I was still holding the glass when a hand closed around my elbow.
The fingers were warm. The voice was not.
Hale: Mrs. Voss. Detective Hale. Step into the hall with me.
He walked me past the white roses and the picture of my husband.
Hale: I need to see your coat.
Clara: Why?
He did not answer. He turned the cuff over like it was evidence.
Because it was.
Hale: That is blood on your sleeve. His blood. The lab matched it this afternoon.
A brown stain near the wrist. Small as a coin.
I had held Simon's hand in the hospital. That was all.
That was everything.
Helena came out behind us. She brought a crowd in her wake.
Helena: There! Look at her! His blood on her sleeve and a face like a shut door!
Helena: You fucking animal. You wore my son's blood to his own party.
Helena: Did you think nobody would check? Did you think his blood was yours to wear?
Clara: I have nothing to say to you.
Helena: Then say it to the police, you murdering bitch.
A man in the crowd said cunt. A woman said hang her.
I kept my eyes on the roses.
Paul caught my arm on the way past. His thumb found the marks he left and pressed.
Paul: Three fifteen. Say one word and he is gone. Nod if you understand.
I nodded. It was the only honest thing I did all night.
A woman I had known six years leaned in and spat.
It landed on my collar. I did not wipe it off.
Hale: Clara Voss. Turn around. Hands where I can see them.
The metal was cold. Somebody behind me clapped.
Hale: Watch her head.
Paul did not watch my head. The door frame caught my cheek and the skin split.
Nobody said sorry. Nobody said anything at all.
I tasted blood all the way to the station.
It was mine. For once, it was mine.
The room smelled like bleach and old coffee.
Hale: Where were you that night, Mrs. Voss?
Clara: I'm not going to answer that.
Hale: Your husband is dead with a hole in his chest and his blood is on your coat.
Hale: So try again. Where were you?
I looked at the table.
He hit the table with his open hand. The coffee jumped.
Hale: I have your coat. I have the lab. I have your car on the lake road that night.
He did not have the car. He was fishing. I let him fish.
Hale: What kind of woman does not ask how her husband's blood got on her coat?
Hale: Not once. You have not asked me one fucking question.
My hands were under the table. One of them was shaking. I sat on it.
Simon used to say my hands were the honest part of me.
I flattened both of them on my knees and made them still.
Hale: Look at me.
Hale: Here is what I think. I think you are protecting somebody. And I think it is not you.
I did not blink. If he pulled that thread, Milo was gone.
Hale: Clara Voss, you are under arrest for the murder of Simon Voss.
He read me my rights. I listened to every word.
Somewhere across town, a school bell would ring at three fifteen.