“pedophile” and her mother as “perverted,” while informing Costa that neither had any contact with the family in years.
As the questioning continued, it became apparent to Costa that Susan was the only immediate person with motive and opportunity, and he tried to convince her that the evidence was mounting against her.
“You have the motive, you know, the marital problems going on,” he said. “I’m sure tempers are not good between you, you know, as in any divorce.”
“He’s my sole source of income…. There is no life insurance. He makes—he grosses about $18,000 a month from his practice—and his teaching. I would not kill my husband. I can’t pay the bills.”
Costa wasn’t convinced, and the detective pressed the idea that Susan was the only person other than Gabriel who had the opportunity to kill Felix. Stepping back, he tried a different tactic.
“It only takes a split moment to get angry enough to do something like that. It happens all the time.”
“That’s why I don’t own firearms,” Susan replied coolly.
“Maybe, you know, like I said, maybe there’s a self-defense issue here. We’re not gonna know about it.”
“I didn’t do it,” Susan insisted. “I did not kill my husband!”
Despite her remonstrations, Costa remained skeptical. It wasn’t just her words that didn’t ring true, it was her unflinchingly stoic reaction. Only once, when the detective said definitively that the body in the cottage was that of her husband, did she display any emotion.
Detective Costa sighed aloud. “I got to tell you, the other thing, you’re sitting here, you know, we’ve been together for an hour now or so, and you don’t seem really choked up. You don’t seem really upset that he’s gone. I find that kind of, I mean granted…”
Susan interjected. “I’m very, very, very upset.”
“You do well at not showing it.”
“Well, you know, I can’t defend myself against an accusation like that,” she huffed.
“Well,” the detective shrugged, “It’s an observation that I’m making.”
“I’m not in love with my husband anymore,” Susan offered. “But I’m horrified. Particularly for my son that he found his body…but as for tears, you know.”
Detective Costa decided to take the questioning in another direction. “Was Felix under any professional care himself?”
“Yes,” Susan said.
“Was he seeing anybody?”
“He was seeing Justin Simon,” she said, referring to the psychiatrist who owned the Berkeley complex where Felix leased office space. According to Susan, Simon also prescribed Felix with antianxiety drugs. Though she was uncertain of the precise name, she indicated that it was a “valium derivative.” Susan was quick to point out the hypocrisy of it all—that Felix pointed the finger at her for being crazy, while never considering his own pharmaceutical dependency.
As the detective looked over his notes, he restated his theory yet again. “I’ve got to tell you, you know, something happened between you and Felix today that got out of hand.”
“No way!” Susan insisted.
“Well, that’s my feeling.”
“Did not!” Susan sniped back like a child in a tiff with a fellow classmate.
“I guess we just have to disagree, because something happened obviously. And I think it was between you and him. And you’re sitting over there, and you’re probably just dying to spill out what happened. And you can’t, for whatever reason. I don’t know, afraid of going to jail or…”
Susan jumped in. “No!”
“You know, we’ve had quite a few of these in this county recently, where wives have killed their husbands. One got off with manslaughter because of his past.”
“I did not kill my husband. I’m not that kind of person…. I don’t know what kind of a crime it was. You know, I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, they call it murder,” the detective replied before rising to his feet. He informed Susan that
As the questioning continued, it became apparent to Costa that Susan was the only immediate person with motive and opportunity, and he tried to convince her that the evidence was mounting against her.
“You have the motive, you know, the marital problems going on,” he said. “I’m sure tempers are not good between you, you know, as in any divorce.”
“He’s my sole source of income…. There is no life insurance. He makes—he grosses about $18,000 a month from his practice—and his teaching. I would not kill my husband. I can’t pay the bills.”
Costa wasn’t convinced, and the detective pressed the idea that Susan was the only person other than Gabriel who had the opportunity to kill Felix. Stepping back, he tried a different tactic.
“It only takes a split moment to get angry enough to do something like that. It happens all the time.”
“That’s why I don’t own firearms,” Susan replied coolly.
“Maybe, you know, like I said, maybe there’s a self-defense issue here. We’re not gonna know about it.”
“I didn’t do it,” Susan insisted. “I did not kill my husband!”
Despite her remonstrations, Costa remained skeptical. It wasn’t just her words that didn’t ring true, it was her unflinchingly stoic reaction. Only once, when the detective said definitively that the body in the cottage was that of her husband, did she display any emotion.
Detective Costa sighed aloud. “I got to tell you, the other thing, you’re sitting here, you know, we’ve been together for an hour now or so, and you don’t seem really choked up. You don’t seem really upset that he’s gone. I find that kind of, I mean granted…”
Susan interjected. “I’m very, very, very upset.”
“You do well at not showing it.”
“Well, you know, I can’t defend myself against an accusation like that,” she huffed.
“Well,” the detective shrugged, “It’s an observation that I’m making.”
“I’m not in love with my husband anymore,” Susan offered. “But I’m horrified. Particularly for my son that he found his body…but as for tears, you know.”
Detective Costa decided to take the questioning in another direction. “Was Felix under any professional care himself?”
“Yes,” Susan said.
“Was he seeing anybody?”
“He was seeing Justin Simon,” she said, referring to the psychiatrist who owned the Berkeley complex where Felix leased office space. According to Susan, Simon also prescribed Felix with antianxiety drugs. Though she was uncertain of the precise name, she indicated that it was a “valium derivative.” Susan was quick to point out the hypocrisy of it all—that Felix pointed the finger at her for being crazy, while never considering his own pharmaceutical dependency.
As the detective looked over his notes, he restated his theory yet again. “I’ve got to tell you, you know, something happened between you and Felix today that got out of hand.”
“No way!” Susan insisted.
“Well, that’s my feeling.”
“Did not!” Susan sniped back like a child in a tiff with a fellow classmate.
“I guess we just have to disagree, because something happened obviously. And I think it was between you and him. And you’re sitting over there, and you’re probably just dying to spill out what happened. And you can’t, for whatever reason. I don’t know, afraid of going to jail or…”
Susan jumped in. “No!”
“You know, we’ve had quite a few of these in this county recently, where wives have killed their husbands. One got off with manslaughter because of his past.”
“I did not kill my husband. I’m not that kind of person…. I don’t know what kind of a crime it was. You know, I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, they call it murder,” the detective replied before rising to his feet. He informed Susan that
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