Chapter 7 - Handcuffs and Hollow Promises
The heavy footsteps of responding officers echoed loudly down the hallway, stamping out the quiet tension in the room. A tall, broad-shouldered detective in a charcoal trench coat strode into Evelyn’s office, his badge gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights that Richard had just switched on. Behind him, two local patrol officers moved quickly, securing the perimeter and eyeing the shattered window with practiced suspicion.
Detective Vance surveyed the scene: Evelyn standing frozen in her sequined gown, Julian slumped against the doorframe, Richard looking mildly inconvenienced, and little Clara holding the peach peony flower near the mahogany desk.
"Detective Vance, Portland PD," the man announced, his voice deep and gravelly. He looked directly at Richard. "We received an anonymous tip regarding financial fraud tied to this estate, and a secondary report concerning an open homicide investigation from twelve years ago. I think everyone in this room needs to come down to the precinct for questioning."
Richard didn't blink. He calmly straightened the cuffs of his tuxedo, offering the detective a disarming, practiced smile. "There's been a terrible misunderstanding, Detective. My associates and I were merely discussing a routine board audit. As for events twelve years ago, that case was officially closed and ruled an accidental drowning."
"Cases involving missing bodies aren't typically closed, Mr. Vance," the detective replied dryly, stepping further into the room. He motioned to the patrol officers. "Secure Mr. Mercer and Mr. Thorne. Separate them."
As the officers moved in, clicking the cold steel handcuffs around Julian’s wrists, Julian didn't resist. He kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the floor. As they led him past Evelyn, he whispered three words that made her blood run cold.
"Check the boathouse floor."
Evelyn didn't respond. She stood paralyzed as Richard was also cuffed, his expression remaining irritatingly calm as he was escorted out of the room. The flashing red and blue lights outside continued to paint the walls in shifting hues of violence and panic.
Detective Vance lingered behind, noticing the microchip clutched in Evelyn’s hand and the artificial flower in Clara’s grip. He crouched down slightly to meet the little girl's eyes.
"And who might you be, young lady?" the detective asked gently. "Where are your parents?"
Clara looked up, her blue eyes reflecting the flashing lights outside. "My mother is outside. She’s waiting by the river."
Evelyn snapped out of her trance. She shoved the microchip into Detective Vance's hand. "Get forensics down to the old boathouse immediately. Tear up the floorboards if you have to. There's something buried under there."
The detective looked at the microchip, then up at Evelyn’s fierce, desperate face. Without a word, he turned and barked orders into his shoulder radio.
May you like
Ten minutes later, Evelyn walked out into the cold night air, her glittering gown trailing over the wet grass, with Clara holding her hand tightly. As they approached the edge of the dark, rushing river, a figure emerged from the heavy mist, wrapped in a familiar, weather-worn scarf.
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