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

a couple of days after she was sitting in mine. It all seems surreal, and because of that, I’m imagining all the ways this could go wrong. All the ways I know it will go wrong.

A car has been tailing her since they caught up with her after leaving my house, but I figure she could still think of a way to lose it. Or she’ll run out the back door and into the woods, never to be seen again. She’ll be sitting behind her front door with a machine gun, ready to end all of us. She’ll convince another jury that she is somehow the innocent victim here.

This will all go wrong. That’s how things work for us. For me.

Sarge is driving and I’m sitting next to him, the car off, neither of us moving.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

“I am,” I say, knowing it’s the truth. I am ready for this to finally, officially, and truly be over.

We get out of the car and join the other officers, all of us walking in formation, guns drawn, to her front door.

Sarge pounds on it. “Margaret Moore, this is the police. Come out with your hands up.”

We stand there for a moment and hear nothing, nor do we see any movement through the windows.

“We have to go in,” I say to Sarge. He nods in agreement.

“Stand back,” he says to us, and kicks the door down.

We move into the house, through the foyer, into the kitchen, and find Margaret sitting there, calmly drinking a cup of tea. I know the house well. From that first visit with Ryan, not knowing what we were getting into, nor what this woman was capable of, to now, with all my fellow officers by my side, ready to arrest perhaps the worst criminal our town has seen.

“Hello there,” Margaret says calmly, as though we are old friends instead of officers of the law with guns pointed at her, ready to take a kill shot.

“Margaret Moore, you are under arrest for the murder of Ron Klein.”

“It was worth it,” she says, in a monotone. “He was a really good fuck. Too bad he had to die.”

“Stand up,” I say, lowering my gun and walking over to her. I grab the handcuffs out of my pocket and hold them, ready to shackle her. She just sits there, legs crossed, one foot swinging. I take some satisfaction in knowing that her little game is over and she lost.

“Stand!” I say firmly, letting her know once and for all that I am the one in charge.

The tension fills the room; it’s growing so hot, I can barely breathe. Sarge and the other officers watch intently, their guns aimed at her in case she takes a run at me. Before one of them takes a shot, even accidentally, she stands up.

“Turn around,” I say.

She does as I ask.

I put the handcuffs on her a little more roughly than I should. While I read her her Miranda rights, we walk her out of the house. I watch as she looks around, hopefully realizing that she’s not ever coming back here.

I stuff her in the back of the car that Sarge and I drove over here in, and the three of us drive back to the station in silence. She’ll be processed and interrogated before she can ask for a lawyer. Or at least, before she actually gets one. And I get the first crack at her.

Chapter 26

Margaret

They’ve got me holed up in the worst interrogation room in the place, the assholes. The chair and table are dirty and the room smells. I’m not sure what is causing such a foul odor to fill the room, and that’s probably a good thing.

I’m mentally betting against myself about who will question me first. My money is on the girl detective. I’m pretty sure she hates me—with good reason, considering I brought her a hand and had a nice chat with her boyfriend. I suppose I would hate me too. I’ve been sitting in here for what feels like forever, but they took my watch, so I don’t know what time it is.

I should have asked for a lawyer. I should have asked for Stanley, but I can’t afford him anymore. Any attorney I can afford won’t be as smart as me. I’ll stick with my knowledge and instincts. Sure, Stanley helped a little at the last trial, but we all know that without my natural charm, I would have been found guilty. I am more than up for the challenge of a repeat performance.

I’m looking at my nails, wishing I had gotten a manicure, when Kate walks in. I win!

“We meet again,” she says, placing one of those nice leather folders on the table.

“We do. I was hoping it would be under different circumstances, like at the grocery store, or your fiancé’s funeral.”

“Well, I can see you’ve mellowed out,” Kate says, taking a seat across from me.

“A murder trial will do that to you.”

“Then I can’t wait to see you after the next trial, especially since it’s going to be a guilty verdict this time.”

“Don’t count on it,” I snap.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?” I reply, tucking my hair behind my ears. I’m sitting up straight, as though a metal rod is attached to my back. I can barely move, frozen by the situation.

“Kill Lana.”

I roll my eyes, a reflex I can’t stop. “I didn’t kill my daughter, Kate, and twelve people agree with me. Twelve very important people.”

“Oh, come on, you can tell me the truth. You can’t be tried again.”

I look around. I want to tell her the truth. I want her to know it, firsthand, right from my mouth. It’s such a big secret to keep; telling Stanley isn’t the same as telling Kate. And I want some credit, you know? I want someone to know what I did. And the fact that on top of killing Lana, I managed to get away with it. That is no