Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room ShockerBy the time I returned to St. Catherine’s Hospital, the sun was beginning to break over the city skyline, casting a pale, cold light through the glass lobby.
Sophie was out of surgery. Dr. Patel met me near the ICU waiting area, looking exhausted but relieved.
“She made it through, Mara,” Dr. Patel said, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “The internal lacerations to her spleen were severe, but we managed to repair them without a full splenectomy. She’s resting in the pediatric ICU. She’s still sedated, but her vitals are stable.”
“Thank God,” I breathed, letting out a sob of pure exhaustion. “Can I see her?”
“Give us thirty minutes to settle her vitals, then absolutely.”
Before I could head toward the ICU, Detective Miller of the City Police Department intercepted me in the hallway. He was a seasoned veteran with graying temples and sharp, observant eyes.
“Dr. Vance? I’m Detective Miller. Your security team handed over your husband, along with the ER security footage and the damaged phone your nurse found.” He held up a clear evidence bag containing the black leather binder I had just retrieved from the safe. “And one of my patrol units just dropped this off after picking it up from your house. Your attorney called us about it.”
“That safe contains everything,” I said firmly, handing him the remaining digital backups I had copied onto a flash drive. “Financial records, forged documents, and photographic evidence of systematic child abuse spanning over three years.”
Detective Miller raised an eyebrow, flipping through the pages of the binder. A dark scowl crossed his weathered face.
“I’ve seen some monsters in my twenty years on the force, Dr. Vance, but this guy is operating on a whole different level of calculated sociopathy,” Miller said, closing the binder. “We’re interviewing him in Interrogation Room B right now. He’s singing a very different tune now that his lawyer hasn't arrived yet. Want to watch?”
We walked down to the basement security wing and stepped into the observation booth overlooking Interrogation Room B.
Daniel sat at the metal table wearing a paper detention jumpsuit, looking disheveled, his designer suit replaced by cheap institutional cotton. Across from him sat two detectives.
“I want my lawyer present!” Daniel barked, slamming his cuffed hands onto the table. “You have no jurisdiction to hold me! My wife—my ex-wife—orchestrated a malicious plot to ruin my reputation because she lost the custody battle!”
“Mr. Vance, save the speech for a judge,” Detective Sergeant Davis said calmly, sliding an 8x10 glossy photograph across the table. It was the close-up shot of the belt buckle bruise taken by the ER nurse. “Care to explain how a ‘fall down the stairs’ leaves a precise metallurgical impression of a custom monogrammed brass belt buckle matching the one we seized from your waist?”
Daniel stared at the photo, and for a fraction of a second, his color drained entirely.
“That’s... that’s circumstantial,” Daniel stammered, his voice losing its booming resonance. “She tripped while running outside. She’s clumsy!”
“And what about the thirty-seven audio files on her phone?” Davis continued, leaning forward. “The ones where you can clearly hear you locking her in the basement closet while threatening her with physical violence if she ever spoke to her mother about what happened?”
Daniel froze. His jaw slackened.
“What... what phone?” Daniel whispered.
“The one she hid in her boot because she knew you were hunting for it,” a voice echoed from the doorway of the observation room.
Daniel snapped his head toward the one-way mirror, as if he could somehow see straight through the glass into my eyes.
“Mara!” Daniel screamed, standing up so violently his chair tipped backward with a loud crash. “You can’t do this to me! I built this family! I built you! You’re nothing without my name!”
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Detective Miller turned to me, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
“Well, Dr. Vance,” Miller said quietly. “It looks like your husband just signed his own arrest warrant.”
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