “we are.”
As they stood to leave, Carmen turned to Demi. “Would you be so kind as to send us a copy of that video?”
Demi leaned down to her computer. “Just did,” she said and squeezed past to lead them out.