Chapter 4 - The Interrogation Room
The observation room behind the two-way mirror was dark. Daniel Mercer stood in the corner with his arms crossed, watching as I pushed open the heavy steel door to Interrogation Room B.
Eric sat at the metal table, wearing an orange orange county jumpsuit. His wrists were cuffed to a heavy iron ring bolted to the floor. He looked exhausted, his hair messy, his eyes bloodshot from two days in a holding cell.
I sat down across from him, laying a manila folder flat on the cold steel table.
"Claire," Eric rasped, his voice desperate as he leaned forward as far as the chains would allow. "You have to help me. Vanessa is going crazy in her cell. The guards here are monsters! They won't even let me call my lawyer!"
"You called your lawyer, Eric," I said smoothly. "Harrison Vance called the Captain two hours ago. He took one look at the hidden camera footage from Mom’s living room, realized you were caught on camera assaulting an elderly woman, and officially withdrew as your legal counsel."
Eric’s face drained of color. "What?... No... Uncle Harrison wouldn't abandon me!"
"Uncle Harrison is a corporate lawyer who protects his own reputation," I said, opening the folder. "He isn't going to prison for a pathetic, abusive loser who got caught on tape boasting about letting his mother freeze to death."
"It was a joke!" Eric yelled, his voice cracking hysterically. "I was drunk, Claire! I was angry! I would never have actually left her out there! Vanessa locked the door, not me!"
"Vanessa says otherwise," I lied, leaning back in my chair. "In her statement this morning, Vanessa claimed you were the one who planned the entire scheme. She said you struck Mom across the face when she refused to hand over her social security card."
"That lying bitch!" Eric roared, slamming his handcuffed hands onto the table. The metal clattered violently against the iron ring. "She was the one who found Arthur Vance! She’s the one who called Julian!"
I didn't break eye contact. "Tell me about Julian, Eric."
Eric froze mid-breath. His chest heaved as he realized what he had just admitted. "Julian... I don't know what you're talking about."
"Julian Vance. Apex Holdings," I said, pulling six property records from the file and spreading them out like playing cards across the table. "He paid you fifty thousand dollars in cash last month to get Mom’s thumbprint on that deed. He told you if you got her off the property before the end of the year, he’d give you another two hundred thousand once the light-rail developers bought the lot."
"I... I can't talk about Julian," Eric whispered, his arrogant composure finally collapsing into sheer terror. "You don't know who he works with, Claire. He has people everywhere. If I talk, he’ll kill me!"
"You’re already facing twenty-five years in maximum security for attempted murder, elder abuse, and grand forgery, Eric," I said, my voice low, dropping like a lead hammer onto his chest. "In state prison, former middle-class predators who abuse seventy-year-old mothers don't fare very well."
Eric began to weep, heavy, pathetic sobs that shook his shoulders. "I didn't mean to hurt her... I was so broke, Claire... I owed gambling money to people in Miami... Vanessa was going to leave me..."
"Where is the original signed contract with Apex Holdings, Eric?" I demanded, leaning over the table. "Give me Julian, and I’ll tell the prosecutor to drop the attempted murder count down to conspiracy."
Eric wiped his nose with his sleeve, trembling violently. "In... in Vanessa’s safety deposit box at First National Bank. Key is under the floorboard in our master closet."
May you like
I stood up, closing the folder with a sharp snap.
"Thank you, Eric," I said cold-bloodedly. "You just saved yourself fifteen years. But you’re still going away for a very long time."
