Chapter 7 - The Interrogation Room
By 2:00 AM, the blizzard had exhausted its fury, leaving the Litchfield Hills buried under fourteen inches of crystalline, silent white.
At Sharon Hospital, Walter Sterling was stabilized in the Intensive Care Unit. The emergency physicians had administered flumazenil to reverse the benzodiazepine overdose, flushing his system with clean fluids. The doctors assured us that because we had arrived when we did, Walter had suffered no permanent organ damage. He was weak, exhausted, but resting safely under the armed guard of two state troopers stationed outside his hospital door.
Meanwhile, forty miles south at the State Police Troop A barracks in Southbury, the temperature inside Interrogation Room B was hovering near boiling point.
Scott Sterling sat across from Detective Miller and Assistant State Attorney Richard Vance. Scott’s expensive Italian leather loafers were scuffed with mud, his designer shirt was stained with sweat around the collar, and his hands were cuffed to a steel ring welded into the center of the wooden table.
"You don't understand the pressure I was under, Dick," Scott whined, leaning forward, his voice hoarse from two hours of shouting. "You’ve known our family for twenty years! You played golf with Walter! You know Patricia—she runs everything! She told me Walter wanted to retire! She said he wanted me to handle the development project on the back fifty acres!"
Vance didn't smile. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and opened the thick gray folder—the very folder Daniel had placed beside the Christmas ham four hours earlier, now supplemented with evidence seized from Walter's ransacked study.
"Save the performance for a public defender, Scott," Vance said, his voice as dry as autumn leaves. "Because the state isn't offering you a plea deal. We have your offshore bank records from Grand Cayman. We have thirty-two text messages between your burner phone and Brenda Miller detailing the exact dosage of Haloperidol to administer to your father on the morning of November 11th."
Scott flinched as if struck across the face. "Brenda... Brenda told you that?"
"Brenda started talking thirty minutes after we put her in the back of a cruiser," Detective Miller interjected, crossing his arms against his chest. "She gave us the receipts for the private pharmacy in Queens where she bought the unprescribed narcotics. She gave us the cash payments Patricia made to her every Friday. She rolled on both of you before we even finished processing her fingerprints."
Scott sank back into his metal chair, the color draining from his face until he looked like a corpse. "She’s lying. She’s trying to pin it on us."
"We also recovered the hidden green ledger," Vance continued, dropping a leather-bound notebook onto the table with a dull thud. "Your father hid it inside the mechanism of the grandfather clock in his study. Lily directed our crime scene technicians straight to it."
Scott’s eyes bulged. "That little..."
"Finish that sentence and I’ll add witness intimidation to your indictment," Vance warned, his eyes hardening into flint. "In this ledger, Walter documented every single dollar stolen from his accounts over the past eighteen months. He documented the forged signatures. And three days before his 'accident,' he wrote an addendum to his will, witnessed by his estate attorney, completely disinheriting both you and Patricia."
Scott began to hyperventilate, the reality of his situation crushing him like a lead weight. "I owe people money, Dick. Serious people. If I go to MacDougall-Walker Correctional, I won't survive a month! You have to help me!"
"You should have thought about your creditors before you tried to murder your father for his estate," Vance replied coldly, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "You are being charged with Conspiracy to Commit Murder, First-Degree Grand Larceny, Forgery, and Attempted Manslaughter of an At-Risk Adult. Bail will be set at five million dollars cash. You’re not going anywhere, Scott."
Down the hall in Interrogation Room D, Patricia Sterling was reacting very differently.
She sat rigidly upright, her chin held high, refusing to look at the female detective sitting across from her. Her emerald cashmere sweater was wrinkled, her silver chignon coming undone, but she wore her arrogance like a suit of armor.
"This is an outrage," Patricia stated for the fiftieth time, her voice icy and precise. "My son Daniel has always been jealous of Scott. He has poisoned Walter’s mind against me. I am Walter’s lawful wife of forty-six years. A wife cannot 'steal' from her husband. Everything in that house is marital property."
The door opened, and Daniel stepped into the observation room behind the two-way mirror, accompanied by Detective Miller. Through the glass, Daniel watched his mother with an expression devoid of any remaining warmth or filial affection.
"Does she really think she can walk away from this?" Daniel asked Miller quietly.
"She thinks her social standing protects her," Miller replied. "She thinks because she sits on the board of the symphony and the library foundation, a judge will treat this as a messy domestic dispute. But we just pulled the records from the Sharon facility. The owner turned state's evidence ten minutes ago. He provided a signed letter from Patricia instructing him to withhold food, water, and emergency medical care if Walter went into cardiac arrest."
Daniel’s jaw tightened. "That’s premeditated murder."
"That’s life without parole, Mr. Sterling," Miller said softly. "Your mother isn't going to a country club. She’s going to York Correctional Institution for the rest of her natural life."
Daniel stood behind the glass for a long moment, watching Patricia smooth down her sweater, still pretending she was the queen of an empire that had just dissolved into ash.
He didn't want revenge anymore. He only wanted closure.
"Make sure she never sees Lily again," Daniel said.
May you like
"She won't," Detective Miller promised. "A permanent criminal protective order is being signed by the judge at eight o'clock this morning. Patricia Sterling will never step within a thousand feet of your family again."
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