#100WordsOrLess ‘8 times eh?’ ‘Yup. Every single time it was the neighbours who dialled 911. The lady, Delilah, would answer the bell with a cut lip or a black eye. There would be no charges. The bastard would never come out to the door even. Last time was especially bad. The kid got in the way, trying to protect his mom. He didn’t go to school for 3 days.’ ‘Hmmmmmm.’ Roland thanked the patrolman and sipped his coffee. The Thompsons were an old family, with old money. They had once been grain merchants, serving the whole state, but their fortunes had changed in the 70’s. But despite losses in business, they still had timber rights in the mountains and were still amongst the wealthiest in the city. Last three to four years had been good. Delilah Thompson had taken over the management of the business and despite her meek appearance she seemed to possess common sense in abundance – turning the business into a decently profitable one. She was now seated 4 doors down the hallway, accused of first degree murder. The victim was her husband, the Late Richard Thompson, a vicious cunt if there was ever one. -- Detective Sean Roland walked down the hallway. The Thompson’s little boy was right outside the interrogation room with his nanny, his feet hanging off the chair. He gave the boy a friendly nod and headed on. Roland was pushing 40’s and there was more grey than black in his sparse hair. But at 6’5” and 230lbs, he was still a sight that scared most petty criminals into confessing. After 28 years on the force, Roland had seen everything. Delilah Thompson sat in the chair rigid and unmoving, gazing at a point far off. But she wasn’t alone. Her counsel, Ronald Hopper Esq., with his shiny suit and polished shoes was with her. Roland didn’t think all lawyers were bottom feeding scum. Only those who defended the guilty were that. ‘Mrs. Thompson, Delilah, I’m Detective Sean Roland. I’m the investigating officer in this case. Have you been advised of your rights?’ She gave a dull nod. ‘May I know where you were between 3:30pm and 4:30pm yesterday?’ ‘In the office’, came the hushed reply. ‘Anyone who can corroborate this? Anyone who saw you in office at the time?’ ‘No, I was alone.’ ‘Ohhh.’ ‘Why am I here?’ ‘I thought you had been advised of your rights. You are our prime suspect in the murder of your husband, Richard Thompson.’ Roland watched her carefully. There was genuine bewilderment in her eyes. Or she was a good actor. He took a deep breath in and watched her as he began to explain. ‘At approximately 3:45pm, there was a gas explosion in your house. The neighbours called 911 and by 3:53pm, the firemen reached your place. Unlike what most people imagine, gas explosions aren’t that destructive to property. There are 6 valves between your stove and the main gas line from the street and therefore, the blaze was a limited one. But the initial build-up of gas and the explosion, when your husband walked in with a lit cigarette, threw him smack against a wall.’ He looked at her, trying to read her expression. It was somewhere between grief and relief. Roland didn’t blame her. The only thing certain about this case was that Richard Thompson deserved every bit of what he got. He continued. ‘He had broken 3 vertebrae in the impact. As you already know, he passed away this morning. The fire investigator though, found an interesting point.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Roland saw her lawyer perk up. When Roland spoke, it was a low, almost theatrical whisper. ‘The investigator found the half burnt stove’s valve. It was damaged, but he was certain, that there was nothing wrong with the valve itself. Someone had deliberately opened it. And knowing your husband was never more than a few seconds away from a cigarette, we suspect you left it conveniently open for him.’ ‘No. No. NOOO.’ Delilah recoiled back in her chair with a look of genuine horror on her face. Roland had seen a lot of actors, but never one as good as her. Either that, or she was innocent. ‘When did you leave the house yesterday Delilah?’ ‘Around 3:15pm. Timmy was going to leave to the park with the nanny. I wanted to leave before Richard came in. I had some paperwork to do.’ ‘What if Timmy hadn’t left to the park when Richard had come in? Did you ever stop to think he could’ve been caught in the explosion?’ ‘NOOOO. I’d never take that chance. Please. You have to believe me. Timmy was the only reason I was still with Richard. On the rare occasions he was sober, Richard was a great Dad. Timmy adored him.’ Roland was silent for a few seconds. Gathering his thoughts. Delilah was an intelligent woman, if somewhat stupidly sentimental. Why the gas? Why take the risk with her boy? There were always other, more fool-proof ways. Like a badly maintained car. Brake wires snapped all the time. A faulty electrical socket. Men get electrocuted all the time. Or a couple of pills exchanged – by mistake of course. There was no chance of the kid getting hurt and no reasonable chance of her getting caught. Something struck him and he left the room, leaving the lawyer and his client surprised. He flipped through the crime scene photos and looked at the home. Every room. Every socket was around 5 feet off the floor. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom was even farther out of reach. Only the stove was a few feet off the ground. Sean Roland took a deep breath. 28 years. 69 cases. 65 convictions. Spotless conscience. -- Roland walked down the same hallway, but this time sat down next to the kid. The nanny was still asleep. ‘Hey kid.’ ‘Hey.’ ‘Listen, about your dad.’ ‘Ya?’ ‘Your mom is okay now. No one can hurt her from now on. She’ll take care of you. And you be good okay.’ ‘Okay.’ Sean Roland heaved his big frame off the little chair and slowly walked away. 28 years. 70 cases. 65 convictions. Spotless conscience.
Posted on: Sat, 13 Sep 2014 13:04:50 +0000
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