Once Trapped. Блейк Пирс

said, “I just wanted to …”

      Her voice trailed off as she found herself wondering …

      What do I want exactly?

      Did she really have any clear idea of just what she was doing here?

      Finally Riley said, “Could you tell me what happened?”

      Morgan sighed deeply.

      “There’s not much to tell, is there? I killed my husband. I’m not sorry I did, believe me. But now that it’s done … well, I’d really like to go home now.”

      Riley was shocked by her words. Didn’t the woman understand what a terrible situation she was in?

      Didn’t she know that Georgia was a death penalty state?

      Morgan seemed to be having trouble holding her head up. She shuddered at the sound of a woman’s shrill shouting in a nearby cell.

      She said, “I thought I’d be able to get some sleep here in jail. But listen to all that racket! It goes on all the time, twenty-four hours a day.”

      Riley studied the woman’s weary face.

      She asked, “You’ve not gotten much sleep, have you? Maybe not for a long time?”

      Morgan shook her head.

      “It’s been two or three weeks now—even before I got here. Andrew got into one of his sadistic moods and decided not to leave me alone or let me sleep, night or day. It’s easy for him to do …”

      She paused, apparently noticing her mistake, then said, “It was easy for him to do. He had some kind of trick metabolism that some high-powered men have. He could get by on three or four hours of sleep every day. And lately he’d been home a lot of the time. So he hounded me everywhere in the house, never giving me any privacy, coming into my bedroom at all hours, making me do … all kinds of things …”

      Riley felt a little ill at the thought of what those unspoken “things” might be. She was sure that Andrew had sexually tormented Morgan.

      Morgan shrugged her shoulders.

      “I finally snapped, I guess,” she said. “And I killed him. From what I hear, I stabbed him a good twelve or thirteen times.”

      “From what you hear?” asked Riley. “Don’t you remember?”

      Morgan let out a quiet groan of despair.

      “Do we have to get into what I remember and don’t remember? I’d been drinking and taking pills before it happened and it’s all a fog. The police asked me questions until I didn’t know which end was up. If you want to know the details, I’m sure they’ll let you read my confession.”

      Riley felt an odd tingle at those words. She wasn’t yet sure just why.

      “I really wish you’d tell me,” Riley said.

      Morgan wrinkled her brow in thought for a moment.

      Then she said, “I guess I made up my mind … that I had to do something. I waited until he went to his room that night. Even then, I wasn’t sure whether he was asleep. I knocked on his door lightly, and he didn’t answer. I opened the door and looked inside, and there he was in his bed, fast asleep.”

      She seemed to be thinking harder.

      “I guess I must have looked around for something to do it with—kill him, I mean. I guess I didn’t see anything. So I guess I went down the kitchen and I got that knife. Then I came back up and—well, I guess I went a little crazy stabbing him, because I wound up with blood everywhere, including all over me.”

      Riley took note of how often she was saying those words …

      “I guess.”

      Then Morgan let out a sigh of annoyance.

      “What a mess that was! I do hope the live-in help has cleaned it all up by now. I tried to do it myself, but of course I’m no good at that kind of thing under the best of circumstances.”

      Then Morgan took a long, slow breath.

      “And then I called you. And you called the police. Thanks for taking care of that for me.”

      Then she smiled curiously at Riley and added, “And thanks again for coming by to see me. It was very sweet of you. I still don’t understand what this is all about, though.”

      Riley was feeling more and more troubled by Morgan’s description of her own actions.

      Something’s not right here, she thought.

      Riley paused to think for a moment and then asked …

      “Morgan, what kind of knife was it?”

      Morgan wrinkled her brow.

      “Just a knife, I guess,” she said. “I don’t know much about kitchen utensils. I think the police said it was a carving knife. It was long and sharp.”

      Riley was feeling more and more uneasy about all the things that Morgan didn’t know or wasn’t sure of.

      As for herself, Riley didn’t do much of her family’s cooking anymore, but she certainly knew everything that was in her kitchen and exactly where everything was. Everything was kept in its special place, especially since Gabriela had been in charge. Her own carving knife was kept in a wooden stand with other sharp knives.

      Riley asked, “Where exactly did you find the knife?”

      Morgan let out an uneasy laugh.

      “Didn’t I just tell you? In the kitchen.”

      “No, I mean where in the kitchen?”

      Morgan’s eyes clouded over.

      “Why are you asking me that?” she said in a soft, pleading voice.

      “Can’t you tell me?” Riley asked with gentle insistence.

      Morgan was starting to look distressed now.

      “Why are you asking me these questions? Like I told you, it’s all in my confession. You can read it if you haven’t already. Really, Agent Paige, this isn’t kind of you. And I’d really like to know what you’re doing here. Somehow I don’t think it’s just out of kindness.”

      Morgan’s voice shook with quiet anger. “I’ve already had to answer all kinds of questions—more than I can count. I don’t deserve any more of this, and I can’t say I like it.”

      She drew herself upright and added, “I did what had to be done. Mimi, his wife before me, committed suicide, you know. It was all over the media. So did his son. All the rest of his wives—I’m not even sure how many they were—just waited around suffering until they got a few wrinkles and he decided they weren’t any good for showing off anymore, and then he got rid of them. What kind of a woman puts up with that? What kind of woman thinks she deserves it?”

      Then with a low snarl she added …

      “I’m not that kind of woman. And I think Andrew knows that now.”

      Then her face clouded with confusion again.

      “I don’t like this,” she whispered. “I think you’d better leave.”

      “Morgan—”

      “I said I want you to leave right now.”

      “Who is your lawyer? Have you been examined by a psychiatrist?”

      Morgan almost shouted, “I mean it. Go.”

      Riley wished she could ask a lot more questions. But she could see there was no use in trying. She called for a guard, who let her out of the cell. Then she made her way back to Chief Stiles’s office and looked inside the open door.

      Stiles looked up at her from his paperwork with a suspicious expression.

      “Did you find out what you needed to know?” he asked Riley.

      For a moment, Riley didn’t know what to say.

      She