AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She whimpers, anguish a visible, audible thing that tries to choke her. But she doesn’t speak.
“Mrs. Alves?” he presses. “What did you do?”
“I ran back to my daughters’ bedrooms,” she whispers. “I went to them, to make sure they were okay.”
“Why?” I demand. “Your husband was dead, Adrianna. Stabbed to death. Why go to your daughters, and not to him?”
“Because for someone to have come into our home,” she cries, “for someone to have been in there while we slept… I was worried that person went to my babies, too.”
“You didn’t care about William? You just left him there?”
“I cared more about my children! I didn’t like my husband, Detectives. But I would live and die for my babies.”
“Would you kill for them, too?” Fletch and I play the woman like a machine. A game. He takes a shot. Then me. Him. Me. “You would die for them. You didn’t like him. Would you have killed him? Since he was abusing them just as he was abusing you.”
Her cheeks turn deathly pale. Her eyes, shooting from me to Fletch. “When you say he was abusing them…”
“Beating on them,” I clarify, since I know her mind has gone elsewhere. “Abusing their mom. Making their home an unsafe space. Those little girls deserved peace, right? Who better to give it to them than you? The woman who would die for them.”
“That plan is flawed.” She reaches across to the small box of tissues on the table and plucks two out. “If I kill him, I go to prison. My children’s home is no longer peaceful.”
“You studied criminology! You studied Brenda Magellan this week, Adrianna.”
“I studied a battered woman who stabbed her husband to death,” she bites back. “That woman was caught and incarcerated for her crimes. Her children grew up in the foster care system. They were separated, and two have since died. One of them married an abusive man who killed her with his bare hands. The other, a drug addict, self-medicated to deal with the life he had been dealt. He died alone in his bed, Detectives. Overdose. I hardly think Brenda Magellan is a woman I should aspire to emulate. And her children’s fates, certainly not something I want for my daughters.”
“You had his blood all over you when you called his death in.”
“I ran to him! After I checked my girls, I ran to William next. I don’t know that there’s a script for these things, Detective. A ‘do and don’t list’ for how I should have behaved. But I wasn’t thinking through each step I took. I wasn’t worrying about the story I would tell the cops. I ran to my husband, and I pressed my fingers to his neck.” Fat tears spill over her cheeks. “There was so much blood. So much. His neck was cut, but I checked for a pulse anyway.”
“And the knife?”
Her eyes whip to mine. “What knife?”
“The knife that sliced him open. It was in your sink, Mrs. Alves. Rinsed clean. But not truly clean.” I lift one leg and place my foot on the opposite knee. “To a regular person, they think water and soap will cut it. But to the folks trained at the forensics lab, they see so much more.”
“I don’t…” Sniffling, she shakes her head. “I don’t know about the knife. I didn’t see one.”
“What would you say if our lab found your prints on the handle? Soap and water,” I remind her. “They can’t rid a murder weapon of all the really good stuff.”
She looks at Fletch for a reprieve. “It’s my house. My prints are on everything.”
“Adrianna—”
“I didn’t kill my husband,” she groans. “You’re wasting so much time focusing on me while a killer walks our streets. Have you even looked beyond me? Searched for a reason someone would try to hurt my family?” She reaches across the table and slaps her palm on the files in front of me. “Are my children safe, Detective? I want to see them.”
“You can’t leave for a while yet.” Done for now, I drop my foot and stand. Dragging the files from beneath her hand, I meet her eyes and work to soften my expression. “You have to stay until we figure this out.”
“You have to charge me,” she counters, too quickly. Too certain. “I know my rights, Detective. You can’t hold me for much longer unless you charge me. And you can’t charge me unless you have enough proof for the DA.”
“I have you at the scene, Mrs. Alves. The murder weapon was in your home. You had the victim’s blood on your hands and clothes. And considering he beat you twice a week, you have a motive.” I slide the files beneath my arm and study the woman in orange. “I have more than enough.”
“To keep me for a little while.” She swallows, looking up at me from her perch on a rickety chair. “You’ll hold me until trial, traumatizing my daughters, and stealing from them the only safe adult they’ve ever known. It’s already been a night, Detectives. It’s the afternoon, which means they’ll go a second night without me.”
“I don’t know what to?—”
“Kiera can’t fall asleep without me holding her hand,” she cries out. “Katie thinks she’s the reason her mom is sad and her dad hits things. My children are suffering, Detective Malone! That’s why I need you to cast your focus past me. You’re so intent on pinning this on the battered wife, you’re creating more trauma for us all and ignoring the very real chance this was someone else.”
“So tell us where to look.” Fletch stands too, but he leans over the table and presses his knuckles to the top. “If it wasn’t you, where the hell do we start?”
