“So, Dr. Wellborough, you ready to tell me what happened to Polly?” Det. Hardacre asked.

Detective Austin handed the suspect a coffee, milk with two sugars. She served her partner, Hardacre, his drink and then meekly took a seat at the conference table. She picked up her notepad. After taking a sip, the doctor gave an approving nod.

“My wife been so emotionally unbalanced lately. I surmise in a sudden fit of despair she hurt herself,” Jay said.

“‘I surmise’ you don’t sound very upset,” Austin muttered.

“Stow it, newbie. The grownups are talking. Sorry about that Dr. Wellborough. This generation doesn’t understand it’s not always about feelings. Our generation knew how to get up and get over, am I right?” Det. Hardacre said chuckling into his coffee.

He made a motion with his head that meant, “women.” Looking chagrined, Det. Austin bent her head back to her notepad.

“So, Jay, tell me about Polly. What happened to her?”

“I loved my wife but recently she became so moody. I like an efficient home. Everything thing in its place. After our youngest was born, Polly struggled with minding the house. I can’t sleep if there’s a dish in the sink,” Jay said remembering to look despondent.

“Don’t dishes belong in sink,” Det. Austin said sarcastically.

Shhhing her, her partner pounded his fist on the conference table. Austin dropped her pen in surprise. She bent under the table to retrieve it. The men shared a smirk.

“She grew overwhelmed this morning and shot herself. I must be in shock from finding her like that tonight. I waited for over an hour at Cecil’s. It was our anniversary. Thank goodness the kids were with my mom.”

Det. Hardacre made understanding sounds, while Det. Austin rolled her eyes.

“So that’s what happened to Polly. Shame. Such a good neighborhood, too. We are still processing the scene but we get you home ASAP. Austin run out to the vending machines and grab a few items for Dr. Wellborough,” Hardacre said. “No talking, just walking Tanika.”

Huffing, Det. Austin stomped out. In a few minutes there was a knock. Det. Hardacre excused himself. On the other side of the interview room, the detective exhaled.

“Talking to that cretin makes ne queasy. Any news from CSI, Sarge? Tell me we can nail that sicko,” Det. Hardacre said.

“Well Becks has the body. No gunpowder on Vic’s hand and Becks suspects her arms are too short to fire a shotgun at herself. And I spied blood on the good doctor’s shoe. The techs will be here to collect his clothes. Go back in there with the sweet talk. His timeline is mushy. Lead him back to when his mommy picked up the kids,” Det Austin said. “I’m heading over to pathology.”

“She might be an accessory after the fact. Sure, sarge.”

“Oh and get your own snacks, partner.”