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I don’t remember pulling the trigger. I don’t remember much of what happened afterward. What I do remember is her face. I remember Grant’s lifeless body lying on the floor.
“Now look what you’ve done.” I remember she said that.
>
I remember the way he looked, lying there. Aside from all the blood, the pained expression, and wide-eyed stare, he could have just been sleeping. I don’t think I ever saw him sleep, come to think of it. So I told myself it could have been true.
I don’t even remember the screaming. I don’t remember my admission of guilt. They tell me it was all there in the screams. They told me I said at the scene of the crime, I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t.
Yet, Grant Dunn is dead.
And they say it’s my fault.
Chapter Thirty-One
Josie
It started with a white lie. I guess you could say I learned from the best. It was easy really. They wanted a certain story; I let them lead the witness.
“I know you’re tired Mrs. Dunn,” the detective tells me. Classic projection. “Forgive me,” he says glancing at my statement. “I just want to make sure we have this straight.”
I stare at the cold, hard metal table. You always read about these kinds of rooms in police stations. You never realize the descriptions are quite so accurate. “So—just to get the timeline straight. Your husband texts Izzy Lewis and says he needs to speak to her. This occurs at approximately 7:02 p.m.” He proceeds to go through the events once again. This is the third time. Please let it be the charm. I twist my wedding rings and nod. I do not look at him. My tears fall against the table. I feel something soft graze my arm. I look up. Tissues.
“Yes,” I say. “I mean, I didn’t see the text. But I assume that’s right.” I make a point to be careful in my admissions.
He rattles on listing out the details. “And before Ms. Lewis fired the weapon, can you tell me what she said.”
“She didn’t say anything.”
“And the deceased—I’m sorry—your husband,” he pauses, he looks genuinely sorry. “What did he say?”
“He said that he wasn’t having an affair. That Ms. Lewis was stalking him. That she wouldn’t leave him alone.”
“Do you think that Ms. Lewis was, in fact, stalking him? Had he mentioned it?”
I start crying.
“Had she shown up at your home before?” I think of the two of them in our kitchen. I think of her with our daughter.
“Yes.” I cry some more.
He nods as though he expected me to say this. “Ms. Lewis has a history of stalking, I’m afraid.”
I place my face in my hands and rub.
“How did she seem when she showed up?”
He wants to know if she came there to murder my husband. I’ve seen enough television.
“Drunk.”
“Well, we’ll know about that soon enough.”
“Did she seem angry?”
“She refused to leave.”
“Earlier in the evening a similar incident occurred with a neighbor of hers. She threatened to murder him.”
