Page 3 of The Devil’s Lair

Instead, a guardian angel stepped in and took care of him for me.

“Who killed him? Marcus, I mean,” I ask.

“Why did you take the gun to the club?”

“I—”

A sharp rap comes at the door, and a woman enters. “Detective Chadwick, the DCI wants a word, sir.”

“Now?”

“Yes, sir.”

Chadwick huffs and jerks his chin at the tape recorder.

“Interview paused at one-oh-five a.m.” Blakeley stops the tape.

Chadwick’s chair scrapes against the floor again, and he leaves the room. As soon as the door closes, Blakeley leans forward.

“Mrs. La Salle, before the interview reconvenes, I advise you to engage a solicitor. If you don’t have one, we can call the duty solicitor.”

I don’t know if he’s supposed to advise me or if he’s stepping out of line. Either way, I smile gratefully. The shock is wearing off, and I’m feeling stronger, clearer. “Will a solicitor be able to magically erase what happened? What I did?”

“No. They can advise you on what to say and what not to say, though.”

“You know, Detective Blakeley, I try to teach my daughter that honesty is important, as is owning up to your mistakes. She’s only four, but it’s never too early to learn good habits and solid morals. I appreciate your advice, and I’ll be sure to let you know if I change my mind. All I want to do is go home, and I’m going to take the path of least resistance to make that happen.”

Before Blakeley can respond, Chadwick returns, sits back down, and instructs Blakeley to restart the tape.

“Interview restarted at one eleven a.m.,” Blakeley announces.

“Mrs. La Salle, you were about to tell me why you took the gun to the club,” Chadwick says, chest puffed, arms folded.

I sit up straighter, squaring my shoulders. “Because I’ve lived through years of abuse, Detective Chadwick, and I’d reached my breaking point. I had planned to shoot my husband until Mr. De Vil talked me out of it. When I put the gun on the table, Marcus grabbed it and went to shoot me. That’s when Mr. De Vil was shot. That’s it. That’s all I know.”

Chadwick’s chest puffs up even more, a triumphant glint in his eye, as though he just cracked open an international crime ring and is already planning what he’ll wear when the king knights him.

“Rebecca La Salle, I’m charging you with possession of a prohibited weapon. You do not have to say anything but⁠—”

I tune him out. I’ve seen the TV shows. I know how it goes. Once he’s finished his spiel, I stare him dead in the eye.

“I’d like to call my daughter’s babysitter now.”

It’s Blakeley who takes me to a phone, then steps out of the room to give me privacy. My hands shake as I dial Rina’s mobile number.

“Hello?”

“Rina, it’s Rebecca.”

“Rebecca! God, are you okay? What’s happened?”

“I’m okay. Is Isla all right?”

“I think so.”

Something cold settles beneath my ribs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean your delightful mother-in-law ordered me to leave. I told her I didn’t work for her, not that it made a difference. She virtually shoved me out of the door. I only just managed to grab my handbag and phone.”