Chapter 3 - The Cold Room
The interrogation room was freezing.
A single fluorescent light hummed overhead.
Mark sat with his hands cuffed to the metal table.
Four hours had passed.
No one had offered him water.
No one had asked for his statement.
The door finally clicked open.
A female detective walked in carrying a thick Manila folder.
She dropped the folder onto the table with a loud thud.
"Detective Vance," she introduced herself briefly.
She sat down across from Mark without offering a smile.
"Where are my daughters?" Mark demanded immediately.
"They are in a safe environment," Vance replied flatly.
"They are not safe!" Mark leaned forward.
"Sarah is unstable! She's hurting them!" Mark said fiercely.
Detective Vance opened the folder slowly.
She pulled out several glossy photographs.
She slid them across the table toward Mark.
Mark looked down at the photos.
His stomach turned.
They were high-resolution photographs of his daughters.
The photos showed bruises on Lily's arms, legs, and back.
There were dates stamped on the bottom corner of each photo.
The dates went back six months.
"These were taken over the last half year," Vance said coldly.
"That's impossible," Mark stammered.
"I shower them, I play with them... I've never seen these!" Mark argued.
"That's what all the abusers say, Mr. Miller," Vance said.
"I didn't do this!" Mark roared.
"Look at the medical reports, Mark," Vance continued calmly.
"Your wife filed three separate reports with her therapist."
"She documented your sudden outbursts of rage."
"She documented your drinking," Vance added.
Mark stared at her in utter shock.
"I don't drink!" Mark shouted.
"I haven't had a drink in five years!" he yelled.
"According to the blood panel we ran when you arrived..." Vance paused.
She pulled out a single sheet of paper from the file.
"...your system contains significant levels of alcohol and sedatives."
Mark felt a cold chill run down his spine.
He remembered his morning coffee.
Sarah had made it for him before he left for the office.
It had tasted slightly bitter.
He had thought nothing of it at the time.
"She poisoned me," Mark realized out loud.
His voice was barely audible.
"She's setting me up," Mark said, looking up at the detective.
Detective Vance let out a tired sigh.
"Mr. Miller, every violent parent has an excuse."
"Your wife has medical records, therapist logs, and your children's testimony."
"What do you have?" Vance asked.
Mark pressed his hands against the cold metal table.
"I have the truth," Mark said desperately.
"Truth doesn't hold up in court, Mr. Miller," Vance said.
"Evidence does."
The detective stood up to leave the room.
"Wait!" Mark shouted, straining against the cuffs.
"Check the sliding glass door handle!" Mark urged.
"I came in through the back!" Mark said.
"I left handprints on the glass!" Mark explained.
"Sarah was holding the bat with her bare hands!" Mark added.
"Her fingerprints are all over that bat!" Mark pleaded.
Detective Vance paused at the door.
She looked back at Mark with a strange expression.
"What bat, Mr. Miller?" Vance asked.
Mark blinked.
"The baseball bat!" Mark said.
"The one she was holding over the girls!" Mark insisted.
Detective Vance shook her head slowly.
"The officers searched your entire home, Mark."
May you like
"There was no baseball bat in the living room."
"There was no bat anywhere in the house."
