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While my achievements may not match the grandeur of my forefathers', my specialized knowledge in historic preservation plays a crucial role in safeguarding the charming character of our small southern town.
I park my truck in front of the police station and enter the building, asking at the front desk for Detective Marlowe. The rookie officer shows me to the now-familiar interview room.
“Detective Marlowe will be right with you,” he says on his way out.
I thumb my nose at whoever is watching me from the other side of the two-way mirror before taking a seat at the table.
I wait ten minutes before Marlowe enters the room. “Afternoon, Will. How are you?” he asks, his tall frame looming over me.
“I’ve been better. My patience is wearing thin, Detective. I don’t know what else I could possibly tell you about my wife’s accident.”
Marlowe glances at the two-way mirror. “Let’s take a walk. I need some fresh air.”
I follow him out of the interview room and down a long hallway. I wait outside the break room as he darts inside and retrieves two bottled waters. He hands me a water, and we exit the building through the back door.
I stop walking when we reach the parking lot. “Are we going somewhere, Detective?”
“We can if you want. My car’s right over there.” He sweeps an arm at the parking lot of patrol cars and nondescript sedans. “Or we can talk here. Either way, I thought it best to have this conversation in private.”
I frown. “Why? What’s wrong? Has there been a new development in my wife’s case?”
The detective takes a long pull from his water bottle. “I’ll be straight with you, Will. While the evidence is consistent with your story, your wife’s head injury is a gray area.”
Dread knots my gut. “What do you mean?”
“Because there was no water in her lungs, we can confirm that she died from a blow to the head. However, since you and Tracy were the only ones on the boat, there are no witnesses to corroborate your story. I’m getting pressure to file homicide charges against you, predicated on the allegation that you struck your wife with a blunt instrument.”
“Damn it!” I hurl the half-full water bottle across the parking lot.
Two police officers on the far side of the parking lot look our way.
Marlowe places a hand on my shoulder. “Shh, Will! I realize you’re upset, but you need to calm down.”
Shrugging off his hand, I collapse against the side of a patrol car. “You have no idea how upset I am. I loved Tracy. I did not kill her. Who is pressuring you?”
Marlowe lowers his voice. “Chief Dorsey for starters. Although I have a hunch someone higher up is putting the squeeze on him.” Marlowe leans against the car beside me. “This feels personal to me, Will. Are you aware of anyone who may have a vendetta against you?”
I give my head a grave shake. “Not anyone who would send me to prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“This is my case and my reputation at stake. Regardless of how much they pressure me, I refuse to arrest you without rock-solid evidence.”
My shoulders sag as a wave of relief washes over me. “Thanks.”
Marlowe pushes off the car. “I can’t guarantee you won’t be arrested in the future, but it won’t be me bringing the charges.”
The back door to the police station swings open and Cody sticks out his head. “Detective! Come quick! Reporters have mobbed the front of the station. Someone leaked to the press about Will’s arrest.”
Marlowe's face tightens. “That’s odd. Even more reason to believe someone with a lot of authority is pulling strings.”
“What do we do?”
“I’m going to make a statement to the press. I want you to stick close to me,” the detective says and leads me back through the station.
Reporters with camera crews swarm the front steps of the police station. Silence spreads throughout the crowd when we appear at the top of the stairs. In a loud and clear voice, Detective Marlowe says, “Thank you for your interest in this case, but I’m sorry to say someone has given you incorrect information. There is no evidence Will Darby is responsible in any way for his wife’s death. A storm came up while they were out in their boat. Tracy was driving at the time. She turned into a giant wave and lost her balance. We believe she hit her head on the side of the boat when she went overboard. As far as I’m concerned, the case is closed. I’m ruling Tracy Darby’s death accidental.”
The reporters all talk at once, calling out questions the detective refuses to answer.
“I’ll walk with you to your truck.” The detective takes hold of my elbow and guides me through the mob.
