The interrogation room at the D.C. headquarters was twice the size of the closet Lara had used to question suspects back in Eugene, but it was still windowless and claustrophobic. Detective Harper sat across the beat-up metal table. He’d taken off his jacket and underneath wore a black snug-fitting sweater. His wide-spaced eyes and prominent cheekbones made him look Native American, but his hazel eyes and strong jaw made her think his heritage was Dutch or German as well. She was glad for the excuse to stare at him.
For the first half hour, she’d been left alone in the room and she’d sat on the floor and meditated. When Harper came back, he spent twenty minutes taking her back over the events that afternoon and evening, trying to catch her in an inconsistency. Lara had been on the other side of the table enough times to know that less was better. She repeated her earlier statements, but not verbatim, because that would sound rehearsed, and said little else.
Now it was nearly midnight and he abruptly switched it up. “What kind of martial arts training do you have?”
“Aikido, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, a lot of kickboxing.”
“Have you ever seriously hurt anyone?”
For a split second, she hated him for asking. She also admired him for being good at his job. “As a private citizen? Or are you asking about my law-enforcement career?”
“As a citizen.”
“I was sexually assaulted once as a college student. I fought back and he ended up with a groin injury.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s all I’m prepared to tell you.”
“What about as a police officer, Lara? Did you hurt anyone?”
“I got into a few skirmishes with suspects.”
“What else?”
“None of it is relevant.” Her answer sounded evasive because it was.
“Have you ever killed anyone, Lara?”
“I assume you contacted the Eugene Police Department and asked for my service record. So you know everything.”
He leaned forward, his voice an intense whisper. “Here’s what I know. You have a history of violence, and you punched the victim an hour before she died. You own a Taser, and Kirsten had a stun-gun wound on her chest. You were the last person to see her alive, and the person to report her body. You’re probably going down for this unless you give me someone else.”
Lara’s pulse escalated as she heard the case against her. If she were in Harper’s position, she wouldn’t spend much time looking for anyone else. “I didn’t kill Kirsten, no matter how it looks. You have to at least dig around in her past and look at ex-boyfriends. I have no motive.”
“You’re a hothead and I think it was probably an accident. Tell me how it happened, Lara, so I can get the DA to offer a deal for aggravated manslaughter.”
She wished he would stop saying her name in that caressing tone. The bastard was wrong, but he was good at what he did. “Earlier, before I went out for a run, she assaulted me and I defended myself, then I walked away.” Lara paused to steady her voice. “You have the wrong idea about me. I’m not a violent person.”
“It’s unfortunate for you that the camera shut off at 7:59, right after you knocked Kirsten to the ground. We don’t have any proof that you walked away instead of assaulting her further.”
Lara decided to argue like a detective in a taskforce meeting. “But the minor altercation took place near the NetCom desk, and Kirsten’s body was near the entrance to the room, almost blocking it. Someone stunned her from the doorway.”
His eyes registered the truth of what she was saying, but he pressed on. “You simply dragged her there to confuse the scene. I’m surprised you didn’t hide the Taser.”
“I had no reason to.”
Abruptly he stood and asked, “Can I get you some water? Or a sandwich?”
“Water would be great. Thanks.”
He left, locking the door behind him. Lara knew another officer was watching her on a monitor in a nearby room. How long would they keep her? Should she ask to call a lawyer? She didn’t know any defense attorneys, but she could ask Jackson to find someone in D.C. The thought of telling him about her situation made her ill. She would try to handle this on her own.
Lara paced the room, growing more anxious about her fate. Would she end up convicted of murder instead of winning the Gauntlet? Now that criminal justice budgets were minimal, judges cut the prosecution a lot more slack. Evidence rules had been overturned and reasonable doubt was defined more narrowly. Unless she could prove she was somewhere else or that someone else had done it, she could get convicted.
Lara dropped to the floor and did another thirty pushups, biceps aching for the last twenty. Rolling over, she started a rhythm of stomach crunches, not bothering to count. Desperately, she tried to construct a way to tell Detective Harper about the blond man she’d seen in the back of the auditorium during orientation-but without mentioning she’d first seen the guy after he shot the employment commissioner in his home in Eugene.
What were the consequences of betraying Thaddeus Morton? Getting booted from the Gauntlet? Minda might have done that already. Lara could also lose her freelance paramedic license in Oregon if the state board became aware she’d failed to report a gunshot wound. But how would the board find out? On the other hand, what good was a license to work if she was in prison?
Abs aching, Lara jumped up and began to pace. She had just decided to tell Harper everything when another thought hit her. What if they didn’t believe her? Finding the real killer would be a lot more work for them. And questioning the commissioner could cause the department some political fallout, especially if it disrupted the Gauntlet. Millions of viewers paid for the privilege of voting, and Washington D.C. received a small percentage for hosting the contest. Nobody wanted to mess with all that money. Harper might simply laugh off her story and book her into jail. He didn’t seem like that kind of cop, but the pressure of the job could twist the brain.
Twenty minutes later, Harper brought her some water, a blanket, and a turkey sandwich she couldn’t eat. “I have to go check out a few things. My supervisor wants to keep you for further questioning. He’ll be in to see you first thing in the morning.”
“You can’t leave me in here overnight.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anywhere else to put you and we can’t let you go. You’re a viable suspect in a homicide investigation as well as a flight risk.” He stepped toward her. “Please don’t do anything to make this worse for yourself.”
“I need to make a call and use the restroom.” The desk officer had taken her bag and her iCom for holding when they arrived.
“I’ll take you to the restroom, but you’re not entitled to a call until we charge you.”
Lara knew how the system worked. “You have the flexibility to let me make a call. I need to do what I can to keep from getting booted from the Gauntlet.”
“My boss says no calls.” Harper took another step toward her and whispered, “I’m sorry, Lara. You’re the last 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?”
“If they think it’s good for ratings. But will the judge grant it?”
“We’ll push for it.” Mildred patted her leg and Lara tried not to flinch. She hated when strangers touched her. Mildred looked at her over her glasses. “Anything else I should know?”
“I was a cop for sixteen years, most of it as a homicide detective. I’m one of the good guys.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
They waited for a pause in the activity, then strode up to the front bench and took a seat. The judge was female, African-American, and fifty-something. Lara hoped it would work in her favor, but she knew better than to assume.
After a minute, the court clerk called her name and read the charges: aggravated assault and first-degree homicide. The judge asked Lara to stand. “How do you plead?”
“Not guilty.” Lara had never imagined herself in this position.
“Anything else before we set a pretrial hearing?” The judge glanced at her lawyer.
Mildred hustled forward to stand next to Lara. “My client was a law enforcement officer for sixteen years and has no criminal record. She’s currently a contestant in the Gauntlet, representing the state of Oregon, and she intends to finish the contest in plain view of millions. She is not a flight risk.” Mildred shook her head and raised her voice. “My client is also completely innocent of these trumped-up charges, which I expect to have dropped before the day is over. I recommend that bail be set low and granted.”
The judge stared at Mildred. “Why would a murder charge be dropped?”
“The victim was hit with a stun gun, which typically doesn’t result in death. Whoever assaulted the victim probably didn’t intend to kill her. Furthermore, my client was not present at the time.”
“Bail is set at a hundred thousand dollars with the stipulation that the defendant be monitored electronically. The date of your pretrial hearing is set for June 12th at 9:00 a.m.” The judge stood and looked at the next defendant. “I’ll be back after a quick break.”
Lara turned to her lawyer. “Thank you. That came out better than I expected.”
“You’re welcome. Now go kick some ass in that contest. All women of a certain age are counting on you.”
The deputy escorted Lara back to the holding area and said she’d be moved into a cell as soon as one opened up. As much as Lara wanted to get away from the chatter in the pen, she dreaded walking into a cell and hearing the door close behind her.
An hour later, the deputy returned. “Someone posted bail for you. Let’s go get your possessions.”