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

“You wanted to kill him. It’s fine; most of my clients are just as guilty as you, and I sleep fine at night. But I do not appreciate surprises.”

“That’s why you’ve got this team of goons at your beck and call doing things I’m not sure the judge would like to hear about.”

“Are you two done?” the associate in the pretty dress asks. “Because this isn’t helping us at all.”

She puts the CD in her laptop computer. She taps her red nails on the mousepad while it loads, then clicks a few times and Dave’s voice fills the room. The first hint of it sends a chill down my spine.

“Umm, I don’t think I have to say my name, but I have a tip on my daught—on Lana Moore’s death. I don’t think she really killed herself. I think she was murdered. Please investigate it. You need to investigate it.”

Stanley slams his hand on the table and the whole thing shakes. Water sloshes out of a glass filled too full.

“So we’re fucked,” he says.

“I don’t know what got into him. She killed herself.”

“Well, we all know that’s not the case now, so you can stop telling that story,” Stanley says, frustrated.

“What do you want me to say—that I thought he did it? Fine. I thought he did it from the moment I saw her body. I knew immediately she didn’t kill herself, so it was most likely one of us, and considering neither one of us was about to confess, we just pointed fingers at each other. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Why didn’t you tip off the police that Dave killed her?” Stanley asks, irate, trying to figure out his next move. Our next move.

“I didn’t think of it.”

“Well, that’s the first true thing I think you’ve told me. I know I told you I didn’t need the truth, but I’m telling you now that I need you to tell me the truth about what happened. All of it.”

“I wanted to kill Dave. You’re right.”

“I don’t mean about Dave,” Stanley says, shaking his head and leaning on the table so his eyes meet mine.

“I thought Lana killed herself,” I say with complete conviction.

“And when they proved she didn’t?”

“I guess I blamed Dave.”

“You guess you blamed Dave?” Stanley asks. “You guess you blamed Dave?” he repeats.

He can’t believe it, and I’m not even sure that I do at this point. What did I think when I learned that someone else was responsible for Lana’s death? Why didn’t I consider the possibilities? I could have avoided a lot of this, blamed it on that boyfriend hiding in the shadows late at night. Her old boss. An old, jealous classmate who found her on Facebook. The fucking mailman. I’m disappointed in myself; I could have done so much better.

Of course, it all would have been too late anyway, since we now know that Dave’s call to the tip line was made only hours after her death.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say you thought it might have been Dave, but you couldn’t turn him in because you couldn’t bear to lose your husband, too.”

“And then I killed him?” I ask, fearing that even my fancy lawyer’s story doesn’t add up. “I thought you wanted the truth.”

“Clearly I’m not going to get that. I want you to tell them that you killed Dave purely out of self-defense, because he turned on you. You had no choice in the matter.”

“Fine. What about explaining that I didn’t kill Lana?” I say, taking a drink of water.

He looks around the room at his clueless associates.

“You say just what you told me,” he says, shaking his head, dumbfounded at his own suggestion. “You tell them you thought your daughter killed herself, and you know nothing more.” He pauses, knowing that this won’t win the jury over. “And then you blame it on Dave.”

Well, if it’s for the best . . .

Before I know it we’re back in the courtroom, and I have resumed my position on the stand.

“Can you confirm that that’s your husband’s voice on the recording, Ms. Moore?”

“Hard to say. Could be anyone,” I say.

“So why do you think this mystery man left such a message?”

I’m about to answer when Stanley chimes in again. “Objection; speculative.”

“Sustained,” the judge says.

Stanley sits down, having won a minor victory that must make him feel better, his ego reinflating just a little.

“Well, then, let’s just cut to the chase, Ms. Moore. Did you kill your daughter?”

I take a deep breath and brace myself. Now is my time to shine.

“Of course I did not kill my daughter. She was my flesh and blood. And my best friend.” I sniffle, and then let the tears start rolling. “I loved her, and I never would have killed her.” The tears come fast and furious now, and remarkably, they aren’t even fake. I am truly sad about everything I am experiencing, and have experienced. “How could I kill my daughter? To imagine doing that to her—it’s unfathomable.”

“But it’s not really unfathomable, because you did kill your husband.”

“Yes, I did, and it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life. I had no choice but to kill him.”

“We all have choices, Ms. Moore.”

“You’re right,” I say, the tears having stopped for the moment. I look right at him. “I did have a choice, and if I would have made a different one, I would not be sitting here today. I would be dead.”

“What about your DNA being found under Lana’s fingernails? How do you explain that?”

“We lived together,” I say matter-of-factly, as though it explains everything, even though I know it doesn’t, and I know he knows the same thing.

“Yes, you lived together, but not many people randomly have the DNA of the person with whom they live under their nails. You didn’t have Dave’s DNA under your nails. Did you and Lana have a fight?”

“We did. It was just prior to her death. I lost