Those who are faithful
know only the trivial side of love;
it is the faithless who know love’s tragedies.
- Oscar Wilde
Detective Elaine Stevenson knew that the affair with Lisa George was not Mariet Ford’s first.
She knew he had had a previous affair three years earlier, back in 1994, when his son had been almost a year old, with his boss at Sedgwick James in San Francisco. When that affair had fallen apart and he had lost his job, Mariet had punched a wall.
Now Stevenson would ask about it not only to get an explanation, but also to observe his reaction. Stevenson asked, “Have you ever been angry enough to punch out at a wall?”
Like the rest of the questions, Mariet showed no emotion. He said he might have gotten that mad in college, but he didn’t take out his anger that way.
At that point, only Stevenson, a few other investigators and the murderer had any idea how the killer had killed Tess and MoMo. If Mariet was innocent, he couldn’t know this as the cause of death.
Stevenson asked, “Have you ever kicked anything in anger?”
“Not that I can remember,” Mariet said. He paused as though thinking. He said, “No.”
Mariet admitted that he had been in fights as a boy, in middle school or junior high. He and his brother Orrin had grown up the only two African-American boys in their school. It had been the 1970s. Walnut Creek wasn’t anything like Mississippi, but Mariet had recognized he was different from the other kids. His parents hadn’t raised him to start fights, but they hadn't taught him to run from his problems either.
The male detective spoke up for the first time now. Back in high school, he had been a wrestler. He asked if Mariet wasn’t violent on the football field.
“No,” Mariet said. “I was kind of small.”
That was the truth. At 5’9, 160 pounds, he didn’t have a football player’s body, but he had been fast enough and had watched the ball into his hands and not let go even when the most intimidating defenders hit him.
“I tried to run away from them,” Mariet said.
Since the death of his family, he had not been able to work. At first, his boss had understood about the situation, but after time, he had had to let Mariet go. Out of work, he didn’t have any income. Debts were accruing. He couldn’t sell the house. For one, no one wanted to buy the site of such a recent homicide. Plus, smoke and fire damage had left the house unmarketable in its current condition. The Elk Grove Fire Department also had ripped out all his carpet as evidence.
Mariet sat forward in his chair. He asked when he could have back his files, the deed to his house, his insurance papers, his marriage certificate and family pictures.
“I can probably give you a better answer to that in the next couple months,” Stevenson said.
Mariet asked if Stevenson had gotten any results on the DNA testing.
Stevenson said the results might be awhile. DNA testing took so much time it was almost a joke.
It was 1:49 p.m.
