“I won’t try to kid you,” Davison said. “I killed her.”



The two detectives nodded. No surprise. The bloody corpse of Davison’s wife sprawled on the rug attested to that. And, of course, the blood splattered on the husband’s gray sweatshirt, his trembling red hands. The three of them sat now at the dining room table. The one named Thompson jotted Davison’s words into his pad. The other, Morgan, finally said, “When?”



“When did I…? Two days ago. I waited for the day to end.… Continue