What You Don't Know, page 18
“Don’t try nothing,” he said.
“Don’t worry,” Malcolm said. “We’re cool.” Tree narrowed his eyes as Malcolm shut the door of his bathroom. He dropped his head into his hands. The fingers of his right hand still throbbed with heat from this morning. He let his shoulders hunch around his ears.
He stayed in that position for a few seconds, loud, heavy bursts of his breath filling the bathroom. Finally, he raised the lid of the toilet, caught off guard as his bladder pressed against him in response to the clanging porcelain.
Malcolm turned on the faucet, sticking his hot, blistered hand under the stream of cold water, groaning from the relief. After nearly a minute, he gingerly washed his hands, then looked up at the medicine cabinet.
The medicine cabinet.
He pulled the corner of the pristine white wood, ready to yank it off its hinges, before thinking better of it and easing it open instead.
The big, beautiful bottle of sleeping pills stared back at him.
He grabbed it, opening it with shaking fingers. He tapped out a handful of salmon pink ovals, a few of them broken in half, Blair’s comical attempt to control his dosage. She didn’t know that most nights, he waited until she was snoring softly before sneaking back into the bathroom to down three more halves with water. That it never occurred to her to lock the pills up, that she never counted them, was funny to him.
He lifted the edge of his shoe to the countertop and quickly shoved about half of the pills into one sock, the rest into his other sock. He hopped around a few times to force the pills down the length of his foot and make sure he could walk comfortably without drawing too much suspicion. Why he was bothering with the pretense, he didn’t know. After all, he was a busted old football player. None of them walked right anymore.
“Hey. Hey!” Tree’s fist exploded against the door. “What the fuck you doin’ in there? I’m a blow up Wifey you don’t come out now. Right now.”
Malcolm shut off the faucet and yanked the door open. Tree fell inside and Malcolm had to sidestep to avoid a collision. Tree looked around, crazed eyes darting around the room searching for some sign that Malcolm had tried to escape, had tried to pull one over on him.
“All yours.”
Tree made a big show of straightening up and tucking the hem of his dress shirt far down into his pants. “Come on, Wifey. Get in here. Fix me up.”
Malcolm could see the scene had shifted only slightly. Dio was still hanging off the corner of the bed, eyes trained on the TV. Farrah snoring softly on the couch. Cookie had taken her man’s place, her gun pointed at Blair, who sat on the couch at Farrah’s bound feet.
Tree stalked out of the bathroom over to Blair, sticking his hand in her face. “What you think, Wifey? You think you can take care of me?”
She recoiled as if he’d stuck a mound of rotting meat and vegetables in her face for inspection. “I think you need some ice for the swelling. We have to go to the kitchen.”
“What about that thing you used on Ol’ Girl?” Cookie piped up. “That ice pack thing or whatever?”
“It’s only good for one use. It won’t work now.”
“Damn, you got us going all up and down this house—basement, kitchen, bathroom, back to the kitchen—”
“Do you want my help or not?” Blair asked.
“Cookie, go downstairs, bring some ice up for my hand.”
“What about Ol’ Boy?” she asked.
Blair winced as Tree wound his fingers through the ends of her ponytail. “Wifey and me will be just fine, ain’t that right? Mally Mal knows if he tries anything that Wifey’ll take the hit.”
Neither Blair nor Malcolm responded and Cookie huffed out of the room toward the kitchen. Tree nodded at Malcolm. “Sit in that chair.”
“Let him stay here, let him watch our daughter,” Blair said.
Tree didn’t say anything but kept the gun on Blair as she stood up and motioned for Malcolm to take her place watching over Farrah. He eased down onto the couch, flexing his feet against the pills in his socks.
“We’re good, man,” he said to Tree. “I’m not gonna try anything.”
Turnabout
Isabelle Ryan: Terrell Winters’ mother, Marilyn, was the one to turn him in.
* * *
Elena York: According to Marilyn, although he didn’t live there anymore, Terrell would sometimes come by the house whenever his stepfather was out of town. He came over late that Monday morning and she immediately knew something was wrong. He was jittery, limping. He had a black eye and swollen mouth. He stayed glued to the TV, constantly checking his phone.
* * *
Skye Stafford: She watched him over the next few days and he became more and more erratic. She grew fearful about him being there and asked him to leave, but he refused. She realized he was hiding out.
* * *
Lieutenant Dimitri Cora: Marilyn Winters didn’t trust her son, was certain he’d brought drugs into the house, which is why she decided to search his room while he was in the shower. She found Blair Gilbert’s necklace. She sent him on an errand to get him out of the house so she could escape to the police station.
* * *
Skye Stafford: The police knew they had to move fast and catch him by surprise. Marilyn told Terrell she had to work and would be home late, but in reality, she was with police the whole time. They waited until the dead of night, when she knew he was likely to be asleep in front of the television. And that’s where police found him.
* * *
Elena York: Marilyn took a huge risk. So much could have gone wrong. But as she told police, she had no other choice but to turn her son in.
* * *
Isabelle Ryan: And now it was time for police to find out what happened.
10:30 p.m.
“Do you think they’re asleep?”
“Maybe. Hard to tell.”
“Do you think they can hear us?” Blair whispered.
He craned his neck a little. “I don’t think so. Still, we should keep our voices down, just in case.”
Blair glanced over at Farrah, still asleep. The TV droned with yet another loud movie. A surprise rainstorm with the occasional crack of thunder raged outside the window. One of the three, she wasn’t sure which, was snoring softly. She could see the outline of Tree and Cookie’s bodies snuggled up against each other on her bed. Dio was curled up on the bench at the foot of the bed. He’d been lying that way, perfectly quiet, not even a twitch, for the past twenty minutes, leading her to believe that he too was passed out cold. It was the quietest they’d been since they’d gotten there.
After she’d tended to Terrell with ice, peroxide, and gauze he didn’t really need, the gang of three had re-tied Blair and Malcolm’s hands and feet back together, though they’d left them gagless. They settled back into watching movies, endlessly fascinated with the number of channels and streaming services available to them. Blair and Malcolm shot furtive glances at each other every few minutes until one by one, each of their captors drifted off to sleep. She and Malcolm sat on the floor, their backs against the sofa.
“You’re sure they’re asleep?” she asked again.
“Blair, unless I go over there and look, I don’t know for sure. I’m just guessing.”
“Okay, okay.” She bit her lip and took another glance at the bed. “I think they’re asleep.”
“Thank God,” he muttered.
“Malcolm.” She turned so that her back was to him.
“What?”
“My pants,” she whispered. “The scissors from the first aid kit. They’re in my pants.”
Malcolm groaned softly in appreciation as he maneuvered himself around to get his hands closer to her. He groped across her waistband until the fingers of his good hand gripped the scissor handles. She held her breath as she felt him fumble around, relieved at the snap! of the tape giving way and liberating her wrists. She took the scissors from him and cut the tape around her ankles, quickly snipping the tape around his hands and feet. They glanced at a sleeping Farrah and Blair mimed to Malcolm to carry her. He bent down to hoist her over his shoulder, while Blair slid her hand over the girl’s mouth to stifle any screams if she woke up.
Cookie rolled over, mumbling to herself, her soft snoring temporarily halted.
They froze, watching and waiting to see if she would wake up and see them. Within seconds, her snoring resumed. Blair swallowed and motioned to Malcolm to head for the door.
They crept quietly out into the hallway, Blair keeping her palm over Farrah’s mouth, while looking over her shoulder every few seconds, her ears on high alert for befuddled screams when Tree, Cookie, and Dio realized the Gilberts were gone.
They moved quietly, slowly down the staircase, their footsteps whispering across the floor. The TV grew more muffled the further away they got from the bedroom.
Halfway down the stairs.
Four steps.
Three steps.
One.
They reached the bottom. Farrah continued to sleep. Blair gripped Malcolm’s forearm as they hurried in the direction of the kitchen. Once they reached it, Blair ran over to the key ring holder and slid off the spare key for her car, while Malcolm maneuvered Farrah a few times so he could punch the keypad next to the door leading to the garage.
It beeped and lit up green. Blair and Malcolm smiled at each other.
And that was when Cookie woke up.
Interrogation
Suspect #1, Terrell Winters
Note: DC is Lieutenant Dimitri Cora; SD is Lieutenant Sharon Donahue; TW is Terrell Winters
DC: State your full name for me, please.
* * *
TW: Don’t you know it already?
* * *
DC: Pretend like I don’t.
* * *
TW: Terrell Robert Winters.
* * *
SD: Terrell, do you know Malcolm Gilbert?
* * *
TW: Shit, everybody know him.
* * *
SD: I didn’t ask about everybody, I asked if you know him.
* * *
TW: I mean, I don’t know him personally, but I know who he is.
* * *
SD: How do you know him?
* * *
TW: What you mean, how do I know him? He a damn football player. Won a whole bunch of Super Bowls.
* * *
DC: But you don’t know him personally?
* * *
TW: No, I don’t know him personally. What the hell kind of question is that?
* * *
DC: Where were you Saturday, April 1, around twelve-fifty-five in the afternoon?
* * *
TW: Hell, I don’t know, man. I was around.
* * *
SD: (Throws down surveillance photo of Terrell and Malcolm, points to timestamp). What’s the date on that?
* * *
TW: (Doesn’t look). I don’t have my glasses.
* * *
SD: Do you recognize the two people in the photo?
* * *
TW: I told you, I don’t have my glasses.
* * *
SD: Look harder.
* * *
TW: It’s too blurry, man. I can’t see that.
* * *
DC: (Throws down plastic evidence bag with Malcolm Gilbert’s phone, retrieved from a dumpster). What about that? You recognize that?
* * *
TW: Should I?
* * *
DC: It’s got your fingerprints all over it.
* * *
TW: I don’t know what to tell you man but that ain’t my phone. I think you trying to set me up.
* * *
SD: Do you know Farrah Gilbert?
* * *
TW: Who?
* * *
SD: What about Blair Gilbert?
* * *
TW: Man, I ain’t got no idea what you talking about—
* * *
SD: (Throws evidence bag with Blair Gilbert’s necklace on the table). What was Blair Gilbert’s necklace doing in your house, Terrell?
* * *
TW: I ain’t never seen that before. Ya’ll must have planted that shit.
* * *
DC: Your mother gave it to us. Found it in your room. Did she plant it?
* * *
TW: (Long pause). Man, that bitch ain’t worth shit.
* * *
DC: All right, Terrell, let’s stop wasting time. We know you were in the Gilbert’s house from Saturday at eleven a.m. until approximately six thirty on Monday morning. Your fingerprints are all over that necklace. Your fingerprints are all over the house, your DNA is all over that house, and you left your clothes there, so believe me when I tell you, you’re not walking out of here today, so you might as well start talking.
* * *
TW: (Silent for several minutes). Shit.
* * *
DC: I’m waiting, Terrell.
* * *
TW: (Sighs).What you want to know?
Tip of the Iceberg
Detective Andrea Chang, Highland Park Police Department, Phone Analyst: All of us, each one of us, our phone calls and text messages tell a story about our lives. We tend to text and call the same people. The same people tend to text and call us. And there’s usually a pattern to those texts and calls.
* * *
Blair had a very predictable call and text pattern. She pretty much talked and texted with the same people: Malcolm, Farrah, her sister, Bridget, in Long Island City, her neighbor, Lani Jacobs, her friend Kimberly Fletcher, her hair dresser. Of course, there was some disruption to that pattern on occasion, depending upon different circumstances that may have arisen, but by and large, Blair Gilbert had an incredibly predictable calling and texting pattern.
* * *
Malcolm’s calling and texting pattern, I would say, was predictable chaos. While Blair’s pattern was exceedingly reliable, Malcolm had both a highly predictable pattern and a wildly unpredictable pattern. His wife, daughter, golfing friends, his brothers, parents, business associates, they were all a part of his regular pattern. However, new people popped up in Malcolm’s life all the time: new business associates, new friends, friends or associates he hadn’t talked to in years. Still, the calls and texts followed a pattern, as erratic as it may have been.
* * *
Any kind of interruption to an established phone pattern is usually an indication something is about to happen, some event is about to occur.
* * *
Lieutenant Dimitri Cora: A crucial part of the investigation was to put together a timeline of the family’s movements during the last twenty-four hours before the invasion. A lot of times, those actions immediately preceding the event will reveal a clue.
* * *
Lieutenant Sharon Donahue: Farrah Gilbert had one class on Friday morning at ten. She and her roommate met for lunch at eleven thirty at the student union before returning to their on-campus apartment. Throughout the afternoon, Farrah was texting with friends about her plans for the weekend. She got in her car to drive home to Highland Park about five thirty. She stopped for gas in West Lafayette, Indiana at seven forty-five. She was on the phone with her new boyfriend, Eddie Nixon, for about an hour during that drive from Bloomington. Her cell phone was pinging off towers all along I-55, up the Edens, all the way until late Friday night when she arrived in Highland Park at approximately ten fifteen, stopping at a nearby Taco Bell before heading home. Her phone went silent around midnight and didn’t go off again until Saturday morning.
* * *
Elena York: On Friday morning, the Gilberts’ housekeeper, Anita Sanchez, came to the house at her usual time of eight. Shortly afterward, around eight thirty, Blair Gilbert went to her regular Pilates class in nearby Glencoe. Afterwards, she picked up a coffee, went home to shower and change clothes, before heading out to run some errands, returning home at approximately four p.m.
* * *
Lieutenant Dimitri Cora: Malcolm Gilbert left his house on Friday morning at nine thirty and headed to his offices in the Loop. He arrived at approximately ten thirty and spent the morning answering emails and returning phone calls. At twelve thirty, he left his office for a lunch appointment on Michigan Avenue, returning around two thirty, leaving for the day at three p.m. Every Friday afternoon, he took his car to his favorite car wash in Highland Park. He got there around four thirty, left around five fifteen to head home. He and Blair left the house at six thirty to have dinner with Cap Gleason and his wife, got home at ten, shortly before Farrah’s arrival.
