A: I would say so.
Q: Mrs. Toland, you told me earlier tonight, did you not, that a man named Bobby Diaz came to your house on the night of the murder...
A: Yes.
Q: Sometime after your husband left for the boat.
A: Yes.
Q: At around ten that night, isn’t that so?
A: Yes.
Q: Can you tell me who Bobby Diaz is?
A: Design chief for Toyland.
Q: Was he aware of the infringement suit Lainie Commins had brought against the firm?
A: He was.
Q: Did the matter of this suit come up at all while he was in your house that night?
A: It did.
Q: Can you tell us what was said about it?
A: He said he’d given Brett a videotape.
Q: What sort of video?
A: A pornographic tape.
Q: Did it have a title?
A: Idle Hands. It’s four women masturbating. Lainie Commins is one of the women on the tape.
Q: How did Bobby happen to give this tape to your husband?
A: He said it would help him win his case. He wanted a finder’s fee for it. Ten percent of whatever we grossed on the teddy bear.
Q: By the teddy bear...
A: Gladys. Our bear. The one Lainie claims we stole from her.
Q: Had your husband agreed to give Bobby this ten percent?
A: No. That’s why he was there. He wanted the tape back.
Q: Did you know anything about this tape before he mentioned it to you?
A: Nothing.
Q: Had you ever seen it?
A: Never.
Q: Ever watched it?
A: Never.
Q: Did you even know of its existence?
A: No, I did not know of its existence.
She began crying again. The Republican look-alikes looked patient and supportive. The angry redhead looked bored. I offered Etta a box of Kleenex. She blew her nose, dabbed at her eyes, wiped her cheeks. She brushed a strand of hair back from her face. She raised her chin. Her eyes met mine. They were clear and intent and alert. We resumed.
Q: Did Bobby Diaz ask you to look for that tape?
A: He did.
Q: And did you conduct a search for it?
A: Yes, I did.
Q: Did you eventually find it?
A: Yes. In our bedroom safe. Just the cassette. The case was gone.
Q: What time was it when you found the tape?
A: About a quarter to eleven.
Q: Then what?
A: We watched a little of it. To make sure it was the right one. Because the case was missing, you see. The black vinyl case they come in. There was no way of identifying it.
Q: Was it the correct tape?
A: Yes. Lainie was on it.
Q: You watched it for how long?
A: Oh, no more than a minute.
Q: Then what happened?
A: Bobby wanted it back. I told him I wouldn’t give it to him. Because I thought maybe Brett had paid him for it, after all, and this was just some kind of trick.
Q: What did he say to that?
A: Nothing. He just left.
I looked at her.
The room was silent except for the whirring of the video camera. I glanced at Frank. His nod was almost imperceptible.
“Mrs. Toland,” I said, “excuse me, but didn’t you tell me earlier tonight that your refusal to give Diaz...?”
“I told you earlier tonight exactly what I’m telling you now.”
“Didn’t you tell me that he...?”
“I told you that he left the house.”
“Didn’t he say something to you before he left the house?”
“Yes, he said good night.”
“What else did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t he tell you that until this past Christmas, your husband was having an affair with Lainie Commins?”
“No, he did not.”
“And wasn’t it this that caused you to...?”
“Do I have to answer any more questions?” she asked, and turned to Brackett.
“Not if you don’t choose to,” he said.
“I don’t choose to,” she said.
“Where?” Toots said. “Where’d they put it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Warren said.
“The eight keys, Warren. Where?”
“I don’t know anything about...”
“I was in the john when they came aboard with it. Where’d they put it?”
“I never saw it.”
“Warren, I’m going to shoot you.”
“Go ahead.”
“You know where that coke is, Warren.”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“Tell me, or I’ll shoot you.”
“You see this man here?” Warren said, and jerked his head toward where Juan lay motionless and silent on the deck. “Three minutes after they came aboard, he hit me with that gun you’re holding in your hand there. I never saw anybody bringing any dope onto this boat.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Fuck you, then, I’ll find it myself.”
“Go right ahead.”
She went down the ladder. The rain kept pouring down. He shook his head, sighed, and went to the wheel. He could hear her storming around belowdecks, banging cabinet doors, tossing around pots and pans, whatever. He sighed again. Some ten minutes later, she came topside again.
“Where is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
She began searching through the storage bins on either side of the boat, tossing aside life jackets and lines, rags, a billed cap. Lifted the lid to the bait locker. Felt around under the ice and the beer cans. Warren held the boat steady. The rain kept slashing the deck. She came to where he was sitting, gestured with the gun toward the closed compartment under the dash, just above his knees.
“Move,” she said.
“It won’t drive itself,” he said.
“Then open that.”
He thumbed the button in the drop-front lid. The lid fell open. He saw at once a yellow oilskin-wrapped package wedged inside the compartment among the charts and a flashlight and a cigar box and a whistle.
Eight keys, she’d said. Two point two pounds to a kilo, ask any schoolboy. Seventeen and a half pounds of the white lady, give or take.
“Give it to me,” she said.
“No,” he said, and slammed the compartment shut, and raised his knee against it as if to tell her it was going to stay shut. Right knee wedged against the drop-front lid. Rain sweeping in over the boat, slicing back to where they stood side by side, the gun steady in Toots’s hand, and the wheel steady in his.
“Warren,” she said, “this isn’t a joke here.”
“I know that, Toots.”
“Then move away.”
“No.”
“Warren, I need that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Don’t tell me what I fucking need or don’t need!
“Toots...”
“Don’t force me to hurt you, Warren!”
She peered at him through the fiercely falling rain, her eyes squinted, her hair plastered to her head, her clothes drenched, water streaming down her face. He wasn’t sure whether that was just rain on her face or whether she was also crying. He didn’t think she would shoot him, but he wasn’t sure of that, either. The gun was trembling in her fist.
“Warren...” she said, “please.”
“Toots...”
“Please, Warren...”
“Toots...”
“Please.”
He sighed heavily.
He thumbed open the compartment. Reached in. Took out the package wrapped in yellow oilskin. Slammed the compartment shut. She realized what he was about to do even as he started doing it. She reached for him as he turned, reached for the package in his hands, was still reaching for it as it left his hands, reaching across him to rescue it, salvage it, snatch it from the rain and the night as he hurled it over the side of the boat into the sea.