by Celia Crown
“Do you want money to—”
I roll my eyes, passing back the clipboard to the doctor. “I don’t want anything from you, but I do prefer one thing.”
“Anything,” he readily agrees. “Anything you want, I will provide it. My family’s legacy must continue down generations.”
If he’s worried about his son, he’s not showing it in the most affectionate way. Though, I don’t know how people in this world works. They probably wipe their tears with freshly printed money and fish whales with gold bars.
“You cannot support your son in any way.” I hold a finger up. “That’s the only condition. Leave the rest to me as I will see him behind bars as he deserves, and this way, he wouldn’t have the resources to leave the country.”
I sign as the hand around my wrist tightens. I cock my head, finding Mr. Wolf’s eyes with my amber ones. “It’d be a pain to chase after a fugitive when we could be on our honeymoon.”
His eyes darkened at my smile. I intend to marry him and have a month-long vacation to submerge myself in his love. I can’t wait to put all of this behind us so we can take the next step into our future.
“Alright, I’m going to need a deal from the prosecutor.” I turn to Uncle Cal. “Can you call him?”
I know he wants to ask questions from the way his eyes glare at me, but I simply smile and wave for him to quickly dial the number.
“Then, Mr. Wolf. You need to get Mr. Berkshire Junior to the district attorney’s office.”
He cocks an eyebrow, but he does what I request when he pulls out his phone to dial some numbers to get Berkshire and his lawyers to the designated spot.
“I can’t promise your son’s life in the hands of the illness, but I can promise that the facility and I will do our best.” I pause, eyes flickering to the lawyers that want to say something. “Only if you honor my condition.”
“You have my word, Miss. Scarletta.”
Chapter Ten
Wolf
“Are you sure this is a good idea? She’s a civilian, and she has no experience in interrogation.” My captain scratches his head, eyeing the room, separating Scarletta and the prosecutor as they spoke privately.
“I don’t need trouble when I’m just this close to retiring,” he says as he puts his fingers together.
Cal drinks his coffee with a grimace. “She’s a bit abnormal—rotten on some parts, but she’s a smart girl.”
I look down at my own cup of coffee. The taste is bland and washed down from the cheap brand that the station provides, but it does the job at making me stay awake.
It took a lot of manpower and time to find where the hell Braxton Berkshire was hiding. His family has a lot of real estates, and they’re all spread out in the state, so we had to ask the reluctant area cops to check since we would be crossing jurisdictions.
No one needs a pissing competition this late into this night as if the FBI isn’t enough. They did try to take the case from us because of seniority reasons, but everyone knows that they just want the credit.
As if our captain would let those FBI agents take a case that happened in our backyard. He may be old, but his experience and friendly relationship with people above got us this case.
“I’m trusting you on this one; don’t fuck it up.” The captain groans, squinting at Scarletta through the glass.
“I’m trusting you on this,” Cal says as he raises his cup to me. “She listens to you more than she does to me.”
I resist rolling my eyes. “She is your daughter.”
Not adopted or blood-related, but she might as well take his last name since he has been taking care of her since she was young. No, I don’t want that. The only name chance she is allowed to have is with mine when we get married, and if she thinks that I didn’t catch the slipup from her meeting with Berkshire Senior, then she is sorely mistaken.
“She’s your future wife,” he remarks, a teasing grin on his lips before it’s hidden behind his coffee cup.
“So,” I test out the boundaries. “I have your blessing?”
He scoffs, mimicking my voice to repeat what I said. “What century are you in? Of course, I’d rather you be her husband than anyone else. I had approved you to be her pseudo-uncle when she was sixteen, a friend when she turned eighteen, and I’m approving husband material right now.”
Cal doesn’t mess around when it comes to Scarletta. When he’s protective, not even I can come out of this fight without losing my limbs and my dignity.
I’m glad this man is my partner and the future head of the department. With Scarletta in the picture, I have to start thinking about my future too. When I was sure where we would go because I had practically cockblocked myself into thinking she’s too young, so I can’t have her.
She’s mine now, and it’s time to look into the future with her being more than my friend.
“Y’all ever think about the comfort of a man in the middle of his fifth divorce?” Our captain cocks an impassive eyebrow with a purse of his lips. The sass on his face is surreal.
“Sorry, captain.” Cal salutes him with his cup. “Divorce comes with the job.”
“Says the man who has never been married,” the captain splutters back.
Cal slaps his hand on his chest, just over his heart and pats proudly. “Giving my love to one woman is selfish.”
“Don’t let Scarletta hear you; you’ll cry and accuse you of playing favorites.” I lean my weight against my desk, going over the pile of files that need to look through. Crime doesn’t stop for anyone.
“That’s a different heart,” Cal says offhandedly, waving his hand, and finishes his coffee. “You should worry about yourself. If you break her heart, I’ll tear yours out.”
“Don’t bother,” I reply. “I’ll do it myself.”
The captain’s throat gurgles in disgust. “You guys are… extreme.”
We ignore his commentary, but Cal still has something to say. Why couldn’t he wait until we are the comfort of our own home to have this father to son-in-law talk? He’s Cal, a dramatic bastard, that’s why.
“Make her cry,” he threatens vaguely.
I flash him my dark eyes. “Likewise.”
“Honestly,” the captain once again chimes in with a grimace. “Young women these days are free. You might not know it, but she could be an experienced free-fall skydiver. You guys don’t have to keep her under intense supervision.”
“Oh, hell no,” Cal snaps, shaking his head. “My baby red does not do dangerous stuff like that.”
“Right?” He turns to me, eyes demanding that I agree with him to soothe the fatherly instinct to protect his baby girl. “Tell me you didn’t take my baby to a paintball gun range either. I’m against guns!”
“You’re a cop,” the captain deadpans.
I add in for the sake of my ears. “She’s a rare disease researcher; danger comes with the territory.”
“So, you did take her to a paintball massacre!” He points an accusatory finger at me, lips open wide in shock.
Some of our fellow officers stop their typing and phone calls to look at his outburst before returning to their work. Cal is known to have a big mouth and talks loudly, so not a soul here is concerned.
“I didn’t,” I adamantly deny. “A lot of things happened since you dropped her off with me; we didn’t even have much time to settle in before this happened.”
Cal is about to retort when Scarletta and the district attorney comes out of the room. She makes a beeline to me, goofily giggling into my chest while the captain politely pretends that he is watching the time on the wall.
My partner huffs and lowers his open arms when Scarletta dodged him. I shoot him a smug smirk, making sure he knows that he isn’t Scarletta’s favorite anymore, but she still loves him.
“Detectives, please come into the room with us.” The lawyer secures the folder in his hand and heads towards the interrogation room.
Scarletta holds my hand, the tender touch and the bright smile
on her face are enough for me to momentarily forget about Braxton in the room waiting for us to grill the shit out of him.
The two-way mirror shows that his lawyer is trying to calm the anxious Berkshire down, but this is exactly what we want from him. He needs to feel trapped and angry; impatience is the best way to get a suspect in a mindset of self-preservation.
Scarletta barges in, shocking the men, and Braxton reels back his emotions. His posture fixes itself, sitting with his legs crossed and back leaning against the chair. The faux confidence is a good cover, and it can be learning material for the rookies.
“We meet again, Miss. Scarletta,” Braxton greets with a feigned smile.
Scarletta drops down on the chair in front of him, ignoring his greeting and the lawyer beside him. The district attorney takes the other seat, and the battle between wit and intelligence begins.
Cal stands by the prosecutor while my objective is to protect my baby. If Braxton is capable of brutally murdering Ms. Addison, then he is capable of violence. I will break his arm as collateral when he loses control, and I’m counting on Scarletta’s provoking nature to bring that side out of him.
The prosecutor begins by taking out a document for the defense lawyer to look at. Both men have a glaring contest before the defense reads over the paper.
“A plea deal?” The defense gasps as if he personally had been offended by this. “I remember you were confident that my client would get the death penalty.”
The prosecutor snarls, a face full of dismay. “I want to give the family time to grieve and not drag this trial on. It’s not appealing to both sides.”
As callous as it sounds, I would rather this Berkshire bastard get the death penalty than give him any leverage to move around in a prison cell.
“Mr. Berkshire is not going to take the deal.” The defense stands up. “We are leaving unless you have—”
“No need to rush,” Scarletta jumps in as Braxton doesn’t look like he’s moving any time soon.
He’s too confident and way too cocky. He must be hiding something, or he has a trump card to play, but this all could be a hoax to scare the prosecutor into giving him a better deal.
“I feel that life in prison without the possibility of parole seems excessive, don’t you?” he provokes. “You have no evidence that it is I that have committed such heinous crime.”
He continues much to everyone’s chagrin. “The police did report that they believed it was two killers, and I cannot be split into two. A theory is that there were two suspects—or was it two victims?”
“Has anyone told you that you talk too much? You should be in theaters; you’re wasting your talent as a musician.” Scarletta counters his words with a smile.
They let the silence stew with two very frightening perfect smiles. Of course, my Scarletta is not a weak-hearted woman. Braxton is going to have a hard time dealing with a girl who wants to solve this case.
Even a cyclone won’t sweep her away from this moment.
“Okay,” she says as she knocks her nails on the table.
The lawyer sits back down with a disapproving frown on his aged face, strictly reminding Braxton that he doesn’t have to answer any questions, and he can leave at any time.
“Do you exercise?”
The question is innocent, nothing revealing or hidden in it.
“Don’t answer that.” His lawyer glares.
“Do you like to suntan?”
“Don’t answer that.”
Scarletta’s eyebrows jump to her hairline; her hand twirls a stray piece of red hair. Her curious amber eyes gleam with wickedness, and she doesn’t make any noticeable movement when I remove my hand from her shoulder. I find a chair at the corner and drag it to sit next to her.
“I guess I won’t stay in the civilities either.” She shrugs, and my hand finds her thigh, a silent warning to her that she shouldn’t play with an unstable man.
“Idée Fixe Syndrome, that’s what you have. It’s a hereditary disease with a complete fatal rate, and there is no cure. Doctors have tried it, and I’m sure your father can share his experience with you. I’m positive that he has gone to alternatives, not necessarily morally or legally appropriate, but he can’t find a cure.”
Everyone’s shocked in the room. We never thought that Braxton would be sick, but as time went on, we were able to find out more about the family through medical histories. The implication was clear that Braxton was sick, but neither Cal and I ever thought it was incurable.
The defense lawyer glowers, “You have breached doctor and patient confidentially. You will never work in the medical field.”
“Good thing, our residential lethargic ass has a lot of private companies’ favor,” Cal really can’t help himself when he cuts in.
Scarletta skillfully ignores Cal, but she can’t ignore the touch I have on her. “That illness starts as a gift; your right hemisphere is used for creativity. People called you a genius, and you became the world’s best pianist. Idée Fixe Syndrome isn’t diagnosable at birth, and once you hit puberty, symptoms will start to show, but they won’t be obvious.”
She takes a blank piece of paper from the prosecutor and a marker to color the sheet with black ink. She starts with the corner and slowly makes it to the one-forth mark of the paper.
“Nausea, headaches, temperamental outbursts—and, oh, let’s not forget that one specific concentrated area where you just think and think and think until you become obsessed.”
She stops coloring and taps the pungent marker on the blacken spots. Braxton’s eyes narrow, twitching and fingers curling within his palm to maintain the sense of control.
“If I was a betting woman, which I’m not because Uncle Cal would have me for dinner, but if I was, I’d say that the first distinctive symptom would be your left leg became rigid at age seventeen or so.”
His eyes flash, shock and bewilderment happening at the same time.
She claps her hands. “Oh, I’m right. You thought it might be just the way you slept, or you stood up too quickly after something kicked off your adrenaline. Maybe it was the moment you finished your piano performance that you realized your foot couldn’t be lifted off the pedal.”
Braxton inhales a sharp breath. Now I understand why Scarletta had dedicated her free time to watching his performances online. I didn’t have any reason to be jealous; she was doing more in-depth research than any police work I have seen.
“Yikes, I’m right again.” Scarletta looks down, coloring another line of the blank paper.
I prepare my body for any reactive response from Braxton as his own body posture begins to subtly change to a threatening one.
“This illness would make you see everything as imperfect, and you want to fix it, but it only affects the things you love the most, and that is your ability to play the piano. Little by little, it affected everything in your life, and everyone thought you had OCD.”
It’s surreal watching Scarletta break apart Braxton’s façade; the crackling perfection starts to show the ugly side of humanity. The fear, the hatred, and corrupt survival instinct filling in the cracks on his face.
“I don’t know what that poor girl did wrong to incite your royal highness’ wrath, but you used Ms. Addison as a punching bag.” She shakes her head in pity. To Braxton or to Addison, no one truly knows.
Scarletta doesn’t let the defense lawyer put in one word when she shushes him rudely. “I do know that in your fit of blind rage over imperfection, you had killed her, but you couldn’t carry her because every time you would come back from that adrenaline, you can’t use the left side of your body.”
“You had to drag her, and it’s what left those confusing drag marks. You could only use one arm to pull her, and you had to tow your leg too.”
The way she is unraveling the crime scene makes a lot more sense than what we had concluded at first. There was not another person there or a group; it was all Braxton’s doing. We thought the drag streaks are from another accompl
ice after Braxton had tired out after carrying Addison.
“You have no leverage, sour egg. There is no second person.” Only Scarletta would throw in an insult to kick an already down man.
“Thank you, Miss. You have given us a great defense against the murder case.” His lawyer thinks this is the best time to share his thoughts.
“Really?” She put her hand up to her lips, gasping as the grin on the man’s face widen. “Insanity defense requires a mental breakdown.”
The defense lawyer begins his extravagant explanation. “You have said it yourself; my client was in a fit of rage because in his eyes, the woman was not perfect, and he was trying to satisfy his pain. That is ground for me to sway the jury and I will have more than enough experts to prove my voice.”
“You—!” Cal snarls, but he got held back by the prosecutor.
Scarletta drops her hand down to mine and caresses my scarred knuckles. “You obviously have never looked into the newest findings as of yet.”
“I will have time to review my court material, and my assistant will come and collect it from you.” The lawyer’s cocky confidence is annoying, and I want to knock his white teeth out.
Scarletta explains, and once again, I’m amazed at this wonderful woman who has my heart in her tiny little hands. “During a fit, those with Idée Fixe Syndrome have the clearest mindset because Mr. Berkshire’s attention is focused—honed in on the need to fix it, to fix the imperfection.
She grins toothily at me first and then shows her teeth to Braxton, who is about to explode in anger. “He will plan because he’s a perfectionist, and every little thing has to go according to his plan.”
“I’m sure you’ll go back to your office, look at the newest finding that has been tested repeatedly with different specimens and challenged by hierarchy of scientifically proven rules, and see that your insanity defense will make it to court,” she concludes dramatically, not ashamed of her melodramatic act of painting the whole story.