The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 11

"Look at the pictures," said Lizzie.

Frazier scanned the eight-by-ten photos, one after the next. The photographs captured the deceased Farrah Halo splayed out on the floor dressed in her pearly purple lululemon high-rise yoga pants and coordinated tank top, a matching purple hair tie securing her ponytail, purple Versace sneakers on her feet, her neck bent at an unnatural angle against the base of the Calcutta borghini marble table.

"Lizzie gets a lot of different ideas in her head," said Sonya apologetically, diverting her eyes from the photos.

Lizzie drummed her fingers on her thigh. "Look at the one of the body. The picture. Look closely at the neckline of her top. Look and really see."

He said nothing.

She pointed to the photo. "It's darker than the rest of the fabric. See that? She was sweating."

"Maybe."

"Pay attention. There are some hairs stuck to her forehead." Lizzie tapped the photograph. "Do I have to say it again? She was sweating."

"Maybe she was."

"Not maybe. She was sweating. Her forehead got sweaty and her hair got stuck in the sweat. See that?"

Aunt Sonya leaned forward. "Lizzie, calm yourself."

"I am calm." Then to the detective, she said, "Farrah Halo was killed after she came back from her yoga. Not before her yoga. Her interior decorator guy was there before she left for her class. She wouldn't have been sweaty then."

"Hmmmm," he said.

"Read what that Seamus guy said. I think it's on the next page. He said he always dreaded going to Farrah Halo's house. He had to bring a sweater because she kept her house as cold as a refrigerator. Or a freezer."

"Now that you mention it, I think I remember her house being super cold."

"How are you gonna be sweaty in a house that's freezing cold?"

"She could have perspired during the struggle with the killer," Stoudemire replied.

"What struggle? There was no struggle. Do you see any signs of a struggle in the pictures? You're not paying attention. Look and see."

He said nothing.

Lizzie crossed her arms and straightened in her seat. "This Halo lady came back from her yoga and somebody was in her house stealing her jewelry. Somebody who was already in her house knocked her down and killed her either on accident or maybe on purpose."

Stoudemire studied the photos more carefully.

Lizzie asked, "She broke her neck, right? On that marble table?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that's what the medical examiner said." He read through the report again.

"It was the neighbor," said Lizzie. "Vickie the jewelry thief killer."

"What?"

"She waited for the interior decorator to leave. Then she watched the Halo lady leave her house to go to yoga. I bet she's been watching and waiting for the right time to steal the jewelry. Maybe Farah Halo had a routine. Maybe she went to the same yoga class every week and her neighbor knew it."

"I'll check on that."

"The jewelry thief killer got into the house somehow, looking for the jewelry. Maybe she wasn't sure where the jewelry was. Or maybe she had to break into a special jewelry box or something. So she was behind schedule. Did I say that right?"

"That's right."

"So when the Halo lady came back from her yoga, she walked in on the thief. Vickie threw her or pushed her against that marble table. When she saw that Farrah Halo wasn't breathing she ran off with the jewelry, went back to her house, and called the police. And she lied about what happened."

Frazier had to admit, Lizzie's theory was sound.

"The decorator doesn't have the jewelry," said Lizzie. "Vickie the lying neighbor does."

Before Frazier could respond, she said, "I'd like to go now. It's hot in here."

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"Is she gone?" Mitch Tarpick asked, squinting at the computer screen on his desk.

"Yeah," Stoudemire replied. He checked that they were out of earshot of the captain and then tossed the Halo file folder onto the desk. "She found this in Frederick Gibbs' apartment."

"Frederick Gibbs." Tarpick couldn't place the name.

"The old guy who turned up dead at the bottom of the stairs over there on Applebee Street."

Mitch recalled the case vividly. Frazier could see it on his face. "I think we need to rethink this case," he said.

Of course, Lizzie was right. Although he'd come to loathe his client, Seamus Pinkney didn't kill Farrah Halo. And of course, he didn't steal her jewelry.

As Lizzie called her, Vickie "the jewelry thief killer" confessed to the murder, claiming it was an accident. She was insistent that she and her neighbor had argued, and that the argument had spiraled out of control. She claimed she was only defending herself when Farrah Halo tripped and fell headlong into the marble table. She apologized profusely for pinning the murder on the decorator. She panicked and made a regrettable decision. She was ashamed of herself. She swore on a stack of bibles that she didn't steal the jewelry. The very notion was absurd.

When a police canine led investigators to a loose floor panel in Victoria Westerly's dressing room, they discovered a Manolo Blahnik white shoebox filled with Farrah Halo's stolen jewelry. In addition to identifying Vickie the neighbor as a murderer, Lizzie was right once again when she asserted that the woman was also a compulsive liar.