"Madame, is this the gun he was shot with? Did you kill your husband?"
Mara finds it funny. Not in a laugh out loud kind of way, but funny in the way that it feels when a stranger walks up to you, midday, in a crowded, sunny street, and tries to steal your purse. The audacity! And the fact that they just get through with it. The fact that no one interrupts it, even though they are being so obvious that everyone notices it.
Mara gives a moan.
"Right, I killed my husband with the 8-caliber that I just handed over. How stupid do I look to you? I found them. Both him and the gun, next to each other."
"And you said you moved his body? Why?"
Fucking Aaron! He has only ever caused her freaking trouble!
She shoots the detective a disrespectful glance.
Why would she have to answer all those questions? What makes it worse, for Aaron out of all goddamn people! That is someone who, according to circumstantial evidence, was going to leave her either way.
"I found him in our bedroom and we have ridiculously expensive mahogany floorboards in there," she answers with resistance. "When he just wouldn't stop bleeding I moved him to the bathroom, because I reckoned that he would do less damage to the tiles in there, they´d be easier to clean, I thought."
Fuck them, if they aren´t satisfired with this answer! Her husband who was going to leave her just filled her sacred whirlpool tub with five litres of blood, so excuse her that she isn't in the mood to embellish what has happened.
When her wandering eyes graze the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter, they stay glued to it.
Still half full. Oh, by God, she should have finished it!
"Madame, why did you report your husband missing earlier? And where were you in the past 24 hours? Do you happen to have witnesses who can confirm your whereabouts?"
Mara rips her eyes away from the wine, but in her mind she pictures herself ignoring the questions, getting up, walking over and drinking half the bottle in one sip.
Give an answer first, she hears in her head, maybe thereafter!
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, is this the angel on her shoulder? Where is the goddamn devil when you badly need it?
She listens to the angel, the bottle of wine has to wait. With a silent groan she focuses on the butch looking detective across from her who is waiting for an answer.
Oh, she has already made up her mind, hasn't she? What´s her name again? Detective… Mara bends a bit forward to read the name tag. Detective Campbell, yes, that's it! What a joke, such an everybody´s name!
If this were a novel it wouldn't speak for the author if they called the lead investigator on Aaron´s case Detective Campbell. First name, Ljuba, though, which is slightly more creative. This, however, is not a novel, but the harsh reality, and in real life what stuffed shirt would call their children that? Well, as disgusting as it is, these days some people probably would, just to make it sound foreign, and maybe that makes sense, because for a male-looking female with a foreign-sounding name the job hunt might be easier, as they fit the current diversity policies, like a glove - a hand.
"Madame? Do I need to repeat the question?"
Do or don't, Mara doesn't give a rat's ass. She is still a bit drunk on red wine and her thoughts are running wild, so even if she were to answer, would her slightly glazed eyes be capable of making out the truth?
"Excuse me, Detective," a second investigator approaches, and he is lowering his voice, as if Mara isn't supposed to hear what he is saying.
Oh, come on! It is most likely nothing she doesn't already know!
"There is nothing in this house," she hears him whispering, "no furniture, no carpets, no kitchen equipment, nothing. I just thought this could be relevant."
You don´t say! Mara smiles a bitter smile and shakes her head resentfully. What a fucking cunt Aaron was for taking everything before he had himself killed. Of course the suspicion will fall on Mara now! Of course, because it does quite definitely look like he wanted to leave her.
The second investigator has left the room again. It is back to only Mara and Campbell, face to face, eye to eye. Unfortunately this is not a Cowboy movie, in which the hero always wins the duel, no matter the odds.
"Madame, why did you report your husband missing earlier, and where were you in the last 24 hours?"
Those were the original questions to which the detective now adds the information she has just been given. "Apart from that just wondering, if you are in the process of a move? Maybe you are renovating? Or why is the furniture missing from the rooms?"
"I told you already," Mara snaps. "I reported him missing when the house was empty around midday and when I couldn't reach him for ages. I was at work, like every other day, and I kept on calling him. He always takes my calls, but today he didn´t, so at some stage I got worried, as now proven for good reason. That was why I reported him missing."
"And then what?" The detective keeps pushing. "How did his dead body end up in your bedroom? And when?"
"Oh, I don´t know, for fuck´s sake! Aren't you the detective?" It was one too many pushs, so Mara is pushing back. "I was home midday to have lunch and found the house empty. Then I returned to work and didn't get back here until late. It must have been around 10 pm, and then he was just there. Nearly right in the spot where our bed used to be, like he was meant to replace it."
Only now that Mara hears herself she realizes what her account of the event has to sound like to someone else.
Great, but what does the detective even expect? Obviously this isn´t an everyday story! Give Mara a break, she just lost her husband, and due to his blood she additionally lost her whirlpool tub.
Maybe she should have asked for a break out loud. Since she hasn't done so, however, Detective Campbell won´t leave her alone.
"Madame, according to our coroner, your husband has been dead for six to eight hours. Now do you seriously want me to believe that he was shot elsewhere and then brought here to be positioned as if he was meant to replace your bed, before you came home from work and moved his body to the bathtub, so the blood would not ruin your mahogany floorboards?"
"No," Mara shakes her head and crosses her arms which makes Detective Capbell excited.
Leaning forward, she perks her ears in expectation of a confession, before Mara goes on.
"It is a whirlpool, not just a bath, so I moved him to the whirlpool tub. But, well, apart from that, let me see…"
She frowns disproportionately hard, as if she is actually thinking about it, before she starts nodding.
"Yes, apart from that, this was exactly what happened."
Oh, the look on Detective Campbell´s face, just priceless!
Proud of herself, Mara smiles, before she decides to add: "They could have shot him somewhere outside, you know. Our estate is huge, see all those woods?"She points out the window. "We own all of it. If I were you, I would look out there for cartridge cases or something, because honestly? To me that scenario seems most likely. But now if you find something out there, no matter what it is, then don´t you say I knew it was there. I obviously don't know anything, only using my brain to figure out what happened, can highly recommend it."
Oh, Mara! Since her teenage days she has carried a silent grudge against the police. Slitting their car tires open, throwing excrements at the windows of their station, trying to snatch their keys. All of it just to defy authority. It used to be acceptable then, in her rebellious years, but now as a grown woman with a murdered husband slumped in her whirlpool tub, it doesn't make her look as cool as it used to, and it certainly won´t help her case.
Detective Campbell enters a staring competition with her that she is determined to win, and because Mara is still drunk on wine, she most likely will.
"Listen, madame, I understand that this is upsetting for you. But I am not the enemy. This can be over with fast, if you try to cooperate. Do you not want to find out who murdered your husband?"
Mara leans back in her chair and takes a second, as if she has to think about it, and honestly? She really has to if she wants to answer honestly. Her eyes are roaming around. First in the room, then outside, until… Oh, that fucking red light of the camera system is still blinking! So annoying, how could anyone see it and not lose their mind? It forces her to give a premature answer.
"Well, to be honest with you, Detective, no, I don't. I don't even remotely give a shit who murdered my prick of a husband. I won't lie to you, I thought the cunt took the furniture, because he wanted to leave me, and if he had in fact left me, I might have ended up killing him myself. But look, somebody beat me to it, and you got to give me one thing, at least I'm not lying, when I'm telling you this."
In a long time Mara hasn't spoken to anyone like this. Maybe she is doing it now because of the wine. Or perhaps it is because now that Aaron is gone it isn't her and him anymore, and Mara can just be herself again. What she seems to forget is what Mara usually gets for being Mara, never really good things.
Could it be different today?
Detective Campbell doesn't answer for an eternity, or maybe it only feels longer than it really is, because time petrifies and crumbles to dust when you are waiting for it to move.
"This was a bold move," Campbell reanimates the minutes, so time can move ahead again."The only problem is that I´m not convinced this wasn´t just that, a move on a gameboard to make me think someone who has done this would never be blunt enough to say those things."
She sighs as she locks eyes with Mara.
"You are hoping I will assume that only an innocent person would admit they would have loved to be the killer of a murdered man, and to be fair I probably would in nine out of ten cases. In the ordinary ones."
She shakes her head.
"Well, not in this case, though. This one is not ordinary, and that is not only because of your extraordinarily brilliant husband, but also because of you, Mara."
She pauses and leans forward. When she starts speaking again, Mara feels her breaking into her soul.
"Yes, I´m talking about you, and this is not just a feeling. I see you, Mara Curbler, you can rest assured of that."
"It is Deans," Mara interrupts. "My surname is Deans. I never took my husband´s."
Detective Campbell gives her a superior smile.
"Yes, I know, and I knew you would go out of your way to correct me, because you were never just a moon to your husband´s planet. I have a theory regarding his murder and this reaction only confirms it."
Slowly Campbell gets up. The legs of her chair screech as they move across the marble floor. She approaches so calmly that it seems like she is out for an evening stroll, and when she is standing right in front of Mara, their knees touching, she is looking down on her for a while, before she takes the handcuffs out.
"Mrs. Deans, get up and place your hands behind your back."
No, with her arms still crossed, Mara doesn´t move. She is not even thinking about it, because she hasn't done anything wrong. At least in her opinion. Campbell, however, clearly thinks that she has. She waits for a moment, but when nothing happens, she kicks the chair, so it rears like a bucking horse and throws Mara off. Now she cannot help but stand up.
Forcefully the detective pulls her arms behind her back.
"You are under suspicion of the murder of your husband Prof. Dr. Aaron Curbler," she states, and the handcuffs click closed, while Mara is just standing there, without motion or emotion. "You have the right to remain silent, but everything you say can be used against you in a court of law, do you understand?"
Silence. Mara remembers the bang, bang, bang that her husband left with, and then she suddenly tries to cause a bang of her own.
"No, actually," she replies. "I don't understand, and you know what? If you really see me, as you just said, and if you know who I am, then you know that I haven't done this, and you probably know just as well who has."
She jumps at a shockingly thin chance that she sees to get out of this, like a drowning person would try to jump on a boat built of straws, not sturdy enough to carry anyone, but still a better option than surrendering.
Her heart is racing in her chest when she adds, "Oh, do you actually not? Know who murdered my husband, I mean?"
Campbell doesn't answer, but Mara feels her breath on the back of her head, and by its pace she knows that the boat of straws she has just jumped on might be strong enough.
"Well," she murmurs, "my bad, I kind of thought you know, because I just might."
Confusion is a powerful weapon. Like a spark it can start a fire and burn entire cities to the ground. Touched by it, Detective Campbell hesitates. Then out of nowhere she tears Mara closer, so aggressively that she nearly falls. Once she is close enough to hear it, Campbell lowers her voice to a volume that even cameras wouldn't record.
"Now, listen to me carefully, Mara! I know for sure that you either know who did it or have done it yourself. I know that you are not who you pretended to be in this marriage, I know why you are here and I know what you were meant to do. And you know how I know?" She tears Mara another step closer, her neck nearly snaps. "Because I was meant to be you."
For a moment Mara is holding her breath. She is thinking, has to concentrate, and even the sounds of the air going in and out of her lungs could hamper the process.
Just think! Think hard!
She does, but without result. Increasingly nervous, she does what she always does when she is anxious. She starts blushing and gives a soft chuckle, before she tries to come up with a joke that could distract her from losing it.
"Well," she shrugs, still pressed against Campbell´s chest, "I can't see the similarity, I´m afraid. Maybe we have the same shoe size, but apart from that? My pants and tops would certainly not fit you, Detective, no offense. So how were you ever going to be me?"
Not fully happy with herself, Mara rolls her eyes.
How disappointing! She should have tried harder!
However, Campbell seems to show a reaction. Her lips are nearly touching Mara´s ear as she replies.
"Listen to me," she speeds up the pace of the conversation, "I want you to take this in before my colleagues return. You can trust me. Everything is working to plan, and I am going to get you out of this, but I have to take you in for questioning, and you have to trust that I´m on your side, I´m with you on all of it, do you understand?"
Sorry, what? Mara hesitates, quite clearly because she isn't sure what is happening. Is this a straw that she could save herself with? She cannot tell for sure, but regardless she grasps for it.
"In all honesty," she whispers, "I don´t think anyone who asks for trust can be trusted. Those who can, prove it to you, they don't have to ask. Apart from that, Detective, I have literally no idea what we are talking about here. I only know I didn't kill my husband. Maybe I should have killed the cunt, but I fucking didn´t do it."
She tears a strep away from Campbell and raises her voice.
"Since you seem to know a lot more about his murder than I do, you have me intrigued. Pretty sure that your colleagues would be intrigued too, if I happened to tell them. So yes, you will get me out of this, but not according to some mysterious plan. You will do it to preserve yourself."
All of a sudden the tension falls off Campbell, like a ripe fruit off a tree. She strokes a wrinkle from her blouse and barely still holds on to the handcuffs.
"Self-preservation, huh?" She gives her a nod behind her back, so Mara doesn't see it, but can only feel it. "Alright, I got it! I take it, we understand each other."