The Housemaid

Prologue.

If I leave this house, I'll be handcuffed.

I should have run when I had the chance, but I missed my opportunity. Now that the police are inside the house and have discovered what's upstairs, there's no going back.

They're about to arrest me, to read me my rights. I don't know why they haven't done it yet. Maybe they think they can convince me to tell them something I shouldn't.

Good luck with that.

The black-haired, slightly graying police officer is sitting on the couch beside me. He shifts his stocky body against the burnt-caramel Italian leather, and I wonder what kind of couch he has at home. It certainly doesn't cost five figures like this one.

His is probably some tacky color like orange, covered in pet hair and with a few tears along the seams. I imagine whether he's thinking about the couch he has at home and wishing he had one like this.

Or, more likely, whether he's thinking about the body found in the attic above us.

"Let's go over the facts one more time," the officer says in his New York accent.

He introduced himself earlier, but I completely forgot his name.

Police officers should wear bright red name tags. How else is anyone supposed to remember their names in a high-stress situation? I think he's a detective.

"When did you find the body?"

I pause, wondering if this would be the right time to demand a lawyer. Weren't they supposed to offer me one?

I'm rusty when it comes to this kind of procedure.

"About an hour ago," I answer.

"Why did you go upstairs in the first place?"

I purse my lips.

"I already told you. I heard a noise."

"And?"

The officer leans forward, his eyes wide. He has stubble along his jaw, as if he didn't have time to shave this morning. His tongue sticks out slightly between his lips. I'm not stupid-I know exactly what he wants me to say.

I did it. I'm guilty. You can take me away.

Instead, I lean back against the couch.

"And that's it. That's all I know."

Disappointment spreads across the detective's face. He clenches his jaw as he thinks about the evidence they've found so far in the house.

He's wondering if he already has enough to put handcuffs around my wrists. He isn't sure. If he were, he would have done it already.

"Hey, Connors!"

It's the voice of another officer. We break eye contact, and I look toward the top of the stairs. The much younger officer is standing there, his long fingers gripping the top of the banister. His wrinkle-free face is pale.

"Connors," the younger officer repeats. "You need to come up here... now. You need to see what's up here." Even from the bottom of the stairs, I can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. "You're not going to believe this."