Chapter 4 - The Witness
The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room buzzed with a low, headache-inducing frequency, reflecting off the sterile metal table between Detective Miller and the man sitting on the other side. That man was Carlos, a homeless man with a beard matted with grease and eyes that darted around the room like a trapped bird.
Carlos pointed a trembling, nicotine-stained finger at the glass partition where Emily stood, her breath hitched in her throat. "I saw him," Carlos rasped, his voice cracking. "I was sleeping under the bridge near the cul-de-sac. I heard the truck. I looked through the bushes. He was carrying her. She was limp. He was dragging her toward the storm drain."
Emily felt a rush of adrenaline, a cold fire in her veins that chased away the numbness of the past week. It was happening. Justice was coming. Detective Miller nodded solemnly, making notes, and then signaled the uniformed officers. They approached Marcus, who sat calmly in the chair opposite the interrogation room, his hands folded loosely in his lap. He didn't even look up when the cuffs clicked around his wrists.
As Marcus was led out, his face impassive, Emily felt a wave of vindication crash over her. She had been right. The nightmare was ending. Marcus was going to prison.
But as Emily walked out of the station, the relief curdled into confusion. Detective Miller caught up to her, his expression grim. "Ms. Vance, I hate to do this to you, but we have to follow the facts."
"What facts?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Carlos saw him!"
"The problem is," Miller said, opening his notebook, "the weather report for that night was clear. Zero wind, no storms. Carlos claims it was a torrential downpour. Also, his record shows a history of fraud and false witness statements for minor crimes. It’s possible he's conflating this with something else."
Emily’s stomach dropped. "He wouldn't lie about this."
"He might be desperate for a place to stay," Miller said cautiously.
Emily rushed back to the station, her mind racing. She needed to see Carlos again. She needed to make him understand the stakes. She bypassed the front desk and demanded to see the detainee in holding. The officer hesitated, looking at his computer, then nodded and pointed her toward the visitation room.
The room was small, partitioned by a thick glass wall and a steel table. Carlos was already there, slumped in his chair, looking smaller than he had in the interrogation room.
"Carlos," Emily said, her voice barely a whisper. "Did you see him? Did you see Marcus?"
Carlos looked up, his eyes wide and terrified. He leaned in close to the glass, his face pressing against the cold surface. "Ms. Vance, please," he whispered, so softly it was almost inaudible. "I didn't see anything. I told them I saw him because he... he pays me."
"Who?" Emily pressed, gripping the table until her knuckles turned white. "Who is paying you?"
"He's got money, lady. He gave me cash. He said if I didn't say I saw him, he’d burn down the shelter I sleep in. He said he’d make sure I never saw the sun again."
Emily stepped back, the air leaving her lungs. Marcus had a network. He had resources, and he had people willing to lie for him.
Just then, the door at the back of the room opened, and Marcus’s lawyer, a man named Mr. Henderson, walked in. He was holding a tablet, a smug expression plastered across his face.
"Ms. Vance," Henderson said, gesturing to the tablet screen. "I assume you're here to see your husband. I thought it might help to clear the air. I have proof of my client's whereabouts during the time in question."
Emily stared at the screen. It was a gallery of photos. Marcus was standing at a charity gala, surrounded by wealthy donors, holding a glass of champagne. He was smiling, laughing at a joke. It was a high-end event, the kind of place Marcus rarely visited.
"He was at the Heart Foundation Gala," Henderson stated triumphantly. "These photos were taken at 8:00 PM. The exact time Agnes went missing."
Emily looked at the photos. They were high-resolution, clearly professional shots. The lighting was perfect. Marcus looked perfectly at ease. If he was there, he couldn't have been at the storm drain.
But then, her eyes caught something in the reflection of the champagne glass in the third photo. It wasn't the ballroom. It was the faint, grey glow of a computer monitor sitting on a desk. And in the reflection, she could see a blurred image of a man sitting at that desk, staring directly into the camera lens.
It wasn't Marcus in the reflection. It was a man in a suit, but the face was obscured.
"What is that?" Emily asked, pointing at the reflection.
"What?" Henderson frowned, looking at the screen.
"The reflection," Emily said, her voice trembling. "In the glass. There's a computer screen in the reflection. It looks like... it looks like a video call."
Henderson paused, his eyes narrowing. "I assure you, these are real-time photos taken at the event. My client is a respected member of the community."
"Then why is there a reflection of a computer screen?" Emily demanded. "Who was he video calling?"
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Henderson closed the tablet and tucked it under his arm, his smile faltering. "Ms. Vance, you are clearly under a great deal of stress. You're seeing things that aren't there. We should be getting you home."
He turned and walked out, leaving Emily alone with Carlos. The homeless man was still pressed against the glass, his eyes filled with a desperate, silent plea. Emily looked at him, then back at the photos. The reflection was undeniable.
