Chapter 13 - The Arrogance of a Cornered Predator
The interrogation room at the downtown precinct was exactly as cold and uninviting as the movies portrayed it.
The walls were painted a dull,
lifeless gray,
and the single fluorescent bulb overhead buzzed with a low,
annoying hum.
Michael sat at the metal table,
his posture perfect,
his suit completely free of wrinkles,
looking utterly out of place in the dreary room.
Detective Vance sat across from him,
a thick manila folder resting on the table between them.
I watched through the one-way mirror from the dark observation room,
my arms crossed tightly over my chest,
my fingernails digging into my own skin.
I had insisted on being here,
leaving Emily asleep under the watchful eye of a police guard at the hospital.
I needed to see his face,
I needed to hear his lies,
I needed to know exactly what kind of monster I was dealing with.
"Mr. Miller,"
Vance began,
his voice calm,
authoritative,
and completely unimpressed by Michael's expensive clothes.
"Do you understand the charges being brought against you?"
Michael smiled,
a thin,
patronizing curve of his lips that made my stomach turn violently.
"I understand that my wife is going through a severe mental breakdown,"
Michael replied,
his voice smooth as silk,
dripping with fake sympathy.
"She has always been unstable,
Detective,
prone to wild accusations when she feels she is losing control."
Vance didn't react,
he just opened the folder,
pulling out a printed still frame from the video.
It showed Michael's hand,
holding the small plastic bottle,
pouring the neon green liquid into Emily's mug.
"Is this a symptom of your wife's mental breakdown?"
Vance asked,
sliding the photograph across the metal table.
Michael looked down at the picture,
and for a fraction of a second,
his jaw tightened,
the only physical sign that he was trapped.
But the mask quickly slipped back into place.
"That is food coloring,"
Michael lied smoothly,
looking back up at the detective without blinking.
"Emily was complaining that the tea looked dull,
so I added a drop of green food coloring to make it look more herbal."
I gasped in the observation room,
my hands flying to my mouth in absolute disbelief.
He was a sociopath,
a brilliant,
terrifying liar who could invent an excuse for anything.
"Food coloring?"
Vance repeated,
his eyebrows raising in mock surprise.
"That's interesting,
Mr. Miller,
because the toxicology report came back from the hospital."
Vance pulled another piece of paper from the folder,
tapping it firmly with his index finger.
"Your daughter has severe ethylene glycol poisoning,"
the detective stated,
his voice growing louder,
more aggressive.
"Antifreeze,
Mr. Miller."
"A tragedy,"
Michael said,
shaking his head,
his face a perfect picture of fatherly grief.
"She must have gotten into the garage,
perhaps a suicide attempt,
she has been under so much pressure at school."
"You son of a bitch,"
I hissed,
hitting the glass window with my fist,
even though I knew he couldn't hear me.
He was blaming her.
He was poisoning her,
and now he was trying to paint her as a suicidal teenager to save his own skin.
"We have the video,
Michael,"
Vance said,
leaning across the table,
his patience wearing incredibly thin.
"We have the tox screen,
and we are tearing your house apart right now,
looking for the rest of that poison."
Michael leaned back in his chair,
crossing his legs elegantly,
completely unbothered by the threat.
"You won't find anything,"
Michael promised,
and I knew he was telling the truth,
because I had seen him bleach the kitchen,
I had seen him wash his sins down the drain.
"And without physical evidence,
Detective,
that video is circumstantial,
easily manipulated by a bitter wife looking for a massive divorce settlement."
He checked his expensive watch,
sighing softly.
"My lawyer will be here in ten minutes,
and I suggest you have my release papers ready."
He looked directly at the one-way mirror,
his cold,
dead eyes staring right into mine,
as if he knew exactly where I was standing.
"This is a mistake,"
Michael said to the glass,
"and someone is going to pay very dearly for it."
I stepped back from the window,
a cold chill running down my spine.
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He wasn't acting like a man who had been caught,
he was acting like a man who was already planning his revenge.
