I Remember Now

“I killed my husband.”

Two decades of police work, and this was a first. In front of me sat the most fragile little old woman, and she just confessed to murder. Normally in a situation like this, we’d contact her loved ones and follow up with elder services, but two weeks ago this woman’s husband turned up dead in a motel. Something about his death has rubbed me the wrong way since I first entered the crime scene. My partner shrugged off my suspicions of foul play, told me I was just paranoid, and after the month I had, I almost believed him. The last murder case we worked nearly cost me my career when I followed a hunch that resulted in the wrong person being locked up and our murderer getting away. Still, I found it hard to believe a younger man in perfect health would be fine one minute, then dead in a rundown Motel 8 an hour away from his home. There’s no way I was about to make the same mistake.

“Excuse me, dear, can you call my daughter? I forgot to water my ficus, and the heat really gets to it this time of year.” I looked over at my partner, skeptical. “Ma’am, we’ve got bigger things to worry about than your plants. Can you please back up and tell us what happened to your husband?”

“My husband? I haven’t heard from him in days. What does he have to do with my plants?” The sweet old woman grew increasingly agitated. My partner and I just stared at her, not knowing what to say next. How did she kill a man she hadn’t even seen? “Ma’am, your husband was found dead 14 days ago in the motel down Highway 7. We were about to rule it an unknown cause until you came in here and confessed to murdering him.” She just sat there. Staring off into the abyss. I couldn’t tell if she was replaying her husband’s death back in her head or if she was trying to figure out what was happening.

“I killed my husband.” “How?” “I killed my husband, but I can’t remember…” I grabbed her hand as worry warped her face. “I remember fighting with him. Something about medications. I think I might have poisoned him.” My partner shuffled some paperwork and handed it to me without even having to ask. TOX SCREEN = NEGATIVE

I wrote a message on the paper signaling to my partner to call in the daughter. “I believe you. Can you tell me anything else?” “He lied to me; I’m not sure what about. We’ve only been married for 2 years; it happened really fast.”

“How often did you guys fight? How was both of your guys’ health before all of this?” Before she could answer, a younger woman with her mother’s face rushed in. “I tracked my mother’s phone here, so I started driving over, then an officer called me. Said something about a confession in my mother’s husband’s case.”

“Yes, thank you for getting here so fast. I am Detective Whitlock, and this is my partner, Detective Carver. I apologize; we’ve been working your father—”

“Yeah, I’m going to stop you right there. If you are referring to Conner Kraft, then make no mistake, he is not my father. For starters, he was 3 years younger than me, and he was only around to try to steal my mother’s money. It’s honestly astonishing that he died before her.”

“I’m very sorry. We’re the detectives assigned to Mr. Kraft’s case; your mother just confessed to murdering him.” “That’s impossible! Her memory’s been slipping; she doesn’t know what she’s saying—” “Miss Langston, please take a breath. I don’t believe your mother murdered our victim, but I do believe she was somehow involved in his death. Have you noticed any changes with her recently?”

Mrs. Langston’s daughter wasted no time spilling her family’s hidden secrets. She told us all about her stepfather’s hidden affairs and lavish vacations without her mother. “I told my mom months ago that he was stealing her savings and spending it on some whore. She always had an excuse ready for him. Then, about a month ago, I noticed a shift in her behavior. She started getting forgetful and agitated. The doctors are calling it the onset of Alzheimer’s, but I’ve looked at the research. Alzheimer’s doesn’t usually hit so suddenly. I don’t know what is happening to my mother, but I almost guarantee whatever it is, Conner had something to do with it.” “Your mother mentioned they had a fight about her medication before Mr. Kraft died; did she tell you anything about that?”

“My mother doesn’t take any medications.” “Triamcinolone.” The whole room stopped, and all eyes were on the elderly woman. “Triamcinolone,” she repeated under her breath like she’d been trying not to forget it all day. My partner let out the most obnoxious snort. “There’s no way you are actually buying any of this. She’s clearly unwell; close the case and move on. I don’t want to be stuck here doing paperwork all damn day.” “I’ve heard of that,” the daughter gasped as she recalled that Conner had a weird rash on the 4th of July weekend and had a steroid cream with him while camping.

“What does steroid cream have to do with a murder? Or should I say the lack thereof, since we got a clean tox screen, no motive, and most importantly no signs of foul play on the body.” “My husband was cheating on me.” “Mom, what are you remembering?” “That’s why we were fighting. He was cheating on me, and he planned on putting me in a home so he could take off with her. I told him to leave, and he said he was going to a hotel. He left his phone on the coffee table, so I put it in my purse to look at later and forgot about it.” I took the phone faster than intended, praying it had the secret to our never-ending puzzle. Internet History: What drugs cause memory loss? How to get an antipsychotic prescription? What is Triamcinolone? How to get Triamcinolone? Then to his messages. “Miss Langston, I thought you said you and your mother’s husband weren’t on good terms?” “We weren’t.”

“Then why were you the last person he texted?” The color drained from the young woman’s face, but it was her mother who answered. “I remember now—” “Mom, please stop—” “It was you. You were sleeping with my husband. He wanted to run away and have a future. That’s why he was drugging me. So you two could run off together while I rot away in some government-run nursing home.” “Mom, I swear it’s not what you think. It was sex; I never loved him.” “Is that why you killed him?” The elderly woman no longer looked so frail as she stood from her seat. “Sophia Grace Langston, answer me right now: did you kill my husband?” “Yes.” With one swift motion, I detained the daughter, for some reason expecting resistance. “I’ll tell them everything. Please, Mom, just look at me.” “Carver, please take Miss Langston to an empty holding room, please.” I grabbed the woman’s hands and pulled her into a hug as she broke down into tears. How could someone move on after being betrayed by their own child?

I can’t do this again. This is my job; I can’t get emotionally involved, and there’s more to uncover about Mr. Kraft’s unfortunate demise. I introduced the elderly woman to our station’s social worker and started to mentally plan the most important interrogation of my career. I took a good look at myself in the two-way mirror and entered the room.

“I’m ready to talk.”

“Great. Let’s start at the beginning.”

“Conner and I started seeing each other about 6 months ago. It started out casually and was supposed to stay that way. Then he started talking about a future and children. I tried pulling back, but that only made him want it more. He slipped up about his plan to drug my mom on the 4th of July when we were drinking. I didn’t think we’d actually do it. Then she started acting different.” Sophia paused and sat for a moment, thinking carefully about her next words.

“I found someone online who told me how I could make it look like an accident. I figured no one would really care once they found out what he did. I never wanted my mom to get hurt.”

“You should have thought about that before you took everything from her. She might not be in a nursing home, but she just lost her husband and only daughter. What you did was selfish and unfair.”

“Why do you care?”

Stumped, I nodded my head and left her sitting there in the empty room, chained to the table like the criminal she became. Her words echoed through my mind as I got started on her intake report. This was supposed to be another routine case, yet I found myself overly invested. These people mean nothing to me outside of these walls, but their tragedy will follow me for years to come. Not because of the outcome or family betrayal, but because of the impact it had on me as a detective.