Nora fidgeted in the chair. It had been a long time since she’d dressed like a prosecutor—navy-blue Brooks Brothers pantsuit, short gold chain on top of a white cotton dress shirt, her chin-length auburn hair brushed straight with a center part. What had once been her daily uniform now felt foreign and confining, but a quarter-zip fleece and a scrunchie wouldn’t do for court. She crossed and then recrossed her black flats, keeping her feet tucked under the chair. Her heart was beating quickly, but she could still hear her mother’s voice. Sit up straight and show the world what you’re made of.
She shifted in the seat again just as the man at the table spoke in a deep voice.
“Ms. Carleton, you know you have an absolute right not to do this.”
“I know that, Your Honor,” Nora answered.
“And that your appearance here today is entirely voluntary?”
“It is, Judge.”
“That you have a right to remain silent?”
“Absolutely.”
“That anything you do say to this grand jury can be used against you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That your lawyer can’t be in here with you but that I will give you a reasonable opportunity to step out and consult with your attorney at any time?”
“I appreciate that, Judge.”
“You still want to be a witness today?”
“I do, Judge Robinson.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t hurt Helen Carmichael and if I were indicted it would ruin my life, and most importantly it would hurt my eight-year-old daughter, Sophie. And I’ll do anything I can to avoid that. So here I am.”
Judge Robinson looked down at some notes in front of him on the table, then quickly looked up, shaking his head slightly. “You know what? The rules of evidence don’t apply in here and it’s just me—and Aileen—trying to figure out what happened, so let me go a little out of order. Who do you think killed Helen Carmichael?”
“I honestly don’t know, Judge,” Nora answered. “Seems like it had to be somebody close to her, somebody strong enough to move her unconscious body around. And also somebody who knows me well enough to know my canoe, my car, where I live. I suppose I should add that it must be someone who hated both of us.”
Nora exhaled. “So that’s people she was keeping files on, although, to be honest, I find it hard to believe any of them disliked me that much, except maybe Louis Lambert. Which is why I really don’t know who killed her, other than it wasn’t me.”
Judge Robinson continued looking at Nora. “Were you in love with Helen?”
“No, not in that sense, Judge. I loved her, like she was my big sister—although it seems I may not have seen her as clearly as I could have. It’s true that, early on, I had a crush on her. Kissed her one night—and I’m guessing you’ve seen video of that—but it didn’t become a thing. The two of us actually agreed it would be a mistake. So, no, I wasn’t in love with her, but I thought the world of her.”
“What do you make of the idea that you were some kind of scorned girlfriend and that’s why you killed her?”
Nora grimaced before answering. “Doesn’t make any sense to me, Judge, like so much of this: the knife in my drawer, blood on my car, Helen in my canoe.”
“Have you given any thought to why someone would have it out for both of you?”
“Of course, Judge.”
“And?”
“We were doing one thing together that might explain it. In fact, it was the reason she brought me to Westport. We were trying to figure out whether someone was stealing Saugatuck’s trade information to get into the market just as the company was making a move, so they could make money off the impact the company’s trades would have. It’s called front running. Very hard to detect and a way for a crook to make a lot of money if they do it right.”
“So where’d that stand?”
“We had done enough work to be reasonably confident the thief wasn’t at one of our brokers or support companies. None of them knew enough to explain all the similar trades. It had to be coming from inside Saugatuck, somebody with a complete view of our trading.”
“And?”
“And nothing, Judge. Could have been somebody she had a file on or somebody she didn’t. Our suspects were anyone with access to our trades or, actually, anyone who might have access—authorized or not—to our IT systems. There was still a lot of work to be done. We had reached a point where the investigation was going to risk being revealed publicly, which could be bad for the company. But there was no other way to find the culprit or culprits. Our investigation had hit a wall.”
“Why do you think Helen wanted to talk to you the night she was killed?”
“I don’t know. If you go back through our texts, that was something she said a lot when something popped into her head. It was her way of telling me to remind her when we were next together that there was something she needed to discuss. I don’t know what it was that night, but after receiving texts like that over a weekend, it was my habit to stop by her office on Monday mornings to ask about it.”
Nora paused and looked down before continuing. “Of course, I’d give anything to go back so I could call her right away and ask. But I didn’t think of it as anything different or urgent at the time.”
Judge Robinson turned to Aileen Shapiro, who continued the questioning, but in a much more predictable pattern. She took Nora through her family and education, career as a federal prosecutor, path to Saugatuck and her work there, the party at Compo Beach the night Helen was killed, that she was alone at home later that night, the alleged intruder the next day, the knife drawer—all the expected questions. But it felt anticlimactic to Nora. Every time she looked at Aileen, she saw Judge Robinson sitting next to her, motionless, leaning back, his hands clasped across his middle, fingers interlocked as if in prayer, a hint of a smile on his face. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already heard what he needed to hear.