It was Saturday morning, but I arose at 6 a.m. and got dressed. It was going to be a big day, and I was excited.
When the doorbell rang, I took a deep breath and threw open the front door.
“Mrs. Botha?”
“Yes?”
“We’re detectives Eric Hahn and Sol Cusson, and we’d like to speak to your husband, please.”
“Sure,” I said with a worried look on my face. “Come inside and have a seat. I’ll get my husband. He’s asleep. Is everything okay?”
Both Hahn and Cusson nodded.
I ran up the stairs and shook Tom. It was a while before he managed to open his eyes.
“Honey, there are some detectives wanting to speak to you.”
“What? So early? What about?” He rubbed his eyes and blinked away the fog of sleep. “I can’t believe how sleepy I am.”
“I’ll get you coffee, darling,” I said, but remained where I was.
Tom rolled out of bed, threw on his Hugh Hefner robe, and stumbled downstairs to the waiting detectives.
I hovered around, anxious to hear what they were saying.
“What do you mean Kobus is dead?” I heard Tom say.
“What?” I gasped. “Kobus?” I put my hands to my mouth.
Tom shook his head. “Wow! I can’t believe it. Kobus. Wow!” Slowly, he sank into a chair and pulled his gown around him.
Poor Tom, he appeared genuinely distraught over the death of his loyal friend. I really should be getting him coffee, I thought. But I didn’t.
“We think it might be robbery,” the detective said, his eyes fixed on Tom. “Some of his valuables are missing – his watch, his wallet, and a few other things.”
Tom frowned. “Robbery? You’re kidding me!”
“Where were you last night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 2 a.m.?” Detective Hahn asked.
Okay, we’ve all watched Law and Order, and we all know that when a detective asks you a question like that – you’re a suspect.
Tom’s surprise was classic. “Me?” He let out a mirthless chuckle. “I was home. With my wife. In bed. Sleeping.”
All eyes flew to me.
“Eh, um…ye…ah,” I said. “Yes, of course. He was home. With me. In our bed. Sleeping. Yes.” I gave a short laugh. “Surely you don’t suspect…” I frowned and looked at Tom.
He shrugged and looked at the detectives with eyebrows raised.
“Well, we received a tip that a black Porsche, which was parked in the vicinity, was seen speeding away from the scene of the crime.”
“A black…?” I whirled around to look at Tom, my eyes wide and accusing.
“What? That’s ridiculous!” Tom exclaimed, then threw me a stop-looking-at-me-like-that look.
“Where were you last night between the hours of 10 p.m. and 2 a.m.?” Hahn asked me.
“Me?” I shrugged, then answered. “I was home. Baked a cheesecake when my husband and kid were sleeping.”
“Can anybody verify this besides your husband?”
“Well,” I said, scratching my eyebrow with the nail of my thumb, “I spoke to my friends, um Trish, then I called Miriam around 10, then I…” I lifted and dropped my shoulders. “I have the cheesecake if you’d like to see it.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
As they talked, I walked into the kitchen, took Tom’s cell phone, and slipped it into the fridge. When I walked back into the living room, it was with a glass of water for my husband.
He accepted it and drank it all. Side effects of the sleeping tablet – extreme thirst. Dutiful wife, wasn’t I?
In a show of solidarity, I even inched closer to Tom and put my hand on his shoulder.
What a good wife I was while nails were being hammered into Tom’s cherry wood coffin. (That’s what I saw him in. Nothing but the finest for my flashy husband.)
“Can we take a look at your phone?”
“Sure,” Tom said, and started looking for his phone. We couldn’t find it.
“Problem?” Detective Cusson asked.
“I can’t find my phone,” Tom said.
An awkward silence followed.
“You had it just now, honey.”
“No, I didn’t!” Tom snapped and continued hunting.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the looks being exchanged between the detectives.
I joined in the hunt for Tom’s phone, and after about five minutes, I opened the fridge.
“Got it!” I said, and handed it to the detectives.
“Was in the fridge,” I said with a ditsy chuckle.
Tom cocked his head at me. “Fridge? You must have left it there. I wouldn’t.”
I looked at Tom, blinked rapidly, looked at the detectives, then at Tom again. “Yeah…yeah…I must have. Yeah.”
More knowing looks passed between the detectives.
As the detective checked the call log, his face lit up. It was then that I allowed myself my first inward smile.
“Can I see that?” Tom asked. He appeared to be more alert by that time.
The detective nodded and handed the phone to Tom.
Tom checked his call log and shrugged. “What were you looking for?”
The detective responded with, “Can we look around?”
“Sssssure,” Tom said.
“No,” I said. “Get a warrant first.”
Bear instructed me to say that. Didn’t want Tom to walk later on because of any technicality.
Tom frowned at me.
“No, Tom, tell them to get a warrant.” I was so adamant that Tom, after he got over his surprise, eventually nodded. To my relief.
While the detectives continued talking to Tom, a search warrant was delivered to them.
“That was quick,” Tom muttered, his brows knitted. “Do I need a lawyer or something?”
“Do you?” the detective countered.
“No,” I answered, then looked at Tom. “Of course you don’t!”
For the first time since I’d known Tom, he looked unsure.
With excitement coursing through my veins, I threw open my doors to the team that arrived to search my house, and when Tom wasn’t looking, I was extremely cooperative.
I did resist the urge to offer them lattes or even whisky – that’s how happy I was.
When they found Tom’s gun in the safe, the beanie, the cocaine, and some of Kobus’s jewelry hidden in the garage, there was a flurry of activity and twitters between them.
I was so thrilled with the succession of nails in Tom’s coffin, I wanted to bake cupcakes. Maybe even bake another cheesecake. Did I mention I liked to bake and cook when I was excited?
Anyway, the detectives asked Tom to come down to the police station for questioning.
What? No arrest yet? I was a tad disappointed.
Tom threw out his hands. “I ask you again: do I need a lawyer?”
“Well,” Detective Hahn said, “if you are guilty of something, or if you think you need one, then you need one. But if you are innocent, I guess you won’t need one, right?”
Gibberish, I know, but it worked.
“I don’t need one, and I am happy to answer all your questions,” Tom said. “Hopefully, I will be home in time for lunch.”
Tom should have asked for a lawyer. Sure, he was cocky enough to think that he was smart enough to handle anything, but at that moment, he believed that he was innocent, so he wasn’t worried.
When Tom left with the cops, I walked to the freezer and opened it.
“What should I make for lunch?” I asked out loud.
“Warren!” I called. “Let’s bake cupcakes.”
****
Tom returned home around midday looking tired, distracted, and disturbed.
“Tell me all about it over lunch,” I said.
“What did you make?” he asked in an absentminded voice.
“Let me show you.”
We sat down to a lunch of roast leg of lamb, mashed potatoes, baked pumpkin, savory rice, minted peas, and gravy.
But wait, there’s more:
For dessert – chocolate cupcakes and cheesecake – Miriam’s recipe, and she was right; her recipe was great, and not at all like it was chipped out of Ayers Rock.
Tom didn’t thank me for the awesome feast I had spread. Guess he was too preoccupied. But that was okay – I understood that he had a lot on his mind.
Just as we were about to eat, the cops arrived to arrest Tom.
My day was getting brighter.
“But this is just ridiculous,” I protested, putting down my carving knife and removing my pink apron. “You got the wrong man, officer.”
“They’re idiots! Call my lawyer, Arena!” Tom shouted as they led him out in handcuffs.
“But can’t he at least have his lamb first? I baked cheesecake, Officer.”
They ignored me – the cheek of them.
I tottered behind Tom, wiping away crocodile tears. “Tom! Oh God, Tom!”
Oscar-worthy performance? You bet. All my experience on Tom’s Broadway shows, remember?
“It’s okay,” Tom said when he saw how distraught I was. “I’ll be back soon, Arena. This is just a misunderstanding. They’ve got nothing on me. Nothing!”
“Okay, honey, I will call Ian Saunders right away!”
And I did call Ian Saunders – about three hours later. I did everything I possibly could to inspire confidence in Tom, the motherfucker, because of the one thing I wanted – okay, two things I wanted:
Oh, and I really was desperate for him not to make bail on Monday. But that was up to the judge.
Next, I needed to work on his attorney.
Ian Saunders was a sixty-something man who, according to Tom, had a penchant for double Ds. He wasn’t fussy whether it was silicone, saline, or au naturel, but he liked them younger than twenty-five. (The bearer of the double Ds that is, not the implants.)
He also worked hard, was an excellent attorney, but was highly driven by the dollar, which came before everything else. He agreed to meet me in an hour at his offices in St Ives.
Wearing a push-up bra, hooker heels, and a belt for a skirt, and even though I knew that at his age the only thing that could get hard was his arteries, I tottered into Ian Saunders’ office.
“Oh, Mr. Saunders,” I said, wringing my hands, “I do worry about your fees. Tom has full control of all money, and I fear that I may not be able to pay –”
“That’s no problem,” he said to my push-up bra. “I will get you a GPA signed right away so that you have full access to all his funds. I will need a down payment of twenty grand, you do understand that, sweetheart?”
“Just twenty? I allocated thirty to be on the safe side, Mr. Saunders.”
“Well, yeah…it would eventually be more like fifty, darling. And it’s Ian.”
“Tell you what, Ian, why don’t I give you fifty for…I dunno,” I tucked my hair behind my ears and batted my eyelashes at him, “safekeeping…I do hate handling money. It’s too much for my twenty-five-year-old brain.” I let out a giggle.
It was fun watching him salivate. When I left his office, he walked me out to my car, and I was really hopeful about the power of attorney.
“Take care now, darling,” he said, and smacked me lightly on my butt.
“Oooh!” Another girlish giggle escaped me.
To my utter joy, he showed up at my door hours later with a power of attorney from Tom.
“Got it!” he said, waving it at me. “Told him that you needed it and that it was best if he signed it right away, and he did.”
Thrilled, I invited him in and offered him whisky, which he accepted. As he drank, I quizzed him about the power of attorney. His response was music to my ears – the power of attorney permitted me to dispose of all/any of our assets if I needed to, and it gave me complete control over all of Tom’s money. Excellent. I resisted the urge to rub my hands with glee.
The moment he left, after giving me a hug and copping a good feel of my arse, I called in real estate agents and got valuations on all three of our residential properties. (After I rubbed my hands with glee.)
It was Saturday afternoon and I was sure they wouldn’t answer or wouldn’t be interested until Monday, but to my surprise, all the real estate agents were willing to come out and see me right away.
“Well, I guess you can round up your buyers, ’cause I’ll know in days if we can start selling,” I said.
They did, and went on to badger me to allow them to show the properties to prospective buyers.
If Tom found out about my calling in agents and questioned me about it, I would give him the story Bear had told me to give him – I would tell him that I needed to ensure we had enough money to pay for his defense, and since I wasn’t sure which property would sell quickly, I just got valuations on them all.
All I was doing was lining up my ducks and getting ready to liquidate our assets to help his guilty arse, if need be.
Early Monday morning, I planned to get a valuation on Tom’s business, as well as the commercial building we owned. The thing that bothered me the most – would Tom make bail?
I’d know on Monday. Till then, I held my breath and baked more cupcakes.
****
I remember the exact moment I got the news. I was driving to my storage locker, listening to Jason Derulo’s “Riding Solo.” Yeah, he was putting on his shades and covering up his eyes…
Nice song.
What was the news? Oh, Tom was denied bail.
The bail gods were smiling down on me for sure. I was so excited, I pulled over and texted Soong, filling her in on what had happened thus far. She in turn would forward my text to Bear, as arranged.
When I visited Tom in prison, my crocodile tears flowed. “How do I manage this? It’s too much for me to handle. I’m scared, Tom.”
“Arena, don’t worry. I’m asking for a speedy trial because I am being framed. I will be acquitted; I know that for a fact. It’s the dumb cops – I think they are framing me for some reason.”
The dog didn’t even suspect me? Was I that dumb to him? That insignificant?
Evidently I was. Shucks!
Well, I shivered in anticipation for the day when he had his gigantic revelation – it was his stupid doormat of a wife who done it (not the butler). She grew a spine and with the help of her lover, fought back – got his arse thrown in jail.
How did she do it? Well, here’s how it all went down:
Bear wore a jacket similar to a black one that Tom had, drove to my house, parked a street away, and while Tom was knocked out and sleeping peacefully, picked up Tom’s Porsche, his gun, and his cell phone, then drove to Kobus’s house.
As suggested by me, he parked outside a cranky neighbor’s house a few blocks from Kobus, who gave all of Kobus’s visitors hell if they dared park outside her house and obstruct her view of the road, regardless of the time of day or night.
She had a habit of recording license plates and giving it to the cops. My bet is that it was she who tipped the cops off about Tom’s Porsche fleeing the scene of the crime.
According to Bear, he got Kobus just as he opened his front door, so there was no breaking and entering. This led the cops to believe that the murderer was known to Kobus.
Bear shot him in his right arm straight away in case he reached for his weapon.
“This is for baby Sasha, you prick,” Bear said.
Kobus apparently pleaded for his life. He said that he owed Tom, as Tom had helped him waste his brother-in-law years ago, and that Tom expected him to return the favor.
“I didn’t know he was gonna kill the kids, I swear,” Kobus had claimed.
“Gimme your phone,” Bear said.
Kobus gave it to him.
“Gimme your password.”
Kobus gave it to him.
“Remember what you said to Arena? You told her to shut her trap or you’ll come after her?”
“Hey, man, I’m sorry, man –”
“She sent me to kill you,” Bear said. “She’s behind your murder.”
“Arena? She?” He appeared shocked according to Bear.
Kobus started begging. “I’ll give you priceless pieces of original art that will set you up for life if you spare me. I’ll give you drugs. You want coke?”
Bear laughed.
“Please, man, please, I beg you! I need a hospital. I’m in pain, man.”
“I’ll bet that’s what Sasha would have said if she could have talked that day, right?”
“Please! Please!”
Bear responded by firing three more rounds – two in the chest, one between the eyes. Counting the one in his arm – a total of four.
He then went on to call Kobus using Tom’s cell phone. He called nine times, answered on Kobus’s phone, then used Kobus’s phone to call Tom’s phone. That was a lot of cell phone activity between the two at such a crucial time.
Smart, huh? But wait, there’s more.
After that, Bear deleted the call log from Tom’s phone.
Of course when the cops checked Tom’s phone, they found no record of him calling Kobus. But when they got access to his phone records, they noted cell phone tower activity that placed Tom in the vicinity during the time of the murder.
Also, the nine calls Tom made to Kobus, then deleted? Why would an innocent man delete his call log and all evidence of his calls to Kobus?
The left hand glove the cops found at the scene of the crime wasn’t OJ Simpson’s or Michael Jackson’s – it was Tom’s.
“If you kill Tom, you’ll be a suspect,” Bear had warned me. “Kill Kobus, frame Tom. That’s your answer. With a trail of evidence – Tom’s gonna need a dream team to defend him.”
“Okay.” What Bear said made sense. But the question on my mind at that time – would we be able to pull it off?
“You’ll be Tom’s alibi,” Bear explained. “When the cops question you, you will be a great alibi and verify Tom’s whereabouts. Hopefully, they will let you take the stand in court even though you are protected by spousal privilege.” He went on to explain in detail.
I smiled. “I see where you’re going, Care Bear.”
“Glad you do.”
After Bear told me all about it – the killing of Kobus and the artful framing of an innocent man, instead of being repulsed by him for murdering a man, I was so turned on with what he did for me, the fact that he would kill for me and my children, that I wanted to fuck him right away, and of course, I did.
In Tom’s bed with Tom sleeping in it. I was nuts, I know, but Tom had made me that way.
Anyway, Bear, using his brother’s car, drove down to Melbourne. His brother Steve, also a cop, had already driven to Melbourne days earlier, using Bear’s car and credit card, thereby establishing a paper trail for Bear, just like Kobus had done for Tom.
All this so that Bear, if questioned, was out of Sydney during the time of the murder, or appeared to be.
So far, we had played Tom at his own game and appeared to be winning. Time would tell, because Tom would not go down without a fight.