“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, didshe 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.”
