Interrogation(s)

Jail

Innocence shouldn't be debatable. If you get arrested, your innocence should be easy to decide. Thomas Drew did not have such luck. A knock on his door turned dinner into a whole ordeal. Not at first. But once the officers said the word murder, the ordeal started. 

See, what the officers didn’t know at the time was that Thomas hadn’t left his house in over a week, probably closer to two. In that timeframe, he managed to do nothing more than just keep himself alive. Sure, it had been eight days since his last shower, maybe three days since he brushed his teeth, but he is here.

Thomas lived each day unsure of where he would end up. Sometimes he’d go out, though he chose to stay in more often than not. But sometimes, for no reason, his day started with a roller coaster drop into hell. And the way up was just as slow as those coasters crank you to the top. He had lived this way since he was a child. By now, it came as second, close to first, nature to him.

All of this to say, the possibility of him murdering someone three days ago, simply could not exist. When they shouted to raise his hands, he complied. A detective walked up to him at the table and muttered the words, “Thomas Drew, I am placing you under arrest for murder. You have the right to remain silent…” He didn’t need to hear his Miranda Rights spoken to him again. Especially to himself in his own head. Though he often remained silent because he said things poorly, and that would often be used against him. 

The city passed in a blur on the way to the police station. He watched his favorite restaurants go by, wondering if he’d ever get to eat there again. Every honk he heard suddenly became sentimental, maybe the last angry honk he would ever hear. Thomas closed his eyes, choosing to exist with only darkness.

A jolt from the police cruiser shifting into park prompted him to open his eyes. The detective opened his door and guided him towards the station. The bright, fluorescent lights caused him to squint. Thomas sneezed a few times, then finally felt normal again. They placed him into a small holding cell, consisting of only a bench. The door slid shut, and he heard the lock clamp shortly after.

Unable to do much else, Thomas sat down on the bench. He leaned back against the brick wall, causing the hairs on his body to stand. His head sunk forward with exhaustion. They didn't even let him put his plate in the sink. It got left on the wooden table and probably fell victim to his dog by now.  

Interrogation

Boots clanked from down the hallway, stopping outside his cell. Thomas opened his eyes to see a guard standing outside. The guard put a key into the cell door and opened it. He took a step in, positioning his feet to maintain a solid stance. A large man over 200 pounds, about 6’4” tall, the guard easily outsized Thomas's 5’4” and 155 pound frame. The thought of trying to overpower this guard made Thomas chuckle. Ignoring his laugh, the guard's voice boomed throughout the cell.

“Inmate Drew stand and place your hands above your head,” the guard started. “Then slowly walk backwards towards me.”

Thomas followed the instructions. With a firm grasp, the guard pulled down one arm, and cuffed it. Then he repeated those actions with the other. The handcuffs dug into Thomas's wrists, causing him to wince. 

Thomas asked, “Where am I going?”

“Interrogation room,” the guard answered.

“Again?” Thomas followed up.

“Yup.”

Choosing to end the conversation, Thomas kept his mouth shut. How many times did he have to do these interrogations? The other cell inmates were hooting and hollering as the guard led him away. They walked down a white walled hallway. Picture frames hung on them. Some were officers, some were variations of the blue line flag. A hutch stood with more pictures, medals, and various commendations for the station. They were obviously a very successful department. Which made it even more frustrating they kept putting Thomas through this.

The guard opened a door and led him into the room. It was a small eight by eight cube, with a table right in the middle. Each long side of the table had a steel chair pushed in. Aside from the one way mirror that never fooled anyone, the room was empty. After Thomas sat down in a chair, the guard took off his handcuffs. 

“Wait here, the detective will be in soon,” he said. Pausing in the doorway, he added, “If you get up, I'll come back and cuff you to the table.”

Thomas nodded in acknowledgement. He wondered if he should have a lawyer by now, but figured he’d wait. Foolish, yes, but Thomas made some foolish decisions sometimes. After ten minutes—which felt like ten hours—the door squeaked open and the detective came in. 

“Hi, Mr. Drew,” he said. He leaned on the table and Thomas felt it give under his weight. He had short brown hair and his yellow teeth poked through his smile. “I'm Detective Higby.” 

“Hi,” Thomas said.

“Look, I want to make this easy on you,” Detective Higby continued. “I assume you also want to make this easy.”

“I do.”

“Great, so then, tell me why you did it?”

“I didn’t.”

“Come on, Thomas. Let’s skip this whole back and forth.”

“I didn’t do it.”

Detective Higby leaned back in his chair. He huffed, making his stomach look like jello. After a couple huffs, he leaned forward again. 

“Mr. Drew…Thomas, can I call you Thomas?” He raised his eyebrows for a response. Thomas shrugged. “Great. So, Thomas. If you just tell me now, I can help you. The longer you wait, the less I can help. You follow?” Thomas nodded, prompting Detective Higby to continue. “Great, Thomas, thank you. So, let me ask you plain and simple.

“Why did you kill that man?”

“I didn’t.”

Detective Higby banged an open hand against the table. 

“Alright, let’s just get to it then.” The detective dropped a manila folder on the table. Papers slid out making it look like a ribbon spread deck of cards. “How do you explain this?”

Thomas looked down at the paper placed in front of him. He noticed Detective Higby was missing the top half of the middle and ring fingers on his right hand. The picture showed a man that Thomas did not recognize. But the man was certainly dead.

“Shit,” Thomas looked away. “Come on, I don’t want to see that. I have no idea who that is.”

“No, Thomas, look!” Detective Higby pressed his weight on the table again. “Really look at this.”

The desire to get this over with, outweighed the disgust surging through his body. Thomas looked at the picture. Staring to make it look convincing at first—his eyes started to fixate on something. Under the body he saw the same area rug he had in his apartment. He knew it was his because of that stain right next to the table leg. Why was this dead body in his apartment? He knew that he had been staring too long.

Clearing his throat as he raised his head, he said, “Nope. I don’t recognize that person.”

Detective Higby leaned close to him. His hand drifted to the exact spot Thomas had been looking at.

“But you recognize this, right?”

Thomas felt his heart collide with his stomach. He felt his face twitch, giving Detective Higby the answer he wanted.

“So, Thomas. How do you explain that?”

“I can’t.”

“Well, that's not good then. This is enough to book you, you understand? You can spend the rest of your life in prison for this.”

“I know that, but Detective, I didn’t do this. I think I’m being set up.”

“Who would want to set you up?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas exclaimed. “I just don’t know what else this could be.”

“Thomas. Did you murder this man?”

“No. I've said no. Why do you keep asking me that?”

“I just need you to tell me the truth, Thomas.”

“I did not kill anyone. I didn’t do anything. Detective, I haven’t left my house in over a week.”

“Not a very good alibi, Thomas.”

“It’s not an alibi.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

“No.”

“Not looking good, Thomas.”

“I know that.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“I didn’t do it, god damn it.”

“Woah, calm down, Thomas.”

“I am calm. I just hate repeating myself and you keep asking me the same question.”

“Well, when you tell me you did it, I’ll stop.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“But you can’t prove it.”

“Can you prove that I did?”

“Well, I have a dead body in your house.”

“But I didn’t do it.”

“Just tell me.”

Thomas dropped his head down. He felt his chin bounce off his chest. He took a deep breath in, lifting his head. He let it out slowly.

Sitting straight up, he looked Detective Higby in the eyes. He stared for a minute, not saying a word, not so much as a single blink. Detective Higby swallowed, the gulp audible from where Thomas sat. After holding the gaze for another couple minutes, he opened his mouth.

“I,” he said. “Didn't.” A little louder. “Fucking.” Louder, accompanied by a bang on the table. Now, as loud as he can scream, a bang for each word, “DO IT!”

Reflection

Thomas opened his eyes, his reflection staring back at him. It felt like he could reach out and touch it, or the other way around. He looked down to find his glass spilled over, the wine soaking into his white rug. 

“Shit,” he muttered.

Thomas stood and ran to the kitchen. He returned with a towel and made a futile attempt to soak it out. Another day in life that ends with a stain. Sitting at the table again, he moved his chair one foot to the right. This put the centerpiece between him and the mirror.

Now, Thomas could eat his meal in peace.

At least, until those officers knock on his door again.