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“Started with luck,” he leans into the car, grabbing my seatbelt and risking his face with an arrogant smile. “Police work backed that luck up. Now we have a case to present to the DA.”
“And a victim will go to prison.” I don’t intend to sulk. In fact, I never mean to become emotionally invested in any of the cases that come through my office. But Adrianna is a mom who felt she had no other options. She was protecting her children—whether her actions were right or wrong is irrelevant. She acted protectively, and the giant elephant in this car, as Archer closes the door and climbs into the front, is that all three of us know I’ve committed worse crimes.
I’ve killed men to protect others.
I’ve ended lives, skipping the judicial process and making my own verdict.
“The first time we spoke with him,” Archer murmurs, “Aguero said he would give the shirt off his back to the men who work for him. In fact,” he turns as Fletch jumps in and closes the door, “he said he had given his shirt to William.”
“Which explains why Armando’s clothes ended up in Adrianna’s home.” Pulling the car away from the curb, Fletch brings us into Sunday afternoon traffic, angling us back in the direction we came. “What was up with the medical questions?”
“Everyone kept saying Adrianna wouldn’t stab her husband when she had other, easier ways to get the job done. He was allergic to peanuts,” I add, meeting Fletch’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Even I said it. If I wanted to off my husband, and my husband was allergic to nuts, I know what course of action I would choose.”
“Okay,” he murmurs… “So the runny nose? The hives?”
“Standard symptoms of anaphylaxis. She tried that first.”
“But he didn’t die,” Archer counters. “How does a man deathly allergic to peanuts consume peanuts and not die?”
“Allergies sometimes ease in severity as we age. I’m allergic to them; doesn’t mean I’m gonna drop dead because Fletch is enjoying a PB&J for lunch.”
“I knew you were allergic,” Fletch happily declares. “That’s why I don’t bring PB&Js to the George Stanley.”
“Which is supremely kind of you,” I snicker. “Tim knows too. In fact, I’ve noticed he never has nuts at the bar anymore. How thoughtful of him,” I sigh. “Kinda wish I never said no to his wedding proposal.”
“Oof.” Fletch laughs, his chest and shoulders bouncing. “She’s still pissed about the handcuffs thing. You sure you want to go to a deserted island with a killer?”
“I’m sure I’d like for you not to speak so fucking clearly about crimes that could incarcerate my wife.” Archer purses his lips and glances back my way. “So Alves didn’t die from peanuts. He outgrew his allergy?”
“Well… evidently his immune system has evolved and learned new ways to cope. He’s still reacting, of course, hence the hives and the runny nose. He probably had itchy eyes, too. Perhaps a swollen tongue. A tight throat. But his body didn’t shut down completely. That means his exposure was low, or his immune system had grown stronger. Regardless, Adrianna tried her best to kill her husband the good old-fashioned way first.”
“And when that didn’t work…” Fletch inserts.
“Sounds to me like she snapped,” I conclude. “Just like you both assumed from the start. She attempted a less… uh… violent kill prior. She went to class on the Monday before, freshly bruised. She studied Brenda Magellan. Wednesday, William worked late, forcing her to miss class.”
“Canvassing statements indicated they argued,” Archer fills in. “He sabotaged her attempt at education. They had words about it. And he was already three sheets to the wind, which means they’re more volatile. He’s mean, and she’s tired.”
“Wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume he stayed at work late intentionally,” Fletch agrees. “He knew she needed to be in class. Aguero knew, too, so they got it in their heads to stay back and drink. They think they’re so clever. So funny. He chills with his buddy while she’s home caring for the girls and cooking dinner.”
“Billy gets home already half drunk,” I add. “They have words. She has bruises she could have easily sustained that night. He’s not interested in anything but belligerence, and she’s had enough. The anaphylactic symptoms are your smoking gun, Detectives. That’s how you prove pre-meditation and intention.”
“So now we decide what to do about it.” Archer lounges back in his seat, spreading his legs wide and tapping the door frame with his finger. “She was released on good cognizance just hours ago. The case could remain too weak to prosecute.”
“You…” Stunned, I grab the seat in front of me and lean forward to catch his profile. “Excuse me?”
“She acted protectively. Somewhat psychotically,” he clarifies with a grin. “Pre-meditation makes me pause. But is she a threat to anyone else?”
“Are you…” My heart thunders deep in my chest. My pulse, skittering fast enough to make my head spin. “Are you appointing yourself the judge and jury, Detective Malone?”
Turning his head, he looks deep into my eyes and considers for a long, thoughtful beat. “I’m considering the consequences of my actions. And I’m wondering about the lives those little girls will live if we toss their mother into prison.” Pausing, he looks past me to his partner. “Do we leave children in dangerous situations, Detective Fletcher? Or do we get them out, even when the doing is hard work?”
“I sent Jada to rehab.” Licking his lips, Fletch looks anywhere but at his partner. “I didn’t put her in the ground. There’s a difference.”
“And she’s relapsed. Are you gonna let her come back around and abuse your daughter? Or are you going to do whatever you can to keep Moo safe?”
“I’m gonna toss her back into rehab.” Exhaling, he glances across to us both. “But I know where you’re leaning. I get what you’re saying.”
“Of the three of us, I was the one catching all the heat about not supporting the vigilante,” Archer growls. “How Dowel deserved to die, and Fentone had his punishment coming. I was referencing the law, and you two were saying how, sometimes, the law doesn’t work the way it should. Sometimes, the law is a blanket not suitable for everyone.”
