Chapter 7 - The Husband I Buried

Now

By the time I arrived at work, I’d already decided not to think about the window, the cologne, or the man in the café.

I shut all of it down, the way I always did when something threatened to crack me open – by working.

The lights were already on in my office, blinds half open, Boston gray filtering in. I was glad to be in familiar surroundings. The office felt controlled. Safe.

A rapid knock at the door caught my attention. ‘Yeah?’

It was Carl, wearing a bright yellow silk blouse, gray chinos, and a concerned look on his face. I smiled at the splash of color he brought to the office. ‘Love the yellow,’ I said.

‘Yeah, well, you’re meeting with clients this afternoon, so I figured you’d be in something drab.’ He rolled his eyes playfully. ‘So I wore enough color for both of us.’

‘I appreciate it,’ I said, sounding tired.

‘You all right?’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

His expression didn’t change.

‘Someone broke into my house. It was a whole thing, the cops came round.’ I brushed it away with a dismissive wave. I didn’t have time to get into it now.

Carl’s hazel eyes widened. ‘Did they find out who?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Just keep doing what you’re doing here,’ I said. His ability to keep everything running smoothly was the only thing helping my stress levels.

‘Well, let me know when you want more coffee. We’ve got a lot of work to do. That new client I told you about, her name’s Rebecca Ryan.’

‘OK,’ I said.

‘Great name, right? She sounds like a reporter.’

I navigated back to the screen. ‘I was just bringing her file up,’ I said.

‘A spousal death. A residential fire. There aren’t any charges yet, but you should give her a call. She sounded worried.’

‘They think she did it?’

I skimmed the file fast, mind snapping into focus. I studied the timeline first. Fire reported just after midnight. Husband found deceased inside the property. Cause of death pending autopsy. It didn’t say whether Rebecca was located at the scene. The police narrative was careful. Neutral. But the question was already there, hanging between the lines.

Where was she when the fire started? Why didn’t she report it? Apparently, it was a neighbor who put in the emergency call. Why hadn’t she come forward?

I exhaled slowly and leaned back in my chair. She was probably feeling the pressure already. Carl was right; I needed to call Rebecca and set up a time to go through everything.

My phone rang. I answered on the second ring.

‘Mackenzie Morgan,’ I said, lacking Carl’s morning chirp.

‘Mackenzie!’ I could hear the relief in the woman’s tone. ‘I called your office earlier. My name is Rebecca Ryan.’

‘Of course,’ I said, but she kept talking.

‘My husband is dead,’ she said. ‘They think I killed him.’

There was no hesitation. Her voice was steady. Factual. But there was something coiled beneath it that I couldn’t name. Was it grief? Guilt?

‘Well, they haven’t charged you,’ I said, hoping to comfort her. She had already been through the tragedy of losing her husband, and if she was innocent, the shock of being accused of his murder might trick her into saying something she regretted.

‘Not yet, but I think they’re about to,’ she said, her voice hitching.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘They brought me in to answer some questions.’

‘Did you go voluntarily?’

A beat. ‘Yes.’

Good. That mattered. If she was cooperating, maybe she wanted to get to the bottom of this, and making things easier for the police – within reason of course – might make them more sympathetic toward her.

‘Rebecca,’ I said, ‘listen to me very carefully. Right now, you are not under arrest. You are being interviewed. You do not have to answer questions without counsel present.’

‘They said if I didn’t come in right away, it would look bad.’

‘They say that to everyone,’ I replied. ‘It’s not true.’

‘He’s dead,’ she said. ‘They’re going to charge me with murder.’

‘Not today,’ I said. ‘And not unless they have probable cause. Have they read you your rights?’

‘No.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘I want you to stop answering questions right now. Tell them you’re invoking your right to counsel. I’m on my way.’

Her breath hitched. ‘They won’t let me leave.’

That gave me pause.

‘Who told you that?’

‘They said I need to stay.’

That wasn’t the same thing.

‘Did they handcuff you?’

‘No.’

‘Then you’re not under arrest,’ I said. ‘You’re being detained. There’s a difference.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But legally, there is. Trust me. Sit tight. Don’t say another word.’

‘Don’t you want to know if I did it?’

‘No,’ I said quickly, trying to stop her from saying anything more. That was the last thing I wanted to know. Because if she had, and she told me over the phone, it would make defending her a whole lot harder.

‘I’ll be there soon,’ I promised, and hung up. I was already moving.