envisioning it happening to someone else. “Then?”
“Okay,” said Morgan. “No, at this point he hadn’t shot Philip in the gut. Just through the head. Using the pillow to muffle the sound. Now he takes Miranda’s hand, he puts the Glock, which he’d wiped clean, in her hand, he twists her arm around and pulls her finger on the trigger — the gun goes off against Philip Carter’s abdomen.”
“And?” said Miranda.
“The intruder, he puts the gun on the bedside table. It’s not convincing, he thinks. He needs it to look like she did it. Why would she shoot him in the gut? He gets a bullet from the desk drawer, puts it in the clip. Sets the gun back down on the table with only one bullet missing. We know two were fired. He’s smart and cold, he’s a foreigner, he wouldn’t know the extent of forensic discovery. He rolls Philip’s body away from Miranda, on top of the sheet, and with a knife he’s carrying he goes after the slug inside the corpse. He’s wearing one of Miranda’s plastic aprons. Check, I’ll bet there’s one missing. When he gets the bullet, Philip’s guts are slopping out of his body. The guy thinks the mess will reinforce that she’s crazy. He goes to the bathroom, washes meticulously. Gets her kitchen knife, slicks it with blood. Dumps it under the bed, not too obvious, he thinks. Goes back into the bedroom, covers the two of them. Starts to leave. Sees the holster where he set it beside the bed. Returns it to the desk, sees it’s flecked with blood — no, he fired one of his shots through the holster. That’s it. The other was through the pillow. He has to take the holster with him.”
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