person on earth I ever wanted to arrest.”
They left her in the tiny interrogation room all night with the lights on and no air conditioning. Lara dozed on the floor for a while, then moved back to the chair and tried to sleep with her head on the metal table. The bright lights and suffocating heat made it nearly impossible. By morning, her body ached, she reeked of sweat, and her bladder was about to burst.
The door unlocked and she jumped to her feet. A wave of lightheadedness caught her off guard. She’d gone too long between protein drinks, and she had no surplus body fat to live on.
A man in his late fifties stepped into the room. His dark blue jacket was unbuttoned, leaving his potbelly free from constraint. She saw he was wearing a weapon and hoped he didn’t cuff her.
“Sit.”
The command made her jaw tighten, but Lara complied. She needed to do whatever it took to get out of there.
“I’m Sergeant Warzog and I’m an unhappy man.” He stared out of small pudgy eyes as he slumped into the chair on the other side of the table. His facial skin sagged into thick curves around his mouth, making him look like a bulldog. “Know why I’m unhappy? The Gauntlet happens once a year, shining a bright light on this city and bringing a tidy sum of money into our budget. And you”-he pointed for emphasis-“fucked that up with your petty violent temper. Now a woman is dead, and I want you to tell me how it happened.”
Lara struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. “I have no idea how it happened. She was fine when I went out for a run and dead when I got back.”
“Bullshit!” He slammed his fist against the table and Lara flinched. “We have video of you knocking Kirsten to the ground. You were jealous and angry because she called you old.”
“No.” Lara shook her head. “I won the Challenge against her, so I had nothing to be jealous of. If you watched the footage, you know she started it. She was drunk and bitter, and all I wanted was to get away from her. That’s why I went out.”
“No one saw you go anywhere.”
“Have you checked all the security footage in the hotel?”
“Clearing you is not our job. You’re the only suspect we have and we intend to charge you with murder.”
Her chest tightened in a painful squeeze, and she shouted, “Meanwhile the actual killer is getting away.”
“The fact that you used to be law enforcement doesn’t impress me.” Warzog came around to her side of the table and squeezed her shoulder. Lara wanted to hit him. She locked her jaw and forced herself to breathe deeply.
“This should be an easy case,” Warzog said. He leaned in with his face so close she could smell the bacon grease in his pores. “If you make us work for this conviction, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Maybe you should investigate. You might be surprised at what you come up with.”
Warzog grabbed her chin in his meaty hand and squeezed. “I hate a smart ass.”
Lara glanced around to see if a camera was in place, but even if it was, Warzog had probably shut it off.
He put a recorder on the table. “I want a confession. Don’t make me hurt you.”
The door burst open and a younger, suited man rushed in. The briefcase in his hand made Lara apprehensive.
“I’m Mark Harris, assistant DA.” He grabbed the third chair and sat, but acted like a man who didn’t plan to stay long. “I can offer you aggravated manslaughter on a plea deal. We accept that you may not have meant to kill Kirsten when you stunned her. This deal works well for both of us.”
Lara understood that the offer of a deal meant their case was weaker than they wanted. What had they found out? “Did you get the autopsy results? How did Kirsten really die?”
“This deal is a take-it-or-leave-it proposition.” The DA pushed papers across the table. “If you don’t sign this, we’ll charge you with murder and book you into jail. The case against you is solid.”
Lara pushed the papers back. “I didn’t stun Kirsten and I’m not pleading guilty to anything.” Her stomach growled loud enough for them to hear.
“Why didn’t you eat your sandwich?” the DA asked, looking at the untouched food. “Feeling guilty?”
“It’s not in my program. I’d like a can of V8.”
Warzog laughed. “This ain’t a restaurant.” He stood and so did the DA. “Lara Evans, you’re under arrest for the murder of Kirsten Dornberg. Stand up and turn around.”
Lara’s heart sank as she let him cuff her.
“Anything you say, can and will be used against you…”
Lara tuned him out, breathing from her stomach to keep herself calm. She had to think straight. At the jail, they would let her make a call and she had to decide who to contact. If she called Jackson, he would probably be able to find a lawyer who would help her. But if she called the employment commissioner, he might post her bail to keep her from talking. Did she have even a chance of staying in the competition?
The next morning at the jail, she was strip-searched, fingerprinted, and booked into custody. Lara knew the process well, but hadn’t been on this side of it since she was a teenager. Growing up in Fairbanks, Alaska, there hadn’t been much for young people to do, so she’d partied, shoplifted, and vandalized a few things just to burn off excess energy and satisfy her craving for adrenaline. Eventually, she’d spent a night in jail, then gone home to a beating. She’d left her family soon after, caught a ferry to Seattle, and hadn’t seen her parents until her brother’s funeral twenty years later. In retrospect, she realized her attraction to law enforcement had been about taming her inner beast. She wasn’t good at finding middle ground, and wearing a cop uniform made more sense than an inmate jumpsuit.
A chubby female deputy with a red birthmark under her eye walked Lara to a large holding area and allowed her to use a small NetCom retrofitted into a wall. Jails had been the last institutions to give up old-style landlines. The gray-green walls were filthy and benches lined the perimeter. Two women, both dark-skinned and in their early twenties, sat opposite the NetCom and argued about the events of their evening. Three other women, dressed in the dirty layers of the homeless, watched her with appraising eyes. The D.C. jail was infamous for inmate stabbings, and Lara knew she would have to watch her back every moment.
She keyed in the commissioner’s number, which she now knew by heart. He didn’t answer, so she left him another message: “Lara Evans again. I’ve been charged with murder and booked into the D.C. Corrections Department. I have an arraignment this afternoon. Please bail me out if you can. I need to stay in the competition.”
After three hours of intermittent sitting and pacing, while the two young women kept up their nonstop conversation, the deputy came back, handcuffed Lara, and walked her upstairs to a lobby outside a courtroom. Her legs felt like lead and she was hungrier than she’d ever been. The double doors were open, and pretrial hearings were in session in front of a packed courtroom. A middle-aged woman in a rumpled pantsuit sat on a bench waiting for them.
“This is Mildred Arbuckle,” the deputy said. “She’s your public defender. You have ten minutes before the judge calls your name.” The deputy took a seat on the bench. Lara and her lawyer moved as far away as they could.
“A murder charge is very serious.” Mildred’s bushy eyebrows arched over her glasses. “Tell me what happened.”
“I’m a contestant in the Gauntlet, and I-”
“I know. I love the program. I asked to take this case.” Mildred smiled and some of the age disappeared from her face.
“I was Kirsten’s roommate, and I won our round of the Challenge. I got back to the room first, and she came in a couple hours later. She’d been drinking and picked a fight by grabbing my hair. I knocked her down to put a stop to it. Then I went out for a run. When I came back, she was dead.”
“Why did they charge you?”
“Because Kirsten had stun gun marks on her chest, and I had a Taser in my luggage.”
“That’s all they have?”
“They have a video of our fight. Kirsten is alive and well until the camera shuts off at eight.”
“We have to get you out on bail so you can get back to the competition. Will the Gauntlet organizers post a bond?”
