Chapter 9 - The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room was painfully cold. The stainless-steel table reflected the harsh overhead fluorescent light right into Clara’s eyes. She sat with her hands cuffed to a bolted ring in the center of the table, her burned finger wrapped in a stiff, sterile hospital bandage.
The heavy metal door clicked open, and Detective Vance walked in, carrying a thick manila folder. He was a middle-aged man with weary eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a rumpled grey suit that suggested he had been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.
Vance dropped the folder onto the table with a heavy thud and pulled out a metal chair, sitting down across from Clara. He stared at her in silence for a long moment, studying her bruised face and ruined dress.
"Your mother—excuse me, Martha—has filed formal charges against you," Vance said finally, his voice flat and professional. "Assault with a deadly weapon, destruction of property, and trespassing on her private estate."
"She isn't my mother!" Clara said, leaning forward despite the handcuffs. "She kidnapped me when I was a baby! She murdered my real mother and buried her in the garden!"
Vance opened the folder and flipped through a few typed pages. "We excavated the south garden, Ms. Hayes. Do you know what we found?"
Clara’s heart stopped. She held her breath, waiting for the confirmation that would destroy Martha once and for all. "A body," Clara breathed. "My mother's body."
Vance sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We found an old pet cemetery, Clara. Dozens of marked graves for dogs and cats dating back forty years. No human remains. No bones. Nothing."
Clara shook her head violently. "No! That's impossible! Evelyn was there! Evelyn knows the truth!"
"Evelyn is currently in the hospital heavily sedated and refusing to speak to investigators," Vance replied, watching Clara closely. "Furthermore, legal documents filed with the state prove that Martha legally adopted you with the full consent of your biological parents, who signed away their rights twenty-eight years ago."
The room seemed to spin. Clara stared at the detective, realizing the terrifying depth of Martha’s preparation. Every single contingency had been accounted for. The system was built to protect people like Martha.
"She burned a bag," Clara whispered, a tear finally escaping down her cheek. "A pink quilted luxury bag that belonged to the past. It had proof inside it."
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Detective Vance closed the folder slowly. "There is no proof left in that fire pit, Clara. But there is one detail that doesn't quite add up in Martha's neat little story."
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