Chapter 8
Under the harsh, unblinking glare of the metallic ceiling lights in the precinct’s primary interrogation room, Arthur sat with his elbows resting on the stainless-steel table. His expensive charcoal suit was now rumpled, his tie loosened, and his hair slightly disheveled. He tapped his index finger against the metal surface in a rapid, nervous rhythm.
The heavy door swung open, and Detective Miller—no relation to the suspect—walked in, carrying a thick cardboard box filled with documents, computer printouts, and photographs recovered from the wedding venue and Arthur’s home office.
Detective Miller dropped the box onto the table with a dull thud. "Morning, Arthur. Hope you slept well on our holding cell mattress."
Arthur scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a practiced display of arrogant indifference. "This is an outrageous misunderstanding. I want my attorney present. I haven't answered any questions yet, and I won't start now without formal counsel."
"Your attorney is currently stuck in traffic on the interstate, Mr. Miller, so you have plenty of time to talk to me," Detective Miller replied smoothly, pulling out a chair and sitting down directly across from him. The detective slid a single photograph across the table—the image of the freshly dug grave with the pale hand protruding from the dirt. "Care to explain how landscaping work accidentally resembles a six-foot burial plot directly outside your wedding venue?"
Arthur’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression rigid. "My landscaper misunderstood my instructions. We were expanding the garden beds for the reception photos. It was an unfortunate error in communication."
Detective Miller let out a short, cold laugh. "An error in communication? That’s fascinating, considering your landscaper was questioned an hour ago, and he signed a sworn affidavit stating that you paid him in cash two days ago specifically to dig a deep drainage trench behind the rosebushes—and that you explicitly told him not to lay any sod or piping."
Arthur’s tapping finger stopped instantly. The color drained from his face as he realized his alibi had completely evaporated.
"And let's talk about the financial side of things," Detective Miller continued, opening a folder to reveal the bank transfer statements. "Over three hundred thousand dollars siphoned from Sarah’s personal investment accounts into an offshore entity controlled by you and Ms. Vance. That’s not a marital dispute, Arthur. That’s premeditated grand larceny and attempted murder for financial gain."
"Clara suggested it," Arthur blurted out before he could stop himself, panic finally cracking his facade. "She threatened to expose my previous business debts if I didn't cooperate. She drove the entire plan!"
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Detective Miller smiled slowly, picking up a small digital recorder from the table and flashing the blinking red light. "Thank you for that clarification, Arthur. Your confession has been duly noted for the record."
***
