by Blake Pierce
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 wanted to keep open the possibility of talking to Morgan again.
She was tempted to say …
“No, and I’ll need to come back and talk to her some more.”
But that might trigger Stiles skepticism to a breaking point, and he might end up calling Quantico after all.
Instead she said …
“Thanks for your cooperation, sir. I’ll show myself out.”
As she headed out of the station, she recalled the strange conversation she’d just had with Morgan about the knife, and how defensive the woman had gotten about it …
“Why are you asking me these questions?”
Riley was sure of one thing. Morgan had no idea where the knife had been kept in the kitchen. And if she’d had to go to the trouble of finding it, she’d have been able to tell Riley where she’d found it.
She also remembered what Morgan had told her on the phone …
“The knife is lying right next to him.”
At that moment, Morgan surely hadn’t known where it had come from.
She’s not guilty, Riley realized as she climbed into her rented car.
She knew it in her gut, even if Morgan herself didn’t believe it.
And no one else was going to question her guilt. They were all happy to have the matter settled.
It was up to Riley to set things right.
CHAPTER NINE
As she took a sip of coffee, Riley wondered …
What do I do now?
Her head buzzing with questions, she’d driven to a fast food restaurant and ordered a hamburger and coffee. She had found a place to sit away from the other c
ustomers so she could think about her next move.
Riley was used to bending rules and working in strange circumstances. But this situation was new even to her. She was in uncharted territory.
She wished she could call Bill, her longtime partner. Or that she could talk things over with Jenn Roston, the young agent who’d also partnered with her on recent cases. But that would mean getting them involved in a situation that even she wasn’t supposed to be working on.
Was there anyone she could talk to locally?
I can’t very well ask Chief Stiles anything, Riley thought.
Of course there were a few people in other places that she sometimes turned to in unconventional situations. One was Mike Nevins, a forensic psychologist in DC who worked as an independent consultant on some FBI cases. Riley had asked Mike for help on many cases, including a few that she hadn’t exactly handled by the book. He’d also helped both her and Bill through bouts with PTSD. Mike had always been discreet, and he was also a good friend.
She flipped open her laptop, put in her earpieces, opened her video chat program, and called Mike’s office. Right away he appeared on her screen—a dapper, rather fussy-looking man wearing an expensive shirt with a vest.
“Riley Paige!” Mike said in his smooth and soothing baritone. “How nice to see you. It’s been a while. How can I help you?”
Riley was happy to see his face. Even so, she suddenly wondered …
How can he help me?
What should she tell him?
“Mike, what can you tell me about false confessions?” she asked.
Mike tilted his head curiously.
“Um—could you perhaps be more specific?” he asked.
“I don’t mean the ones who just show up after a murder and confess for the publicity. I mean the ones who really believe they’re guilty.”
“Are you on an interesting new case?”
Riley hesitated, and Mike chuckled.
“Oh, dear,” he said. “You’ve gone rogue again, haven’t you?”
Riley laughed nervously.
“I’m afraid so, Mike,” she replied.
“Are you actually breaking the law this time?”
Riley thought for a second. She was a little surprised to realize that she hadn’t broken any actual laws—at least not yet.
She said, “No, not really.”
Mike smiled a comforting smile.
“Well, in that case, I don’t see why you shouldn’t tell me all about it. If you’re bending FBI rules again, that’s neither here nor there as far as I’m concerned. I’m not your boss, you know. I can’t very well fire you. And I don’t have any particular desire to tell on you.”
Greatly relieved, Riley filled him in on the whole story, starting with when she had first encountered Morgan Farrell back in February. She described how strongly she’d felt back then that the woman was being abused by her husband. Finally she told Mike about her trip to Atlanta and the conversation she had just had with Morgan.
After listening attentively, Mike asked, “And you’re sure Morgan is really innocent?”
“I feel it deep down in my gut,” Riley said.
Mike chuckled again.
“Well, you’ve got one of the most reliable guts in the business. I’m inclined to believe you. But still … I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a situation exactly like this. It’s rather atypical. A false confession usually unfolds rather differently.”
“How?” Riley asked.
Mike thought for a moment.
Then he said, “For one thing, Morgan Farrell seems to have been eager to confess right when she called you, before the police had even arrived. Suspects usually make false confessions after being put under considerable coercion and great duress.”
Riley understood what Mike was getting at.
Morgan had confessed with no coercion at all.
Mike continued, “For example, the average police interrogation lasts for thirty to sixty minutes. To provoke a false confession, cops usually have to hammer away relentlessly at a suspect for a long time—as long as fourteen hours. They have to wear down the suspect’s will. The suspect confesses just to get it over with, figuring they can straighten things out later. The circumstances don’t exactly fit your case … however …”
Mike paused for a moment, then said, “You mentioned that Morgan complained about not being allowed to sleep.”
“That’s right,” she said. “Her husband had been tormenting her by keeping her awake. She said it had been going on two or three weeks.”
Mike stroked his chin and said, “You probably already know that sleep disruption is a common torture technique—or as folks like to call it nowadays, ‘enhanced interrogation.’ That can lead to terrible confusion, even hallucinations. The subject winds up having no idea what’s real or what’s imaginary. They’ll say whatever they’re expected to say and might come to believe it themselves. They might even harbor some delusion that they’ll get to go free if they just confess.”
Riley flashed back to something that Morgan had said …
“I’d really like to go home now.”
As weird as it had seemed to Riley at the time, that comment made sense now.
Riley said, “What you’re saying is that Morgan was subjected to procedures often used to get to a confession, even though it wasn’t for that purpose.”
Mike nodded and said, “That’s right. The drugs and alcohol she’d been consuming surely added to her confusion. You said she told you to read her confession if you wanted to know what happened. To make that confession, she probably got a lot of coaching from cops who didn’t realize they were coaching her at all. They were just talking her through a plausible series of events. By the time she signed it, everybody believed it was true, including her.”
Riley also remembered Morgan saying …
“The police asked me questions until I didn’t know which end was up.”
Her mind was reeling now.
“Mike, what am I going to do about this?” she asked. “Even Morgan thinks she’s guilty. So does everybody else. Besides, I’m not even supposed to be here doing all this.”
Mike shrugged.
“If I were you, I’d start by talking to her lawyer. If he’s good at his job, he won’t care that you’re not exactly playing by the rules. All he’ll care about is doing his best for his client.”
Riley thanked Mike for his help and ended the chat.
She remembered Morgan refusing to say who her lawyer was. Well, it wouldn’t be hard to find out.
She got online and looked over the media coverage concerning Andrew Farrell’s murder. The killing had caused a predictable public sensation, and there was a lot of tabloid speculation about why Morgan had gone crazy and killed her husband. So far, Morgan’s lawyer hadn’t stepped forward to say anything about his client.
But his name was there in the news: Chet Morris, a partner in the Atlanta law firm of Gurney, Dunn, and Morris. Riley took out her cell phone called the firm’s number. When a receptionist answered, Riley asked to speak with Chet Morris.
“May I ask what this is about?” the receptionist asked.
For a second, Riley wasn’t sure what to say. After all, she wasn’t here on official FBI business.
But then she reminded herself of what Mike had said about Morgan’s lawyer …
“If he’s good at his job, he won’t care that you’re not exactly playing by the rules.”
She said, “I’m Agent Riley Paige with the FBI. I’ve got some urgent information for him about his client, Morgan Farrell.”
The receptionist put Riley on hold, and a few moments later she heard a man’s voice.
“This is Chet Morris. How may I help you?”
Riley introduced herself again.
Morris said in a bland voice, “Oh, yes. The name is familiar. Didn’t my client call you right after she killed her husband? I believe you were the person who first contacted the police.”
Riley said
, “I’ve got very good reason to believe that your client is innocent of murder.”
A silence fell. For a moment Riley wondered if the call had gotten disconnected.
Finally Morris said, “I really don’t understand what this is all about, Agent Paige. I’m sure you’re aware that my client confessed. Due to her cooperation alone, I’m confident that I can keep her from getting the death penalty.”
Riley was puzzled.
Doesn’t he understand what I’m saying?
She decided to be more forthright.
She said, “I met Morgan last February at her home when her husband was still alive. I suspected at the time that he was abusing her, and I offered my help if she wanted it. As you know, she called me right after her husband was killed. Then last night I got a call from an Atlanta cop. I’d rather not mention his name, but he was part of the team that showed up at the crime scene. He told me that he didn’t believe Morgan had killed her husband.”
“And you believed him?” Morris asked.
“I didn’t know what to believe. I came to Atlanta—I’m here right now. I have just visited Morgan in her cell and talked with her.”
Morris let out a grunt of dismay.
He said, “Agent Paige, I’d really rather you hadn’t done that without checking in with me first. Frankly, I wouldn’t have allowed it if I’d known.”
Riley felt another flash of confusion.
She said, “Mr. Morris, I’m not sure you understand. I’m all but certain that she’s innocent.”
“Is that what she told you?” Morris asked.
“No, but—”
“Then why do you think so?”
Riley was truly perplexed now. This call wasn’t going at all like she’d expected.
She said, “I just talked to an expert forensic psychologist. He explained all the reasons why she might have given a false confession. Look, if I could just come by your office, we could discuss—”
Morris interrupted, “I think not, Agent Paige. And I really don’t appreciate your harassing my client and further confusing her. She’s already traumatized enough by what she’s done. I’ll thank you not to meddle in this matter any further. If you do, I’ll have no other recourse but to report you and perhaps even press charges.”
