Chapter Seven

By 3 a.m. Merrill had been through the degrading process of being booked at the LA County Jail. No first night transition at the comparatively cozy police station/jailhouse less than a mile from her home in Brentwood. Murder suspects went straight into the system. Margolin was able to keep her from being grilled by the cocky Prole, but couldn’t keep her from getting an orange jumpsuit and small cell. People didn’t realize how demoralizing and dehumanizing just the booking process was. It was like being a hunk of trash processed on an assembly line. Pounded, probed, labeled and passed along. Merrill floated through most of it, but shortly after midnight started to emerge from her torpor. Now Margolin was with her in the interrogation room, getting ready to leave and saying comforting things about getting bail the next morning. Her glaze-eyed look began to fade. Sitting in the cold windowless room with Prole going over what would be happening to her over the next few days, Merrill began to look afraid. She stood up from the steel table and matching chair, seeming to be shocked by the handcuffs she was now wearing.

“What…why am I…” was about all she could get out. Margolin realized the initial shock was wearing off and the next response would be strong – confusion, anger, denial. He wanted to be sure she said nothing, and told her so in a stronger voice than he’d used before. It woke her up further, but also calmed her down.

“Detective, I’d like a few minutes alone with my client.” Prole rolled her eyes, figuring it was kind of late in the process to be having the first serious client-attorney conversation, but left the room, throwing over her shoulder an admonition: “Ten minutes. I’m off shift and wanna get some sleep before the show starts again tomorrow.” She walked out the door without waiting for the comment she knew would come from the attorney, who didn’t care whether she got her rest.

Alone in the room, Margolin took Merrill’s arm from across the table. He held it tightly, partly to make sure she was listening and partly to keep her seated. He could see the agitation roiling in her face. “Merrill, I’ve known you and Carl since before you were married. You’re the last person in the world I would expect to be sitting here with.” Merrill looked at him and the anger subsided – just hurt and confusion now. “First, not a goddamn word to anyone but me. Do you hear me?” His grip tightened. Merrill’s eyes widened and she nodded, looking small and meek. She had cut her hair recently; it used to be well down her back and was always clean and smooth, if not exactly luxurious. Now it was shoulder length, more girlish, the way she’d probably worn it as a teenager. Margolin didn’t let go. “I need to hear you say it, Merrill. Say you won’t talk to anyone except for me. Don’t let them bully you.”

Merrill whispered “yes,” then cleared her throat and said it again. “Yes, I mean, no, I won’t speak to anyone but you.” That satisfied him and he finally let go of her arm. She absently rubbed it but held his eyes.

“Now, I have to ask you a question, Merrill. It’s the only time I’m going to ask, ever. I only need to know so I can decide on your defense. And I am going to defend you, even though Carl was my friend. So are you.” Merrill looked confused, not sure what was coming, and that concerned him. It should be obvious.

“Merrill, did you kill Carl?” Her eyes widened as if lightning had suddenly shot out of his mouth. She pulled back, and her lips started to form an involuntary answer. But then she stopped.

“I…I don’t…” She couldn’t, or didn’t want to, finish the sentence. He waited. Almost a full minute passed. Finally she made her decision.

“I don’t know.”

It wasn’t what he’d expected. “You don’t know? Or you don’t remember? Or you think you did but aren’t sure? What are you saying Merrill?” She didn’t do anything to lessen his exasperation.

“I just…I mean, I don’t know if I did it. I don’t remember doing it. But…I don’t remember not doing it. I just remember seeing him there, dead.” Confusion was replaced by fear and then tears. Margolin didn’t show his thoughts. No more explanations tonight. They sat quietly for a few more minutes until Prole came noisily back into the room.

“Anything else, counselor?” It was a rhetorical question. A policewoman had come in behind her and was stepping around to gather up Merrill.

“Merrill, just remember what I said. Not one word.” He waited until they’d left and he stayed a moment to watch her walk down the hall toward the heavy metal door with double remote locks that would take her into the bowels of the County Jail.