It was almost nine o’clock by the time I finished painting my garage and came in the house. I was tired but feeling good. My plan to rekindle my relationship with Loraine was in full swing. If I knew her, she was probably beside herself with grief right now, and it was only a matter of time before she’d be calling me to come be by her side.
I could think of a million reasons why she should have chosen me over Leon when she was given the chance, but instead of standing up for our love, she crumpled like tissue paper when Leon threatened to divorce her. I almost felt bad for Loraine now that I’d taken matters into my own hands. Things were going to be rough on her for a while, at least until I stepped in as her white knight.
I sat down on the sofa, sipping a drink and casually thumbing through some papers in a folder on my coffee table. Every time I flipped through them, a smile crept up on my face. This whole thing had almost been too easy.
My doorbell rang, which surprised me. Was Loraine so upset that she’d come racing to my house already? I knew my plan was good, but I hadn’t expected it to work this fast. I looked down at my paint-stained clothes, wishing I had time to change before she saw me, but a loud, insistent knock made me close the folder and get up from the sofa.
I cracked open the door and was more than a little disappointed to see that it wasn’t Loraine standing outside. “Can I help you?” I asked the two men before me, who wore dark trench coats and very serious expressions.
“Michael Richards?”
“Yeah. Who’s asking?”
They flashed badges. “My name’s Detective Tyndale. This is my partner, Detective Ryan. Can we step inside?”
Holy shit. Had Loraine called the cops on me? Why would she do that? And how the hell would she even know it was me?
“Sure, sure,” I said, fighting to maintain my composure. “What can I do for you? Is everything all right?” I stepped back and watched them enter my living room.
Tyndale spun around and faced me, while Ryan began wandering around the room. I wanted to ask Ryan what the hell he was looking for, but Detective Tyndale started in on me with questions, forcing my attention toward him.
“You know Loraine Farrow?” he asked.
I felt my stomach tighten in fear. So Loraine had spoken to the cops. This was not at all how I had planned for things to go down. “Yes, I know her,” I said reluctantly.
“You know her husband, Leon?”
“Yeah, of course I know him. What’s this all about? Is Loraine all right?” My heart started pounding and my palms were sweating. This was a possibility I never thought of: What if Loraine became so distraught about Leon that she hurt herself? “Is she all right?” I yelled.
“Yes, Mrs. Farrow is fine.” Detective Tyndale’s voice was abrupt and borderline nasty. “But you need to understand something. I’m asking the questions right now, okay?”
I nodded.
“Now, when was the last time you saw Leon Farrow?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I told you I’ll ask the questions.”
Things were getting more uncomfortable by the second. Maybe I hadn’t thought out my plan so well after all. “Well, I know my rights, and I’m not going to answer any questions until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
Tyndale glanced over at his partner, who was looking through my bookcase. A smirk passed between them. Ryan said, “Well, if he doesn’t know what’s going on”—there was that smirk again—“then go ahead and tell him.”
Tyndale looked at me again. “We’re investigating a shooting. Leon Farrow has been shot and—”
“What?” In all my fantasies about how my plan would come to fruition, I certainly never dreamed this moment, standing here having a conversation like this with the cops. My head was buzzing with confusion and panic. I felt trapped, and I knew they weren’t going to share any more details with me to help me figure things out.
“I said Leon Farrow has been shot. Is something wrong, Mr. Richards? Something you want to tell us?” He was eyeing me suspiciously as he said it.
I instantly went on the defensive. “Like what?”
The detective gave me a hard stare and raised his eyebrows like he was just waiting for me to fuck up and say the wrong thing so they could arrest me.
“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “No way. You’ve got this all wrong. I didn’t shoot anyone. I didn’t kill Leon.”
Ryan approached me and stood close enough that I could feel his breath on my face. “But you’ve been known to threaten Leon, haven’t you?” he asked.
His partner quickly added, “And you’ve been known to carry a gun, right?”
I looked from one to the other, wondering just how much they knew about me and the way I’d been pursuing Loraine. What had she told them about me?
“You do own a gun, don’t you, Mr. Richards?” Tyndale barked at me.
There was no sense in lying about it. These guys were coming on too strong to not already know about the gun I’d purchased. “Yeah, I own a gun,” I replied quietly.
“What kind of gun?” Ryan asked.
“A twenty-two-caliber automatic.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting. Leon Farrow was shot with a twenty-two.”
I felt my knees wobbling and had to reach out and rest my hand on the couch to keep from falling. This just kept getting worse.
“Something wrong, Mr. Richards?”
“No, no, this is all just a little surprising.”
Again he smirked.
“So where’s your gun now, Mr. Richards?” Ryan asked.
“I threw it in the James River.”
“Threw it in the James River?” Tyndale repeated mockingly. “You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?”
“Look, I know how this sounds, but it’s the truth.”
Ryan chuckled, then started pacing around the room again. “You really must think we’re stupid.”
Tyndale kept pressing me. “Where were you this afternoon?”
“I was here by myself. I spent most of the afternoon painting my garage.”
“Can anybody verify that?”
“No. I was here alone.”
He shook his head. “Mr. Richards, I really have to tell you this doesn’t look good. Maybe we should finish our questioning downtown.”
“For what? I didn’t shoot Leon. I didn’t have to. His wife was gonna leave him today anyway.”
“Oh, really?” He looked at me like he thought I was delusional. “That’s not what she told us.”
“Leon Farrow,” Detective Ryan said from across the room.
I looked in his direction and saw that he was holding the folder I’d left on my coffee table. As he opened it and read silently for a few seconds, I tried to imagine how things would play out if I tried to run.
“‘Dr. Roberta Marshall, psychiatrist,’” he read out loud, then looked up at me. “What are you doing with this file? This looks to me like you’re in possession of some confidential medical files. Care to explain?”
I started sputtering. “I…I…” Shit, now I was really in trouble. “Um, maybe I need to talk to a lawyer before I answer that.”
“Yeah, maybe you do.” Detective Tyndale pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Leon Farrow.”