Chapter 12
The detective didn't call until after lunch. I was sitting up in the ICU step-down chair, the one they'd moved me to that morning, trying to keep my feet flat on the floor while the nurse checked my IV. My phone with the dark blue case was on the tray beside me, face up, and when it lit up it was Reyes.
"We have the warrant," she said. "We're at his building now. I wanted you to hear it from me before anyone else tells you."
I didn't know what to say. I kept my hand on the arm of the chair. The monitor behind me beeped, steady and even.
"Are you at the apartment?" I asked.
"Parking lot," she said. "Two deputies going up. He's home. His car is here."
I could hear wind on her end and a car door closing. She told me to stay on the line if I wanted to, or she could call back. I said I'd stay.
The second scene was just sound for a long minute. Reyes breathing, a radio crackle I couldn't make out, then a deputy's voice, muffled, saying they were at the door. I pictured our apartment door, the paint chipped at the bottom where I'd kicked it with grocery bags, the deadbolt that always stuck if you didn't lift the handle.
"Mr. Adler, county sheriff's office, we have a warrant," the deputy said, louder now, and Reyes had tilted her phone so I could hear.
There was a pause. Then my husband's voice, clear and calm, like he was answering a delivery driver.
"Yes?"
I felt my shoulders pull in. My fingers tightened on the chair arm.
The deputy read the arrest warrant for attempted homicide and the search warrant for the premises. My husband didn't argue. He didn't raise his voice.
"Okay," he said. "Let me get my shoes."
It was that easy. No shouting, no scuffle, no door slammed. The deputy told him to keep his hands visible and step out into the hall. I heard handcuffs click. Reyes was quiet on her line, letting it play out.
"He's in custody," she said to me, low. "No incident. They're walking him to the car now."
I exhaled and realized I'd been holding my breath. The nurse looked at me and mouthed, okay? I nodded.
Inside, the deputies started the search. Reyes stayed in the hall with my husband by the patrol car while the other two worked. She narrated only what she needed to, and I listened to the small sounds of drawers opening through her radio.
"Kitchen cabinet, above the fridge," a deputy said a few minutes later. "Got a box."
Reyes repeated it for me. "Small white pharmacy box, vial inside. Label matches the compound from tox."
My throat went dry. That was the box from his travel kit, the one he'd said was B vitamins for jet lag. He'd kept it on the top shelf where I wouldn't reach without the step stool.
"Photographing in place," the deputy said.
Reyes told me they were bagging it exactly where it sat, with the lot number showing. She said the box was half empty, one vial missing, one still sealed. It was the match they'd needed to tie the lab result to our apartment.
They brought my husband back up for a second to watch the inventory, standard procedure. I heard the deputy read him his rights again, slowly.
"Do you understand?" the deputy asked.
"Yes," my husband said. Then, after a beat, "I want a lawyer. I won't answer anything else."
That was it. He invoked counsel and made no further admission. Reyes confirmed it for the recording. "Subject invoked at 13:47, no further statements," she said, and I heard her pen scratch.
The last part happened without me seeing it, but Reyes called back at three thirty with the judge on speaker from chambers. I was back in bed, the curtain half pulled for privacy.
Judge Alvarez didn't waste words. She'd read the affidavit, the tox report, the search photos that the deputies had already uploaded. She issued the emergency protective order on the record, no contact, no entry to the hospital, no possession of firearms, stay two hundred yards from me and from the church.
"And on detention," she said, "given the charge is attempted homicide and the evidence of premeditation, I'm ordering a no-bail hold pending preliminary hearing. He will be transported to county jail today."
Reyes thanked her. The line clicked off.
I sat there with the phone in my hand, the dark blue case warm from my palm. The steel tray from the morgue was gone, the vial box was in an evidence bag, and my husband was in a cell instead of our apartment. The door that had always stuck hadn't stuck for the deputies at all.
Reyes called once more before shift change. "He's housed," she said. "Protective order is active as of fifteen minutes ago. You're safe to sleep here tonight without a deputy in the room if you want. But we'll keep one outside if you prefer."
May you like
I told her to keep the deputy outside. I wasn't ready to be without that hallway presence yet.
After she hung up, I looked at the empty chair where my veil had been folded for evidence, and I realized I hadn't thought about the dress in hours.
