Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
brIE
I’ve been in this room for four hours. I know, because every second is marked by a ticking clock
A bedraggled lawyer called Sinclair is sitting next to me, taking notes. He’s overweight, unshaven, and looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He hasn’t told me where he came from, but I assume he’s one of the free lawyers the court gives out.
“How did you come to be working for the Littles?” Detective Gelman asks.
“I told you. I answered an ad at college.”
“Who did you speak with?”
“Bradley.”
“Did you know Bradley was Grace Frost's husband?”
“No.”
“Were you a fan of Grace Frost’s novel?”
“I’d never read it.”
Gelman leans back in her chair, frowning as if nothing I say makes any sense.
“How long until you developed a crush on Mr. Little?”
This seems like an inappropriate question, but I glance at my lawyer, and his face is blank.
“I don’t know.”
“When do you claim to have slept with Mr. Little? The first time?”
“A couple of weeks after moving in. I don’t know.” I feel them judging me, so I add, “It was after I told him that Grace was sleeping with Jesse.”
“Hold on. Who’s Jesse?”
“Her agent. I forgot his last name.”
Holland turns to Gelman and raises an eyebrow, as if I’d just attempted a particularly embarrassing joke.
“How on earth would you know that?”
I tell them about that night, the ‘party,’ when Grace poisoned me, and I’d seen Jesse and Grace kissing.
“Wait, wait,” Gelman says. “You say Grace poisoned you. Tell us about that.”
My lawyer taps my arm, then scribbles in his notebook. The word CAREFUL is underlined. He quickly turns the page, but I get the point. I don’t want to give them a motive.
“Humor us,” Detective Holland says with a growl.
“It was an accident,” I say.
“Just a second ago, you said poison.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Well.” Gelman flips open her notebook and begins to read. “Mr. Little says that you thought she was trying to kill you. You told him this on multiple occasions.”
When I don’t answer, she keeps talking.
“He also says that you claimed she locked you in her basement and left town. He said you were adamant that she was going to leave you there to starve to death. He said that you thought she had murdered another woman called Caroline Churchwell.”
I don’t answer. Can I admit now what’s happening? Can I admit the obvious, what I’ve known ever since I saw Bradley outside the house of his in-laws, what I should have known before, if I’d only been paying attention, if I hadn’t been such a pathetic, idiotic, naive little—
“What happened to Caroline Churchwell, Detective Holland?”
“She’s alive and well. Lives in Montreal with her boyfriend. No complaints about Mrs. Little.”
“None at all?”
Sinclair clears his throat, but Gelman raises her hand. “Hold on. He also says you complained about Mrs. Little using your photo as shooting practice.”
“That’s quite a claim,” Holland says.
“Any evidence, though?”
“No evidence.”
“Any evidence for any of these claims?”
“No evidence.”
“Enough of this pantomime!” Sinclair says with frustration.
“My client has been here for four hours, and you still haven’t explained precisely what we’re doing here.
A woman died tragically in a wildfire, and you’re raking over the coals of her personal life with hearsay.
Either cut to the chase or let us leave. ”
Holland glares at him, but to his credit, my lawyer glares back.
“Your lawyer is impatient, Brie,” Gelman says.
“Ms. MacKenzie to you,” Sinclair growls.
“Let’s cut to the chase, then. What is there evidence of, Detective Holland?”
When he speaks, Holland’s voice is low and threatening.
I look down at my hands, though I can feel him staring at me.
“There’s evidence that you developed an obsession for Mr. and Mrs. Little.
There’s evidence that you wanted to take her place.
You tried your best to seduce him into an affair, and when that didn’t work, you decided to kill her. ”
“No!” I say.
Sinclair bristles beside me. “The only so-called evidence you have to support this wildly offensive theory is from the unsubstantiated claims of Bradley Little, the very man who stands to make millions from her death. This really is amateur hour, guys. Do your job or let us leave.”
“We’re not done,” Gelman snaps.
“Get done.”
I glance at Sinclair, impressed by his backbone. If this is what a free lawyer looks like, I’m impressed. But I can tell that he’s bluffing. He knows there’s more. There has to be more.
“Ms. Mackenzie, how much money do you owe on your student loans?”
“For God’s sake.”
“Ms. Mackenzie, advise your lawyer not to interrupt. You know where I’m going with this. How much do you owe?”
“Nothing.”
“How is that possible? Before you moved in, you owed close to a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Bradley paid them off for me.”
“Is that so? Because Mr. Little claims that you stole that money from him two days before you murdered his wife.”
Sinclair argues again about the proof they have—and there isn’t any.
Nothing but Bradley’s word. The argument suddenly ends, and the room is silent, except for the ticking clock.
Detective Holland is hunched over the table, staring impatiently, as if he’d much rather try more direct, more medieval techniques.
“When did you steal that ring from Mrs. Little?” he asks. “Was it before or after you killed her?”
I touch the ring on my hand. I’d forgotten I was wearing it.
“I didn’t steal it.” I feel like I’m walking across a frozen lake. With every step, I hear the ice cracking beneath. “Bradley gave it to me.”
“Why would he give you his wife’s engagement ring?”
There it is. I feel the ice crack open. My body plunges into the freezing waters. My heart slows, and the bright world slips further and further away.
“What?” Sinclair is unable to conceal the horror on his face .
“Even your lawyer can’t believe it,” Holland says with a smirk. “Did he propose?”
“No! I didn’t know it was hers.”
I tell him the date, and he counts on his fingers like a schoolboy. He glances at Sinclair and whistles like he can’t believe what he’s heard.
“Four days. That’s your story? That Bradley Little gave you that ring four days after his wife went missing?” He lowers his voice to a growl. “Suppose you’re telling the truth. Don’t you think that’s a bit soon?”
“It’s not like that.” I blink away tears. “She’d made his life a misery. He wanted to move on. And we were already together.”
“So you killed her? To make him happy?”
“No! But he—” I stop myself. “She wasn’t missed.”
Gelman clicks her tongue, then glances at Holland. “Here’s what I don’t understand. You say he gave you the ring on Wednesday. But they hadn’t found her suspected remains till much later. Why would he do that when he was still married?”
“He was getting a divorce.” My voice is shaking. “That’s what he told her. Before she disappeared.”
“He was getting a divorce. OK. And he gave you the engagement ring of his existing, living wife?” She angles her head as if trying to work out some fiendish mathematical equation. “Can you explain that to me, please?”
“I didn’t know! He just gave it to me. Maybe he got it off her when he said he wanted a divorce.”
She smiles like I’ve just attempted a joke. “Hey, Holland. You’re divorced. The day your wife told you she was leaving, did she ask for the ring back?” Holland shakes his head slowly, the same smirk on his lips. “It’s an unusual story you’re telling us, Brie.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Right, the truth. OK, enough of these games. Cards on the table.” She glances at my lawyer, then back at me.
“Mr. Little admits to flirting with you early on, but denies the affair. He says you grew obsessed with him over the course of working at Pine Ridge and began issuing threats to both him and his wife. He says you began stealing from Mrs. Little, wearing her clothes and jewelry. He says you wanted to take her place. When he found out what you were doing, he asked you to leave. When you refused, he said he would call the police. And that night, you killed his wife.”
Sinclair touches my arm to stop me from responding.
“There are holes in this story, Detectives. You can see them as much as I can. Why didn’t they fire her as soon as she started acting strangely?
Why didn’t he call the police when she stole from them?
Why did they let this go on for weeks? And where is there any actual evidence that the victim was murdered? ”
“They were scared,” Holland snaps.
“Of whom?” Sinclair laughs. “Of her?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Her death isn’t funny, but this story is. Every judge in the city will see right through this. And I’ll make sure every jury does, too.”
“Let’s say I see the holes. Hypothetically,” Detective Gelman says with a nod.
“Maybe there was an affair. That would explain a lot. But it’s not all hearsay, Brie.
” She nods to Holland, who leaves the room.
A few seconds later, he returns and pushes a plastic bag across the table.
Inside is the knife, my knife. The knife with Grace’s blood.
“Can you explain what this is, please?”
I’m stunned into silence. Bradley did this. First, the rock, and when that didn’t work, the knife.
“Let me tell you what it is, Ms. Little. It’s the murder weapon. It has Grace’s DNA. And I’m willing to bet it has your fingerprints all over it.”
“But wait!” I say, before I can think. “She wasn’t killed with a knife.”
Holland looks at Gelman, who raises her eyebrows. I feel Sinclair tense beside me.
“Then enlighten us, Brie,” Holland says with a growl. “What did you kill her with?”