214 Palmer Street(63)
“Believe me, they’re doing everything they can. Let’s give them some space and get you checked out. As soon as I know something, I’ll tell you. I promise.”
Hannah guided her away from the backyard, around the side of the house to the driveway, where an ambulance was parked. The street, previously quiet and dark, was now crowded with vehicles: three squad cars, another ambulance, a fire truck, and several cars. A voice squawked over a radio. Across the street, an old man in his bathrobe stood on his front porch, hands in pockets, surveying the scene.
“Right this way,” Hannah said, walking her to the back of the ambulance. The doors were wide open and she patted the edge. “Take a seat.” After Sarah complied, she called out, “Can I get an EMT here? She needs to be checked out.”
“No, really I’m fine,” Sarah protested.
At the end of the driveway, a police officer stood questioning the young woman who’d called 911. Sarah heard her say, “I used to live in the neighborhood and I still keep in touch with Mrs. Scott next door. When I drove past and saw it was dark, I thought I’d check on her.”
A former neighbor. Lucky thing she came along. The police officer handed Sarah a small bottle of water. Gratefully she twisted off the top and took a swig.
A young guy in street clothes appeared. He said, “Hi, I’m Ethan. I’m one of the EMTs and I’m going to be checking you over, okay? Can you show me your injuries?”
“I’m not hurt.”
“The blood on her clothing is not hers,” Hannah said.
“Okay.” Ethan nodded. “Let’s start with your name.”
She nodded. “Sarah Aden.” Out of habit, she spelled out both names. Even though the night air was hot and muggy, she pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders.
Hannah left her side to talk to another officer, a lanky young man. The two conferred, with the guy talking briefly on his handheld radio. Sarah kept her eyes on them even while answering Ethan’s questions.
When she saw the EMTs carry Gavin out on a stretcher, taking him directly to the ambulance across the street, she leapt to her feet. “Why aren’t they bringing my husband out?” She didn’t wait for Ethan’s response, but walked over to Hannah.
“Where’s my husband?” she asked. “I want to see my husband.”
When two police officers exchanged a look, fear churned in her blood. Hannah said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Aden…”
“No.” Sarah shook her head, took a step back and put her hand to her heart. “Please no.” She wanted to cover her ears, drop to the ground, and curl into a fetal position, but her body was numb and wouldn’t move. She wasn’t ready to hear what came next. It came anyway.
“…but despite all of our efforts your husband has died. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
FORTY-THREE
Hannah had given her a clean T-shirt when they’d arrived at the police station, and Sarah pulled it on right away. They asked permission to test her hands for gunshot residue, something she readily agreed to do. Only then could she wash her hands and comb her hair. In the mirror, she noticed how haggard her face looked, as if she’d aged a decade in the last two days.
But really, what difference did it make how she looked now? Her world had shattered. Kirk was dead. No more anniversaries or days waking up next to him, rolling over to see him smiling in his sleep. Her view of a family life, with her as a mother, had also burst into flames. There would be no pregnancy, no baby, no dad coming home from work to scoop up an excited toddler. Without even realizing it, she’d mentally created a life that would never happen. All of that was over. Her mission to find the truth had led to two deaths and her actions were the impetus of those deaths. She was to blame and that was something she’d have to live with for the rest of her life.
Now Sarah sat at the same table where she’d looked over the report on her attack during an earlier visit. She didn’t want to be here, sitting at the police station, but she didn’t want to go to her empty house either. What she wanted was to rewind the clock and undo the last twenty-four hours. Wipe away everything she knew and go back to how it was before. If only that were possible.
Sarah ran a finger against the top of the table, wondering what would happen next. When a detective came into the room, he set a bottle of water and a box of tissues on the table in front of her.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Aden. I know this isn’t a good time, but I was hoping you were up to answering some questions.”
He pulled out a chair for himself and took a seat. She hadn’t seen him at the crime scene. He was good-looking: square-jawed with dark hair just starting to go gray at the temples. Old enough to have some authority. Young enough to have the vitality needed to do active police work. He’d introduced himself as Clint. It was a strategy, she surmised. Using a first name to put her at ease.
“Am I under arrest?” she asked.
“No, should you be?”
Mind games. Sarah had seen enough cop movies to know that sometimes innocent people implicated themselves when exhausted or confused, and she was both. Did she need an attorney? She wasn’t sure. Kirk would know best, but he was gone and she was alone.
“Of course not,” she answered. “Gavin’s the one who pulled the trigger and killed my husband. He was going to kill both of us.” Earlier, she had admitted to hitting Gavin with the crowbar, but that was in self-defense, and they hadn’t mentioned charging her with that crime.