“If you’re thinking of that as your opening statement at the trial, it’s not going to get you far. Catiana Dubois came to your residence—your own security disc clearly shows this, and shows she was upset at this time. You let her in, you argued. You’ve got an impressive temper, Copley, which I can testify to personally. You pushed her. She fell, striking her head on t
he edge of the marble hearth in your living area.”
“I never touched her. I barely know her. I never saw her.”
“You didn’t see this?” Eve took the crime scene photo of Catiana from the file, tossed it on the table. “In your living area?”
He glanced down at the file photo, quickly away again. “I meant I didn’t see her before. I didn’t let her in. I was upstairs. Natasha must have let her in.”
“And, according to your fairy tale, Catiana subsequently attacked your wife. Why?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“Mr. Copley is unaware of any friction between his wife and the deceased.” McAllister spoke firmly, working to focus Eve’s attention on her and away from her client. “However, in her capacity as social secretary for Ms. Quigley’s sister, the deceased often inserted herself in personal affairs.”
“How did she do that?” Ignoring the lawyer, Eve spoke to Copley directly. “I thought you barely knew her? Which is it, Copley? You barely knew her or she stuck her nose in your business?”
“I didn’t pay any attention to her. She dealt with Tella’s social stuff, with women’s business.”
“Define ‘women’s business.’”
“Parties, shopping, lunches.” He shrugged it off. “Garden clubs and whatever women do.”
Eve smiled toothily at McAllister. “Is that your business? Parties and lunches? Is that how you got your name on the letterhead? Going to garden clubs?”
“Obviously, my client means the victim handled his sister-in-law’s social calendar.”
“I think we both know what he meant, and that he’s a misogynistic asshole, but we’ll let that slide for now. Were you aware of any tension between your wife and the deceased?”
“No. I don’t get into that sort of thing. But she attacked Tash. It’s obvious.”
“Contrarily, it’s impossible.” Eve took out another photo. “As you see, there are ten feet, four inches between the deceased’s body and Ms. Quigley’s. Just how did Catiana DuBois manage to bash your wife over the head with this lead crystal vase while she was dead, ten feet, four inches away?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Copley snapped even as his lawyer ordered him to stay quiet. “That bitch attacked Tash, Tash fought back. The bitch fell, hit her head. Clear self-defense. Then Tash tried to get out, get to me, and only made it that far.”
“Let’s have some fun with that. You’re already seeing it,” she said conversationally to McAllister. “Catiana attacks your wife, smacks her upside the head with this vase—the vase that’s here, cracked and bloody on the floor right beside your wife’s unconscious body. Then, somehow, with a fractured skull, with a brain bleed, your wife manages to struggle with the deceased, drive her across the room, where she conveniently falls and kills herself on the hearth. Then, in this miracle of physical determination, your wife gets back across the room, neatly hits the mark where she was attacked, and drops.”
“She’s a strong woman.”
“Her neurosurgeon agrees with you. She also says your creative scenario is impossible. Our reconstruction will back that up.”
Eyes on him, Eve leaned back, kept her voice, her body language almost casual.
“You argued with Catiana, you shoved her—like you shoved your golf buddy, Van Sedgwick, at your country club.”
“That’s ridiculous. That’s a lie. He slipped. I never—”
“Only you don’t have a handy water trap in your living area, so this shove resulted in Catiana Dubois’s fall, in her death.”
Eve angled forward, just a little, hardened her tone, just a little. “Where did you go after? Did you panic, run off, trying to figure out how to cover it up? An accident, it had to look like an accident.”
She built the edge—harder, stronger—tapping her fingers faster, faster, on the crime scene photo.
“But when you came back in the room, Natasha had come in, had seen. She’s in the way, damn it! You had to get her out of the way. To shut her up, just shut her up, so you picked up the vase, charged at her.”
“I was upstairs!” He shoved up, shook the table. “I heard Tash scream, and I ran down to help her. She’s my wife, you ignorant cunt.”
“JJ, stop! Sit down, and stop. My client has nothing more to say at this time.”