“I did it,” she said then. “I didn’t mean to, but I killed Francine.”
* * *
“What happened, Bryn?”
“She showed up at my home last night, threatened me in a cold-blooded, vicious way … I was afraid she might do something else to Bobby just to spite me. I shouldn’t have come here today, I know that, but I couldn’t help it, I had to make sure he was all right.” Flat voice, without inflection, but Runyon could hear the undercurrent of emotions like a distant sea whisper. “She didn’t want to let me in. I knew something was wrong by the way she acted. I pushed past her, and when I saw Bobby, all the blood, what she’d just done to him, I … went a little crazy. I screamed at her and she screamed back. Then she tried to claw my face. I slapped her, she slapped me and ran into the kitchen, I ran after her. What happened after that … it’s not very clear. We were struggling and the next thing I knew she had that knife in her hand. I grabbed her arm, twisted it, tried to make her drop the knife, but instead she … somehow it got between us and … the next thing I knew I was standing over her with blood on my hands.”
Her hands were clean now. She saw Runyon looking at them, at the fresh-looking Band-Aid on one finger, and said, “I washed it off in the bathroom. Some of it was mine … she must have cut my finger in the struggle.”
“Did Bobby see it happen?”
“No. God, no. He never came out of his bedroom.”
“Sure of that?”
“Yes. I’m sure. He doesn’t know Francine’s dead.”
“Did you call anybody besides me?”
“No.”
Runyon glanced at his watch. Four forty. “What time does Darby usually get home?”
“I don’t know.…”
“When you were married to him—what time then?”
“No set time. He usually called if he was going to be later than six. Oh, God, I don’t want to be here when he comes.” She gripped Runyon’s arm. “Jake, do we have to call the police? Can’t you just take Bobby and me away from here?”
He could, sure. Leave the door open, let Darby find Francine’s body. Call the law from Bryn’s house, or not call them at all, on the slim hope Darby and the police would assume an intruder had killed Francine. But running out, pretending, lying, were always bad ideas. Always ended up making a bad situation even worse.
“You know I can’t do that,” he said.
“Just Bobby, then. I don’t care what happens to me.…”
“But I do. There’s no place to take him and even if there was—”
“His doctor. His nose should be looked at, he could have other injuries.”
“You said he was all right.”
“Jake…”
“We stay right here, all three of us. I’ll request an EMT unit for Bobby.”
“I should’ve taken him to the doctor myself. But I was so upset, I wasn’t thinking clearly.…”
“Bryn, listen to me.” He waited until her eyes focused on him. “You’re certain Francine was the one who picked up the knife?”
“Yes, I told you. She would’ve stabbed me if I hadn’t grabbed her wrist.”
“All right. Then you acted in self-defense. Bobby can verify that she hit him in the face—”
“No. I don’t want him involved.”
“He’s already involved.”
“He won’t talk about the abuse, you know that.” Bryn sucked in a breath, released it. “Will the police arrest me?”
Yeah, they would. This was Francine’s home, there was no witness to corroborate what had happened in the kitchen, and the fact that Bryn had delayed reporting the crime by calling Runyon instead of 911 all mitigated against her; the cops wouldn’t have any other choice. They’d book her on a 187 PC—the unlawful killing of a human being with malice aforethought. The initial charge in a case like this was almost always the most severe, justified or not.
Runyon said, “Don’t worry about that now. When they get here, be polite but don’t volunteer any information. Tell them you’ll answer all their questions when you have your lawyer present. Understand?”
“Yes, but my lawyer only does family law—”
“I’ll get you a criminal defense attorney. When you see him tell him everything you told me, exactly as it happened. Don’t withhold anything.”
“All right. Whatever you say.”
“Sit down while I make the calls.”
“I have to check on Bobby.”
“Go ahead then.”
Runyon watched her disappear through a doorway on the other side of the room. Then he flipped his cell phone open. He knew a couple of SFPD’s homicide inspectors, and Bill’s longtime poker buddy, Jack Logan, was an assistant chief whom he’d had some dealings with as well. But it wouldn’t be a good idea to try personalizing this; that kind of approach could backfire. Better to just make a standard 911 call. He identified himself to the operator, briefly explained the situation, and requested an EMT unit for a child with minor injuries.