“You were last at the house over the Fourth, but not on July fourteenth or fifteenth, when your husband was killed?”
“No.”
“Was it common for your husband to go to the vacation house without you?”
“Yes. He was finishing a manuscript and often went to the mountains for quiet. He has a writing studio there, next to the house.”
Walt had been through Cameron Young’s work space, a small structure that stood across the creek on the north side of the home. It was a small replica of the A-frame log house, and was made up of a writing desk and computer on one side and a wood-burning fireplace and recliner on the other. A minibar stood in the corner and sported both a coffeemaker for mornings and a small collection of spirits for afternoon or evening. If Walt had a creative bone in his body, he would have marveled at the tranquil setting that had produced a string of best sellers over the last few years. But Walt Jenkins wasn’t creative, he was analytical. He took a clinical approach to the space and tried to learn if the writing studio offered any clues to what had happened to Cameron Young.
“When your husband went out to the Catskills, how long would he stay?”
“Depends on how far behind he was on a deadline. A day or two, usually. He didn’t always go alone. Sometimes I went with him. He has his studio, I have my office in the main house where I did my own work.”
“So you each had your own private work space?”
Tessa nodded.
“Were you and Cameron getting along?”
There was a pause. “Sometimes.”
Walt nodded. “How would you describe your marriage?”
“My marriage?”
“Yes. Were there problems in the marriage?”
“There’re problems in every marriage.”
“But specifically with yours, Mrs. Young.”
Tessa shrugged. “Sure. We had lots of problems.”
“Can you describe them?”
Another pause. “If you’re asking if we were happily married, I’d say no. We’d been having problems for years but were trying to make it work.”
“Were you having financial problems?”
“Excuse me?”
“Money issues are a common source of struggles within a marriage, so I’m asking if you had any issues with money.”
“No, money was not a problem. Cameron’s books, for the last couple of years, were quite successful. We don’t have any debt, besides the mortgage on this apartment. The house in the Catskills is paid off. We have plenty of money saved.”
“When you say plenty . . . ?”
Tessa shook her head as she calculated. “Three million. Maybe more. Cameron handled the finances. I see the balance once a year when I sign the tax returns.”
“Was the money in a joint account?”
“Yes, Detective. I could get my hands on all the money I ever needed at any time. I certainly wouldn’t have to kill my husband for it.”
Walt made a note on his pad.
“Did your husband have a life insurance policy?”
“We both do. We took them out just after we married. Million-dollar policies on each of us.”
Tessa Young’s tone regarding the millions of dollars she and her husband were worth was so matter-of-fact that Walt didn’t know what to make of it. She was either a damn good actress or she had nothing to hide.
“You are a professor, is that correct, Mrs. Young?”
“Yes.”
“Would you say that most of your income came from your husband?”
“I make a hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year as a professor at Columbia University. But yes, our income came mostly from my husband.”
Walt made a few notes in his book, and then looked up from the page and made eye contact with Cameron Young’s widow.
“Some of this will be difficult to hear, and may be uncomfortable to discuss, but I need to ask.”
Tessa waited, and finally nodded.
“Your husband was gagged, Mrs. Young, with what is called a ball gag. It’s a bondage device used in S and M sex.”
Tessa Young said nothing, just held Walt’s stare.
“Did you and your husband engage in sexual behavior that included bondage?”
“For Christ’s sake, no!”
Walt paused.
“Your husband was bound with rope also commonly used in S and M sex. Do you possess any of that rope?”
“Of course not.”
“Would you allow me to look around your home?”
“My lawyer would tell me to let you look anywhere you wish, but would insist on a search warrant.”
Walt removed a slip of paper from his folder. “I’d never ask without one.”
“Look for whatever you want, Detective. Go through my drawers and take samples of my underwear, or whatever perverted thing you have on your mind.”
Walt continued undeterred. “We found blood, urine, and fingerprints in the bedroom of your Catskills home. It will be important to know which ones belong to you, as I’m sure your fingerprints will be found in the bedroom of the home you own. Are you willing to provide fingerprint samples and allow my technicians to swab your cheek for DNA analysis?”
“Am I a suspect in my husband’s murder, Detective Jenkins?”
Walt pursed his lips and opened his palms. “I’m collecting information at this point, Mrs. Young. With any homicide, I ask for samples from the spouse. It’s just part of the process.”
“You look like you just graduated high school. How many homicides could you possibly have worked before this one?”
Walt kept a stoic expression on his face and did not indulge her with an answer.
Tessa finally nodded. “Of course. I’ll give you whatever you need.”
“I’ll arrange it for this afternoon.”
She nodded. Walt went back to his notepad.
“When you say you and your husband were trying to make your marriage work, what does that mean?”
“It means we were trying not to get a divorce.”
Walt waited.
“I’m pregnant,” Tessa finally said, as if admitting to a crime. “We thought if we had a child together, it would fix things. At least that’s what I thought.”
Walt closed his eyes a moment. He had perhaps pushed too hard. Still, he noted her pregnancy in his book and then stood.
“I’m sorry to make you talk about all this. I’m just trying to figure out who killed your husband.”
Tessa put a hand over her forehead, as if fighting off a migraine. Walt’s phone rang. It was headquarters calling.
“Excuse me,” he said, as he turned and answered. “Jenkins.”
“Hey, Walt, it’s Ken Schuster.”
Schuster was the lead crime scene technician assigned to the Young case.
“What’s happening, Ken?”
“I was categorizing evidence we collected from the Catskills mansion. There’s something here you need to see.”
Walt walked out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and into the foyer where his conversation wouldn’t be overheard.
“I’m at the Youngs’ residence now, speaking with the wife. I’m about to search the property.”
“You’re going to want to see this. Stat.”