Chapter 4 - The Interrogation
|
The vaulted brick cellar beneath the east wing was freezing and illuminated by a single hanging bulb.
Maren Vale sat on a cold wooden chair, her ruined crimson gown draped over her trembling knees.
Her designer makeup was smeared with tears, and her bare feet hovered inches above the damp concrete floor.
When the heavy steel door swung open, she flinched so hard she nearly tipped the chair backward.
Silas walked in alone, his suit jacket removed, his white shirt sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows.
In his right hand, he carried the micro-cassette recorder and Elena’s silver butterfly brooch.
He did not shout, nor did he rush toward her; his slow, deliberate footsteps sounded like a funeral march.
He set the recorder on the small metal table in front of her and pressed play.
Elena’s desperate, weeping voice echoed off the ancient masonry, filling the damp cellar with pure horror.
Maren’s eyes dilated in sheer terror as she heard her own name spoken from the grave.
“That was Elena three hours before she was forced off the cliffside road outside the city,” Silas whispered.
“You told me you were in Paris attending fashion week when my wife died.”
“You showed me plane ticket stubs, Maren.”
Maren began shaking her head violently, her teeth chattering from the cold and the suffocating guilt.
“Silas, please, you have to understand what kind of men I was dealing with!” she cried, her voice cracking.
“Don Castiglione had my brother! He told me he would butcher my entire family if I didn't infiltrate your household!”
Silas leaned down until his face was inches from hers, his dark eyes like obsidian stone.
“You told my daughter tonight that nobody wanted weeds on a five-thousand-dollar table.”
“You told a nine-year-old child that her mother had been dead for three years and it was time to move on.”
“Was that Castiglione holding a gun to your head, Maren?”
“Or did you just enjoy watching a little girl bleed inside?”
Maren sobbed uncontrollably, pressing her bound hands against her face.
“Castiglione promised me your empire!” she shrieked, dropping all pretense of innocence.
“He said you were getting soft after Elena had the baby!”
“He said if I helped get rid of Elena and married you, we could split the northern shipping ports sixty-forty!”
“Who else in this house helped you?” Silas asked, his voice dropping into a deadly, flat whisper.
“Elena was surrounded by twelve bodyguards that night.”
“Nobody gets near her Mercedes to cut a brake line unless someone with a Rourke keycard opens the garage bay.”
Maren looked up, her bloodshot eyes gleaming with a spiteful, desperate malice.
“You think you’re a king, Silas,” she spat, coughing through her tears.
“You think loyalty can be bought with bonuses and loyalty oaths.”
“Ask your cousin Julian who paid off the garage attendants that night.”
Silas did not blink.
He simply straightened his back and adjusted his silver cufflinks.
“Thank you for the truth, Maren,” Silas said quietly.
He turned toward the steel door and opened it.
“Dominic,” Silas commanded into the dark hallway.
“Call the county coroner and the district attorney.”
“Tell them we have the murder weapon, the confession, and the names for Elena Rourke’s cold case.”
“And Dominic?”
May you like
“Yes, boss?”
“Find my cousin Julian before he reaches the state border.”
