Detective Kramer settles back in his seat and folds his hands in his lap. “My personal theory, just between us girls? You and Mr. Satyrin had a thing. He’s a good-looking man. You’re a pretty woman. Your husband, by all accounts, had some rough edges. So the way I see it, you and Mr. Satyrin here hatched a plan together. He let you do the honors of firing the kill shot, and then he sent you off to bed to pop your pill and pretend you were out during the whole thing while he finished up. Except we got there first, thanks to a Good Samaritan call alerting us to suspicious activity at the building. So here we all are.”
“That’s not— that’s not what happened.”
But I can’t even argue. What is there to even say? It started like this: Five years ago, my husband killed my sister… The whole thing
