line of fire.” Grayson pointed to the remote, shattered into pieces on the kitchen floor.
“Is she going to make it?” Frank whispered, still trying to get a better glimpse of Darla.
“I don’t know. She’s going into seizures. They’re trying to stabilize her.”
Suddenly Tim was pulled off the couch and to his feet by the officers.
Frank faced Grayson. “Let me have a couple of minutes with him, will you? Before Murray gets to him?”
Grayson looked hesitant.
“I won’t interfere. I just want to talk with him for a second. He did ask for me.”
“All right, but make it quick.” Grayson motioned for the officers to leave Tim.
Frank sat on the couch and pulled Tim back down. “What happened?” Frank asked.
Tim gasped for air, but no words came out.
“I need you to tell me the truth.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Tim asked, unable to take his eyes off her.
“I don’t know. They’re trying their best.”
Suddenly the EMTs lifted her onto the stretcher and raised it. “Clear the way!” one of them shouted. They rolled past them in the living room, one of the EMTs holding up an IV bag. Frank still couldn’t get a good sense of how bad it was, but by the way they were rushing her out, it couldn’t be good. They both watched through the front window as she was rolled down the sidewalk and quickly put into the ambulance. The sirens blared through the house, but soon enough the sound was distant.
“What happened?” Frank repeated.
Tim sobbed into his hands again, and Frank could barely make out what he was saying. “I just lost it. I thought . . . I thought Darla told.”
“Told what?”
Tim finally looked up at Frank, his face a splotchy mess of emotion. “I thought she told the Caldwells what I’d said.” His bloodshot eyes glared at the handcuffs. “How else could anyone know what we said?”
“What did she say?”
“She denied it. She said she would never do that. But,” Tim said, his voice lowering to a whisper, “what was on that Web site . . . it’s exactly what I said. Exactly. Verbatim. She was the only person in the room. How could that be?”
“Tell me what happened here tonight.”
Tim tried to gather himself, taking two deep breaths and squeezing his handcuffed hands like he was accustomed to using them when he talked. “We got into an argument. I accused Darla of telling the Caldwells. She said she didn’t. It just got more and more heated. She accused me of some things . . . of never knowing when to shut up.” He sniffled. “Which is true. My mouth and my ego, they kind of get in the way sometimes. And . . . people are talking. About us. About me.”
“Then what happened?”
Tim covered his eyes as if he were being forced to watch it all over again. “I wasn’t thinking. I was so enraged. I couldn’t imagine how all this was happening.” He looked toward the kitchen, his gaze glued to the floor where blood was smeared across the white and gray tile. “There was the remote sitting on the coffee table. I picked it up. Darla said something—I can’t even remember what now—and I turned and threw it. I think she had moved; I’m not sure. It hit her . . . right . . .” Shaking fingers moved to his skull, just above his right ear.
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
Grayson walked back in. “Let’s get him to the station, Merret.”
Frank helped Tim to his feet and handed him over to two officers behind Grayson. They led him out of the house.
“What a mess,” Grayson said. “That guy’s going to do some heavy time. All for losing his temper. Did you get anything useful?”
“He definitely did it. But it sounds like he didn’t mean to hit her with the remote.”
“Yeah, well, he can explain that to a judge. I’m going home.”
Grayson and Frank walked out of the house. Frank tried to find Damien in the crowd, then noticed Reverend Caldwell walking straight toward him.
“Reverend Caldwell,” Frank said.
The
“Is she going to make it?” Frank whispered, still trying to get a better glimpse of Darla.
“I don’t know. She’s going into seizures. They’re trying to stabilize her.”
Suddenly Tim was pulled off the couch and to his feet by the officers.
Frank faced Grayson. “Let me have a couple of minutes with him, will you? Before Murray gets to him?”
Grayson looked hesitant.
“I won’t interfere. I just want to talk with him for a second. He did ask for me.”
“All right, but make it quick.” Grayson motioned for the officers to leave Tim.
Frank sat on the couch and pulled Tim back down. “What happened?” Frank asked.
Tim gasped for air, but no words came out.
“I need you to tell me the truth.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Tim asked, unable to take his eyes off her.
“I don’t know. They’re trying their best.”
Suddenly the EMTs lifted her onto the stretcher and raised it. “Clear the way!” one of them shouted. They rolled past them in the living room, one of the EMTs holding up an IV bag. Frank still couldn’t get a good sense of how bad it was, but by the way they were rushing her out, it couldn’t be good. They both watched through the front window as she was rolled down the sidewalk and quickly put into the ambulance. The sirens blared through the house, but soon enough the sound was distant.
“What happened?” Frank repeated.
Tim sobbed into his hands again, and Frank could barely make out what he was saying. “I just lost it. I thought . . . I thought Darla told.”
“Told what?”
Tim finally looked up at Frank, his face a splotchy mess of emotion. “I thought she told the Caldwells what I’d said.” His bloodshot eyes glared at the handcuffs. “How else could anyone know what we said?”
“What did she say?”
“She denied it. She said she would never do that. But,” Tim said, his voice lowering to a whisper, “what was on that Web site . . . it’s exactly what I said. Exactly. Verbatim. She was the only person in the room. How could that be?”
“Tell me what happened here tonight.”
Tim tried to gather himself, taking two deep breaths and squeezing his handcuffed hands like he was accustomed to using them when he talked. “We got into an argument. I accused Darla of telling the Caldwells. She said she didn’t. It just got more and more heated. She accused me of some things . . . of never knowing when to shut up.” He sniffled. “Which is true. My mouth and my ego, they kind of get in the way sometimes. And . . . people are talking. About us. About me.”
“Then what happened?”
Tim covered his eyes as if he were being forced to watch it all over again. “I wasn’t thinking. I was so enraged. I couldn’t imagine how all this was happening.” He looked toward the kitchen, his gaze glued to the floor where blood was smeared across the white and gray tile. “There was the remote sitting on the coffee table. I picked it up. Darla said something—I can’t even remember what now—and I turned and threw it. I think she had moved; I’m not sure. It hit her . . . right . . .” Shaking fingers moved to his skull, just above his right ear.
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
Grayson walked back in. “Let’s get him to the station, Merret.”
Frank helped Tim to his feet and handed him over to two officers behind Grayson. They led him out of the house.
“What a mess,” Grayson said. “That guy’s going to do some heavy time. All for losing his temper. Did you get anything useful?”
“He definitely did it. But it sounds like he didn’t mean to hit her with the remote.”
“Yeah, well, he can explain that to a judge. I’m going home.”
Grayson and Frank walked out of the house. Frank tried to find Damien in the crowd, then noticed Reverend Caldwell walking straight toward him.
“Reverend Caldwell,” Frank said.
The
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