Cause of Death by Laura Dembowski (ereader iphone .TXT) 📗

him up the stairs and plunged that knife into him. You didn’t want to die yourself, but if that had to be the price paid for killing your husband, you were willing to pay it. Luckily for you, everything worked out according to your little plan. You came out of this unscathed . . . physically.”

Margaret starts clapping.

“Bravo, Detective, bravo. It sounds like you have me all figured out. Now, if only you could prove a single word of what you just said.”

“Oh I can. Dave and Lana, and the officers on scene, are making sure of that right now, collecting evidence. I know you’re not hurt like you said. I know you had Lana’s DNA on you. I know you are guilty. So, Margaret Moore, you are under arrest for the murder of David Moore. Please stand and put your hands behind your back,” I say, before cuffing her hands together again. “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney,” I say, continuing to read her her rights. Will comes in the room and helps me walk Margaret to her holding cell. I take the cuffs off once we’re inside the cell, Will and a couple of guards keeping a close eye the entire time.

I’m scared standing in that cell with her. I’m not scared a lot in this job. That sounds weird, even to me. I don’t spend my days wrangling criminals, busting into buildings, not knowing what to expect. Sure, I’ve fired my gun before. I’ve been in danger. But those are all things I’ve been trained for and have come to expect. No one can be trained to deal with people like Margaret Moore.

I’m relieved to walk out of that cell, leaving Margaret Moore alone, just her and her thoughts, no other inmates to get into trouble with, no one to harm but herself. I’d really like to take this case to trial and stick it to her, but if I walked into the station tomorrow and found her dead, I think I’d sleep okay at night.

When she’s out on bond again tomorrow after her lawyer plays the grieving-mother-and-widow card, then I might not sleep so well.

“I arrested her today,” I say.

“Who?” Ryan asks.

I shoot him a look.

“Oh, good old Maggie. She’s locked up again. She’ll get out on bail, though.”

“Yep.”

Orange isn’t Ryan’s color. He’s waiting for his trial to start and the judge wouldn’t give him bail, unlike Margaret, even though he has a decent lawyer. Too many people think he’s a dirty cop for the evidence to matter enough for the judge to see clearly. The evidence, the lack of other suspects; there’s no label other than “dirty cop” for those who don’t know Ryan.

I don’t know everything about Ryan, but I don’t think he’s a dirty cop, and I know for certain he did not kill Tracy. It’s hard to explain, but I just know he didn’t do it. I’ve worked with Ryan for years, and to think he killed Tracy, a woman I know he loved, is unfathomable to me.

“When’s your trial start?” I ask after an awkward silence. It’s weird visiting someone you know, a friend, in prison. Seeing them beaten down, locked up, fearing for their lives every moment of every day. I hate it. I’ve planned visits and then changed my mind. I’ve learned never to tell Ryan in advance. I don’t want to get his hopes up and then disappoint him, as his life must be a series of disappointments right now.

“A month, I think.”

“That lawyer your friend got is pretty good.”

“Yeah, but come on, no one can defend me.”

“Don’t say that. I’ll testify for you. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get off.”

“I’m not going to do that to you. I’ll deal with my shit. I’ve done this to myself; it’s no one else’s fault.”

“Come on, Ryan.”

I grow angry on his behalf, because he seems unable to show any radical emotions right now. He’s this melancholy lump of a flat line that just happens to still have a pulse and heartbeat, though I often wonder for how long.

“Don’t say that. This isn’t all your fault. Sure, some of it is.”

“Way to make me feel better, Kate,” he says with a slight smile.

I smile back; that’s the first time I’ve seen so much as a glint of the old Ryan in him since he’s been locked up.

“A smile? What’s gotten into you?”

“If I have to be locked up, at least I’ll sleep better—well, not really, but at least my mind will be clearer—knowing Maggie’s locked up too.”

“I hope it sticks,” I say, grabbing for his hand, which he pulls away.

I’m not attracted to Ryan. I never have been. We’re just friends and partners. He’s like a brother to me, not a boyfriend. I don’t want to change that; I’ve got a boyfriend, whom I love and am probably going to marry. I just want to offer Ryan some comfort now, since I know he needs it. I get it, though. I get that he doesn’t want to embroil me too much further in this mess. And it is a mess.

But it’s not unlike one I’ve seen before. My brother was into some bad shit when we were growing up. He went to juvie. It didn’t work. He wasn’t scared straight. He didn’t turn his life around. He got out and ran away from home at sixteen. I don’t know exactly what he did during a lot of that time. I didn’t ask too many questions once we reconnected, after he was arrested and pleaded guilty to armed robbery, possession of an illegal firearm, and drug possession. I didn’t want to know the truth, and even if I did, I didn’t think he’d tell me.

I went to visit him. Maybe I was young and naive then, but I never chickened out when I told myself (or him, or my parents) that I’d go visit. I always showed up. At first he