Chapter 9: The Truth Carla Had Been Sitting On
Carla Simms was fifty-one years old and had worked with Margaret for three years at a property management company in Plano.
Detective Reyes called us at nine in the morning.
Her voice was the same as always — level, no wasted words — but there was something underneath it.
"Ms.
Simms contacted us last night," she said.
"She's recanting her previous statement and has asked to provide a new one.
She's also requested limited immunity from prosecution for any role she may have played in coordinating with the defense."
Ryan gripped the phone.
"What does that mean?"
"It means she was more involved than she initially disclosed.
And it means she's decided it's better to cooperate now than to wait." A pause.
"She's asked to speak with Emily directly.
With us present.
I wanted to call you before agreeing."
I looked at Ryan.
He looked at me.
"Set it up," I said.
We met at the police station two days after I was discharged.
I was enormous and slow and I walked in with Ryan on one side and Diane on the other.
Carla Simms was already in the room when we arrived.
She was a small woman with careful posture and eyes that had been crying recently.
She looked at me when I sat down and then looked at the table.
"I want to say something before we start," Carla said.
Detective Reyes nodded.
"I didn't know what was in the bottle," Carla said.
"I want to be clear about that.
Margaret told me she was worried about Emily.
That Emily had a history of instability.
That she needed people around her who could speak to her character if things went wrong." She paused.
"I agreed to be that person.
I thought I was helping a friend."
"When did you realize you weren't?" I asked.
Carla looked up at me.
"When she called me the night it happened.
Before Ryan even got to the hospital.
She told me Emily had collapsed and that I needed to be ready to give a statement about Emily's past.
She had Daniel Marsh's number ready.
She told me exactly what to say." Carla's hands were flat on the table.
"That's when I understood she had planned for this.
That she'd had the statement ready before anything happened." She swallowed.
"A person doesn't have a backup story ready unless they already know something is going to go wrong."
The room was very quiet.
"Did she tell you what she put in the food?" Detective Reyes asked.
"No.
She said it was something natural.
Something that would just — move things along." Carla's voice tightened.
"She said Emily wasn't ready to be a mother.
That Ryan deserved better.
That the baby would ruin his life." She looked at me again.
"I have a daughter.
She's twenty-three.
When I understood what 'move things along' meant — " She stopped.
"I couldn't sit on it anymore."
"What else can you tell us?" Diane asked.
Carla reached into her bag and placed a folded piece of paper on the table.
"She sent me this.
Three weeks before it happened."
Detective Reyes unfolded it.
Read it.
Slid it to Ryan.
It was a handwritten note.
Margaret's handwriting — Ryan confirmed it without being asked.
Four lines.
A description of the compound.
Where to order it.
How much to use.
And at the bottom, in Margaret's careful cursive: *It has to look like labor.
Nothing else.*
Ryan set the paper down.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
"She wrote it down," I said.
"Yes," Detective Reyes said.
"She planned it far enough in advance to write it down and send it to someone else."
"Yes."
I put my hand on my stomach.
Our daughter pushed back against my palm, firm and insistent, like she was reminding me she was still there.
"I'm sorry," Carla said to me.
"I know that doesn't fix anything."
"No," I said.
"It doesn't."
"But it's the truth."
"Yes," I said.
"It is."
Detective Reyes gathered the note into an evidence bag.
She looked at Ryan.
"With this, the footage, the lab results, and Mr.
Gerald Callahan's text exchange, the DA's office has enough to move forward with charges." She paused.
"Aggravated assault.
Reckless endangerment of an unborn child.
Tampering with evidence." She looked at the bag.
"Possibly more, depending on how the DA reads the note."
Ryan nodded slowly.
"When?" he asked.
"Within the week," she said.
We drove home in silence.
Ryan kept both hands on the wheel.
I watched the Dallas streets go by — the flat light, the wide roads, the ordinary Tuesday afternoon that had no idea what had just happened inside that building.
"She wrote it down," Ryan said again, quietly, to no one.
"She was certain she wouldn't get caught," I said.
"She was certain I wouldn't look."
I turned to look at him.
"She was wrong," I said.
He nodded.
Eyes on the road.
May you like
"She was wrong about a lot of things," he said.
And four days later, Margaret Callahan was formally charged.
