Sterling arranged for the detectives to meet us at his office.
Not the police station.
Not my parents’ house where AJ was.
His office.
Daddy came with me.
I wasn’t sure what I expected when we arrived, but watching Sterling walk into that conference room, straighten his jacket, and take control of everything was…
Something.
I couldn’t think about that right now.
Two detectives had driven in from Augusta.
Detective Morris and Detective Shaw.
They were polite.
Almost too polite.
Sterling sat beside me. Daddy sat on my other side.
A recorder sat in the middle of the table.
Detective Morris turned it on.
Then the questions started.
At first, they were easy.
My full name.
How long Alex and I had been married.
How old AJ was.
What time I remembered leaving the house.
Where I’d gone afterward.
Then they started asking about money.
“Mrs. Johnson, approximately how much money was in your joint checking account?”
“I don’t know.”
Detective Shaw looked up.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“What about savings?”
“I don’t know.”
“Investment accounts?”
“I don’t know.”
The detectives exchanged a glance.
I hated that glance.
“I had credit cards,” I explained. “A few.”
“With what limits?”
“I don’t know. High ones, I guess.”
“You never discussed household finances with your husband?”
“No.”
“Did Congressman Johnson give you a monthly budget?”
“No.”
“An allowance?”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
“So how did you know what you were permitted to spend?”
“Permitted?”
Sterling shifted slightly beside me.
I shook my head.
“Alex never cared what I spent. If I wanted something, I bought it.”
“And the bills?”
“Alex handled them.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“Mortgage?”
“Yes.”
“Utilities?”
“Yes.”
“Credit cards?”
“Yes.”
“School expenses?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I took care of me and AJ. Alex took care of everything else.”
Detective Shaw leaned forward.
“So you had no knowledge of your husband’s financial position?”
Sterling cut in.
“My client has answered that.”
The detective looked at him.
Sterling didn’t blink.
They moved on.
“Did your husband carry life insurance?”
“I assume.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you the beneficiary?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mrs. Johnson, if your husband died, you stood to inherit a considerable—”
“My client won’t answer that.”
Detective Morris leaned back.
“We’re simply establishing—”
“You’re establishing motive through a financial situation she has repeatedly told you she knew nothing about. Move on.”
I looked at Sterling.
He didn’t look at me.
The questions continued.
And then they got harder.
“Why didn’t you call 911 after Congressman Johnson fell?”
My throat tightened.
“I panicked.”
“You saw blood?”
“Yes.”
“He was unresponsive?”
“Yes.”
“And rather than call for emergency services, you collected your son and left?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“I thought he was dead.”
“Because of you?”
Sterling leaned forward.
“Careful.”
Detective Shaw looked at him.
Then back at me.
“Mrs. Johnson, did you believe you caused your husband’s death?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
Daddy shifted beside me.
I’d already told him.
It still sounded different in that room.
“Did you intend to hurt him?”
“No.”
“Were you angry with him?”
“We were arguing.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No. I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“Do you know who Congressman Johnson was speaking to on the phone before the incident?”
“No.”
“You didn’t hear a name?”
“No.”
“Male voice? Female?”
“I couldn’t hear the other person.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was packing.”
Detective Morris flipped a page in his notebook.
“Was your husband having an affair?”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Was Congressman Johnson involved with another woman?”
“Not that I knew of.”
“Another man?”
“No.”
“Did you suspect he was?”
“No.”
He said a name.
I didn’t recognize it.
Then another.
Nothing.
A third.
“No.”
“You’ve never heard that name?”
“No.”
Sterling interrupted.
“How many names are we planning to throw at my client without context?”
Detective Morris ignored him.
“Did Congressman Johnson’s family know the two of you were experiencing marital problems?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never discussed it with them?”
“No.”
“Did your family know?”
“No.”
Daddy looked at me.
That answer hurt him.
I could tell.
But it was true.
“Your parents weren’t aware you were considering leaving your husband?”
“No.”
“Your grandmother?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“No.”
“No one?”
“No.”
Detective Shaw looked down at his notes.
Then back at me.
“Mrs. Johnson, how would you characterize your marriage?”
I frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
“Was it a happy marriage?”
Sterling spoke before I could.
“That’s subjective.”
“I asked Mrs. Johnson.”
“And I’m telling you that you’re moving into an area that has very little evidentiary value unless you have a more specific question.”
The detective stared at him for a second.
Then he did.
“Was your marriage to Congressman Johnson arranged?”
I froze.
Daddy’s head snapped toward him.
“What?”
Detective Shaw didn’t look away from me.
“Your marriage. Was it arranged by your families?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then how would you describe it?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because arranged wasn’t the right word.
But love wasn’t exactly the right word either.
Not anymore.
Sterling must have seen something on my face.
He closed the folder in front of him.
“That’s all my client will be answering today.”
Detective Morris started to speak.
Sterling didn’t give him the chance.
“Understand that her husband’s death was a tragic accident. She is now a grieving widow and a single mother who will have to explain this to her young child.”
His voice never rose.
It didn’t need to.
“She voluntarily sat here and answered your questions despite experiencing something traumatic less than twenty-four hours ago. Unless you’re placing Mrs. Johnson under arrest, this interview is over.”
Neither detective spoke.
“I respect that you can see yourselves out.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Detective Morris reached across the table and stopped the recording.
Click.
Detective Shaw closed his notebook.
They stood.
Sterling stood with them.
Daddy did too.
I stayed seated.
Detective Morris shook Sterling’s hand.
Then Daddy’s.
He gave me a small nod.
“Mrs. Johnson.”
I nodded back.
They walked toward the door.
My entire body finally started to relax.
Then Detective Shaw stopped.
His hand was already on the door handle.
He turned around.
“One more thing.”
Sterling’s expression hardened.
“The interview is over.”
“I know.”
Detective Shaw looked at me.
Not Sterling.
Me.
“You’ve repeatedly described Congressman Johnson falling down the stairs.”
I stared at him.
“Yes.”
“You saw blood.”
“Yes.”
“And you believed the fall killed him.”
My stomach tightened again.
“Yes.”
Detective Shaw nodded slowly.
“Then maybe you can help us understand something.”
Sterling stepped closer to the table.
“What?”
The detective looked directly at me.
“If Congressman Johnson died from falling down the stairs…”
He paused.
“…who shot Alex?”
I stopped breathing.
Daddy said something.
I didn’t hear it.
Sterling turned toward me.
But I couldn’t look at him.
Couldn’t look at anybody.
Because for the first time since I’d seen Alex lying at the bottom of those stairs, I wasn’t wondering whether I had killed my husband.
I was wondering who had.
CLICK FOR PART 4 – I THOUGHT I KILLED MY CONGRESSMAN HUSBAND. BREAKING NEWS TOLD A DIFFERENT STORY.