Chapter 4 - The Interrogation Room
The steel handcuffs cut painfully into my wrists as I sat in the freezing interrogation room.
Detective Vance sat across the metal table, flipping slowly through a manila folder.
He had not spoken a single word to me for over twenty minutes.
I had already told him about the kidnapping text message and the blood on the floor.
I had completely left out the part where my wife admitted to faking her paralysis.
"You have a very busy life, Marcus," Detective Vance finally said, closing the folder.
"Your company fired you three weeks ago for stealing two hundred thousand dollars."
"I did not steal anything," I stated firmly.
"Someone hacked my work computer and framed me."
Vance smiled a cold, humorless smile.
"Then how do you explain the offshore account in the Cayman Islands registered under your social security number?" he asked.
"The entire two hundred thousand dollars was wired there exactly four days ago."
"I was in North Carolina four days ago," I argued desperately.
"I have credit card charges from restaurants in Asheville to prove it."
Vance reached into the folder and pulled out a stack of glossy photographs.
He tossed them onto the metal table in front of me.
They were security camera photos taken from an ATM directly across the street from my house.
The timestamp on the photos was from four days ago.
The man in the photos was wearing my favorite winter coat and a baseball cap pulled low.
He was withdrawing maximum cash from my checking account.
The man looked exactly like me.
"That is not me," I whispered, staring closely at the image.
"It sure looks like you, Marcus," Vance said softly.
"And considering we found your wife's blood soaked into your favorite pair of shoes in the closet, you are my only suspect."
I felt a sudden, terrifying wave of nausea hit my stomach.
I had not worn those shoes in over a month.
Lauren had meticulously planted evidence to frame me for her own violent murder.
"I received a ransom text message," I reminded the detective, desperate for a lifeline.
"Check my phone, someone sent me a picture of her tied to a chair."
Vance sighed and pulled an evidence bag containing my cell phone out of his pocket.
He turned the screen toward me.
"We checked your phone, Marcus," he said.
"There are no messages from any unknown numbers."
"The only text message sent today was drafted in your own outbox."
May you like
I looked at the screen and saw a draft message waiting to be sent to David.
The drafted message read: "I am so sorry David, it was an accident, I never meant to hurt her."
