Chapter 8: The Things Harold Said
Harold's voluntary interview lasted three hours and forty minutes.
Richard told me this at 9 a.m.
the following morning, seated in the same chair beside my bed, his briefcase on the floor, his coffee hot this time.
"He confirmed he was aware of at least two of the wire transfers," Richard said.
"He claims Tyler told him it was a loan structure — that he intended to repay the funds before Rose's estate was settled."
"He believed that?"
"He says he did."
"Did the detective believe him?"
Richard looked at his coffee.
"Marsh is experienced.
She'll draw her own conclusions." He set the cup down.
"Harold also confirmed that he asked Marcus Webb to check the security system before the party."
The room went very still.
"He asked Marcus to check it," I repeated.
"That's what he told Marsh.
He says he wanted to make sure the cameras were working properly because of the number of guests." Richard paused.
"Marsh's interpretation is somewhat different."
"He wanted to know where the cameras were."
"That's one reading."
"So Tyler didn't ask Marcus to erase the footage.
Harold did."
Richard said nothing.
Which was its own kind of answer.
I looked at the window.
The morning was bright and ordinary outside — a parking lot, a tree, a strip of blue sky.
Normal things existing alongside everything that was not normal.
"Richard, does this mean Harold could be charged?"
"The DA will make that determination.
Obstruction is possible.
Accessory after the fact is possible.
The financial fraud charges are more complex — his IP address is documented, but IP addresses can be shared, and his attorney will argue that Tyler had access to his home network." He folded his hands.
"What I can tell you is that Harold is no longer trying to protect Tyler.
He is now trying to protect Harold."
"So he'll give them whatever they need."
"I think that's likely, yes."
There was a knock at the door.
Detective Marsh came in without waiting, which I was beginning to understand was simply how she operated.
"Tyler's arraignment was at eight this morning," she said.
"Assault in the first degree.
Bail was set at $200,000.
His attorney posted it within the hour."
"He's out?"
"As of forty minutes ago." She sat in the chair across from Richard.
"He has a condition of release prohibiting contact with you, Lauren, or Mason.
His passport has been surrendered." She looked at me steadily.
"The financial fraud charges are being prepared separately.
That process will take longer, but it's moving."
"Lauren's documentation was enough?"
"Lauren's documentation, combined with Harold's statement, combined with the forensic accounting report your grandmother commissioned, is more than enough." Marsh turned the wedding ring on her finger.
"Tyler's attorney will negotiate.
That's what attorneys do.
But the evidence base is substantial."
"What about Marcus?"
"Marcus Webb has been charged with tampering with evidence.
He's cooperating in exchange for consideration on sentencing." She paused.
"He told us Harold called him the morning of the party.
He was asked to review the camera system and ensure the deck-side angle was not recording."
I thought about Marcus slipping through the back door toward the security panel.
Tyler watching him go.
Some of the fear draining from Tyler's face.
They had planned for something to happen on that deck.
Maybe not exactly what happened.
Maybe just — something.
An argument.
A confrontation that could be managed if there was no footage.
"They didn't plan for Mason to be there," I said.
"No," Marsh agreed.
"They didn't plan for Mason."
After she left, Richard and I sat in quiet for a moment.
"Dr.
Patricia Winters," I said.
"She was there.
She looked away."
"I know."
"She's been our family doctor for twenty years.
She watched me lying on those rocks and she deliberately looked away."
Richard picked up his briefcase, opened it, and removed a single sheet of paper.
He placed it on the tray table.
It was a letter addressed to the Connecticut Medical Examining Board.
"I took the liberty," he said, "of drafting something.
You don't have to sign it.
But if you want to, it's ready."
I looked at the letter.
At the careful, precise language that described what Dr.
Patricia Winters had done and not done in that backyard.
May you like
I picked up the pen from the tray table.
I signed it.
