CHAPTER 17
“What is your relationship with Mr. Ronald Wilson?”
I swallowed a lump around my throat to find my speech coherence. “He is the grandfather of my husband. As such my grandfather-in-law.”
She scribbled on her notepad and continued.
“Do you perhaps have some personal grudge against him maybe because of a past conflict or disagreement?”
Her question caught me off guard. Grimacing in confusion, I stammered, trying to reiterate my point, “No…no, I don’t. Why would I hold a grudge against a man who has been so good to me from the very first day he set his eyes on me…”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “You tell me.”
She was taking this the wrong way. Robert’s Grandpa and I have been on good terms right from the start. He was my late grandpa’s best friend. The long-standing promise they made to each other before my grandpa died was the only reason I got the chance to be this close to Robert as his wife after all those years of not seeing him and being far away from him. But he wasn’t aware Robert and I’s marriage was based on a contract. Robert had deceived him and the whole family, making it look like we had married in court. Robert made me swear never to tell him because he would disapprove and demand we have a proper wedding. As much as I wanted that, I had to keep my mouth shut so Robert wouldn’t hate me and wish he didn’t marry me.
I was forever grateful to his grandpa. In return, I promised to be a very dutiful wife to Robert and a loyal daughter-in-law to the entire family. The last thing I could think of was to hold a grudge against him.
But come to think of it, I couldn’t seem to understand why the detective lady was asking me all these questions about Robert’s grandpa. I thought Robert was the one murdered, not his grandpa. Or is there something I’m not aware of?
“Or you could be holding a grudge against the entire Wilson family for maybe treating you unfairly or threatening to take away something that belongs to you,” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me.
My mouth fell open as I let out a scoff, more shocked than ever. It was as if she wanted me to admit to something I didn’t do so she could pin the blame on me.
“I don’t understand the direction you’re heading with all these questions,” I said exhaustively, feeling extremely confused. “I don’t belong in this place. Like I told you, I’m not capable of killing anyone. I didn’t kill my husband… I’m innocent of any murder you and your colleagues are accusing me of.”
“If you’re innocent then how do you explain this security footage of you leaving the crime scene a few minutes after the murder was committed last night?”
Quickly, she turned on her tablet device and I watched in confusion and intense curiosity as she made a few scrolls. She showed me a video of a woman that looked…that looked exactly like me and dressed in my long trench coat, head scarf and sunglasses furtively leaving a room.
That room belonged to Robert’s grandpa, Ronald Wilson. It was his penthouse apartment located on the outskirts of the city. He usually went there for short vacations and other personal reasons. He’d been there for close to a week now. The last time we saw each other was the day before he went. He had asked how Robert was treating me and I lied over it, covering up for Robert. From day one, I’ve been hiding the truth, pretending our marriage was perfect while deep down it was crumbling every day. Robert treated me like a pest, counting down to the days left for our contract to expire.
From the looks of it, Robert’s grandpa was the one murdered here, not Robert. Though that was a relief, I was still heartbroken knowing the one person who had my best interest at heart was killed in cold blood by someone who everybody thinks it’s me.
Disoriented from what I just saw, I stared at the detective lady with my eyes wide. “That’s not me. I never went to his penthouse last night. Someone is obviously trying to set me up!…”
“Do you have evidence to back up that claim?” She asked as if to challenge me.
Though I suspected Scarlett could be the one responsible for the set-up, I wasn’t sure. This was something far too big and complicated for her to carry out. I knew she was evil and swore to kick me out of Robert’s life, but orchestrating his grandpa’s murder? That seemed beyond her. She wouldn’t do that to Robert. What will she gain?
I needed to find out who that woman in the video was. Why did she look just like me? And who had sent her to do this?
“Yesterday I was with my husband, Robert in my apartment. We had a little misunderstanding and after he left, I spent the night in a nearby guesthouse. I never went to that penthouse. I have never even been there before.”
I didn’t go into details concerning what happened yesterday between me and Robert before she suspected anything else because she was looking for the slightest opportunity or information she could get to incriminate me.
Spending the night at the guesthouse was a strong alibi to prove I wasn’t in his grandpa’s penthouse apartment last night he was murdered. At least if I couldn’t prove that someone set me up on all this, I could prove that one.
The detective lady shook her head mockingly, sniggering at me. “Funny thing here is that your husband, Robert who you seem to love very much and speak so highly of and the entire Wilson family identified the woman on the footage to be you. Even looking at you now, I can see the descriptions match exactly,” she said, glancing momentarily at the tablet screen and me to confirm.
“That woman may have my height and body type, but I can assure you that isn’t me. She’s heavily clothed and the camera is a bit far and not quality enough,” I protested.
The woman was wearing my very long trench coat, reaching her ankles. The headscarf covered the entirety of her head and neck and the stylishly oversized glasses, her eyes, preventing anyone from recognizing her, even if the image was zoomed in. Everything she was putting on was mine. It made me extremely baffled as I wondered how she got them all. I never give out my clothes to anyone and haven’t had any of my clothes missing or stolen before. Even if they were stolen, what type of thief steals people’s clothes?
The detective lady looked at me as if contemplating. Then she said, “You may have an innocent-looking face and claim you didn’t do this but I have seen people like you every day commit acts beyond anybody’s imagination. All the evidence we have against you is concrete. No one can see them and deny you did this.”
I wanted to say something but she cut me off rudely by tilting her head towards the door and calling someone.
Seconds later, the stocky policeman with tawny gold hair came in. He was the same one who had come with her to arrest me. The same one who had roughly grabbed me by the arm in the car and threw me back against the seat.
He lowered and she whispered something into his ear. He nodded and left quickly.
“Let’s see if you’re as innocent as you claim you are,” she relaxed back in her seat and crossed her arms, a sinisterly mischievous smirk playing around the corners of her lips.
My pulse beat erratically as I tried to make meaning out of her words and expressions. It seemed like she was having fun accusing me falsely and torturing me with her questions and keeping me in this cold, uncomfortable place.
Moments later, the policeman returned with a clear plastic bag and handed it over to her. My mouth dropped open, intense shock hitting my face like a punch when I saw what was inside.
It was a knife smeared with a lot of blood.
“Recognize this?” She pushed it forward to me with a cold sneer.
“Yes…” I managed to respond through stiff lips. “My…my kitchen knife.”
“You mean the same kitchen knife you used to stab Mr. Ronald Wilson twenty times in the chest?”