Chapter 7 - The Interrogation Room
The sterile fluorescent lights of the county precinct interrogation room hummed a low, aggressive frequency that seemed to vibrate inside Arthur’s skull. He sat rigidly in a bolted-down metal chair, his light blue button-down shirt stiff with dried sweat and road dust. Across the scarred wooden table sat Detective Miller, a tired-looking woman with sharp gray eyes and a black coffee cup that had long since gone cold.
“Let’s try this again, Arthur,” Detective Miller said, sliding a glossy photograph across the table. It showed the interior of the canvas duffel bag, the neat stacks of banded cash gleaming under the harsh police lights. “You want me to believe that a mysterious bag of stolen money just magically appeared at your feet in an empty field?”
Arthur gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. “I’ve told you the truth twenty times! We were stranded. My daughter was in labor. That man in the red truck pulled over, and then the police showed up. I don’t know anything about a bank robbery!”
Detective Miller took a slow sip of her cold coffee, never breaking eye contact. “Marcus Vance—the man in the red truck—has a very different story. He claims you and your daughter hired him as a getaway driver after hitting the First National Federal Reserve branch in Oak Creek.”
Arthur let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “That’s insane! We were sitting in a folding chair by a wooden fence for three hours before he even drove by! How could we have robbed a bank?”
“According to Marcus’s digital footprint, your phone was pinging near the Oak Creek branch thirty minutes before the alarm went off,” Miller replied smoothly, tapping a printed report. “And worse, Arthur... your daughter’s fingerprints are all over the exterior zipper of that duffel bag.”
Arthur felt the breath leave his lungs as if he had been struck in the chest with a sledgehammer. “That’s impossible. She could barely stand up from the pain. She didn’t touch that bag.”
“The forensics lab says otherwise,” Miller said softly, leaning forward over the table. “Now, where is Clara right now? The medical examiner transferred her to the county hospital under heavy guard, but she hasn't spoken a word since she arrived.”
Arthur swallowed hard, a sudden wave of sheer terror washing over him. “How is the baby? Did she have the baby?”
Detective Miller’s expression hardened into an impenetrable mask. She closed the manila folder in front of her with a sharp snap that echoed in the tiny room.
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“That’s the most interesting part, Arthur,” Miller whispered, her eyes narrowing. “The doctors ran an emergency ultrasound at the hospital. They didn't find a baby inside Clara at all.”
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