Chapter 5 - The Interrogation
I was violently shoved against the side of a police cruiser and securely handcuffed.
The cold metal bit deeply into my wrists as the officers ignored my desperate questions.
They tossed me into the back of the squad car and drove me directly to the downtown police precinct.
I was placed in a windowless, concrete interrogation room and left alone for three agonizing hours.
Finally, a tired-looking detective in a wrinkled suit walked into the room and dropped a thick file onto the metal table.
"I am Detective Miller," he said, sitting down and staring at me with a harsh, judgmental glare.
"I did not steal the money from my company," I stated firmly before he could even ask a question.
Detective Miller let out a harsh, mocking laugh.
"I am not here to talk about corporate wire fraud, Mrs. Dawson," the detective replied.
"The FBI will handle your embezzlement charges later."
"I am here to talk about the severe domestic abuse you inflicted upon your husband."
I stared at him in absolute, total confusion.
"I have never laid a hand on my husband in fifteen years of marriage," I said clearly.
Detective Miller opened the thick file and slid a glossy photograph across the metal table.
I looked down and gasped in pure horror.
It was a recent picture of Eric sitting in a hospital bed.
His face was severely beaten, his eye was swollen shut, and his arm was wrapped in a heavy plaster cast.
"Your husband filed a police report claiming you viciously attacked him with a golf club when you discovered his affair," the detective read from the file.
"He claims he fled to Las Vegas with your sister because he was genuinely terrified for his life."
Eric had created the perfect, ultimate alibi for his sudden disappearance.
"He is framing me for everything," I whispered, realizing the absolute genius of his evil plan.
Detective Miller leaned forward, tapping his pen aggressively against the table.
"We found the bloody golf club hidden in the trunk of your car this morning," the detective revealed.
"And we have a sworn witness statement from the person who treated his wounds before he fled."
I narrowed my eyes, desperate for any single piece of information I could use to destroy his web of lies.
"Who is the witness?" I demanded angrily.
May you like
The detective flipped to the next page of the file and read the name aloud.
"The witness is your own mother."
