Let Darkness Come by Angela Hunt

disturbed mental state, a state that ultimately led him to take his own life through an insulin overdose. The scenario is plausible, but how does she reconcile Erin’s fingerprints on the syringe with her statement to the police? She told a detective she never gave her husband insulin injections.
    Briley signs in at the visitor’s center, walks through the air puffer, and makes banal conversation about the weather as the guard leads her to the chilly interview room. She keeps her coat on as she pulls a notepad, recorder, and pen from her briefcase, then she rubs her bare hands together. The state of Illinois must be doing its part to save energy by keeping the jail thermostat set at sixty.
    The door opens, and a guard leads her client into the room. Erin stands motionless as the guard removes her handcuffs and shackles, then she pushes her hair away from her face and sits across from Briley. She looks better this morning, less wan and washed out, but she doesn’t return Briley’s smile. Instead, she props her elbows on the table and drops her head into her hands.
    Briley glances toward the door. “What’s wrong? Are you having trouble with one of the other inmates? With a guard?”
    Erin’s shoulders rise and fall. “I need to tell you something,” she says, not meeting Briley’s gaze. “And you’re going to think I’m crazy. But I’m not, honestly I’m not—unless all crazy people go through what I’m experiencing.” She releases a hollow laugh. “Sometimes I think I must be insane—otherwise, why would I have married Jeffrey? I loved him, but it takes more than love to make a marriage work.”
    Briley settles back in her chair, quietly wishing she had invited one of the more experienced associates along for this interview. Maybe all murder defendants declare themselves to be insane during the third interview. Maybe tomorrow Erin will claim to have found Jesus. Maybe these dramatics are nothing unusual, and Briley should prepare for even more outlandish claims in the days ahead.
    She pulls her notepad and pen closer. “Why don’t you begin at the beginning?” she says, smoothing the skepticism from her voice. “I’m here to listen, and I want to understand you. Only by knowing your entire story will I be able to put the pieces together and present the best possible defense.”
    Erin shakes her head. “I’m not sure where to begin.”
    â€œWell, what kind of family did you have? Where did you grow up? What were your goals and aspirations?”
    â€œMy family? I’m not even sure the word applies.” Erin folds her arms across her chest and draws a deep breath. “My father died when I was young. I had an older brother, but he didn’t live with us, so I barely knew him. The neighborhood was quiet, run-down.”
    Briley struggles to hide her surprise. The newspaper article was right about Erin’s working-class origins. Somehow she’d pictured this woman growing up in a fully staffed white colonial surrounded by manicured green lawns. “Sounds lonely.”
    â€œIt was. I would have gone crazy if not for my invisible friend. My mom used to tease me about her, but Lisa Marie was around when my mom was indisposed, so I guess it’s only natural that I came to depend on her.”
    Briley jots the name on her legal pad. “Lisa Marie is what you called your invisible friend?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat did you mean by ‘indisposed’? Was your mother an invalid?”
    Erin chuffs softly. “She was a drunk. We lived on food stamps and welfare, which probably explains why I was attracted to Jeffrey. I never knew any luxury growing up, and Jeff and his family offered the kind of stability I’d always dreamed of.”
    â€œWhere’d you meet him?”
    â€œChicago State. One night after class, I went to a party with some friends. Jeffrey was