Confessions of a Murderess

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— Good afternoon. This is the Federal Investigation Department. — Christian interrupted our conversation and answered the phone. — How can I help you?

— I want to make a report — said the voice of a man on the line — there's a body in an advanced stage of decomposition at Post 17.

All calls from people interested in making reports to Rox were intercepted on our wiretaps. Sarah decided to tap into the police station when she discovered that Inspector Billy Nortgen was hiding information for his own benefit. She was good at it. So good that no one suspected the girl to be an undercover agent.

— Ellis, are you listening? — Commander Ágatha said.

— Yes. I'm listening.

— We have a report of a decomposed body at Rebite, in an abandoned pasture.

— Which post? — I asked.

— Post 17, west zone of Portsmouth — she relayed the information to me — assemble some officers and police dogs and investigate the area. The forensics team is on their way.

The first thing I thought when I arrived at the scene was whose remains were there, those bones immersed in overgrown grass, surrounded by blowflies. Later, Mr. Richard recognized what was left of the clothing his son was wearing on the day he disappeared, and the DNA test confirmed it was indeed Eric. Upon hearing the news, Vanessa attempted suicide in solitary confinement. She would certainly prefer death to confessing everything. Inspector Billy Nortgen, fearing backlash, promised to arrest Max Curie in hopes of calming the population of Portsmouth. In the eyes of the local police, Max still remained the primary suspect of being Quinn Solo, and that theory gained strength when he confessed himself, in one of our interrogations, to knowing Rebecca Chari.

Max wasn't arrested thanks to my testimonies in his favor; however, if more people kept dying, it wouldn't be long before a pretrial detention order would be issued. In the best-case scenario, he would serve as a scapegoat, and if evidence of the real killer were found, all the police needed to do was apologize.

— A rather unintelligent solution — I denied. — Max is seventeen and has a clean record. If he's innocent, keeping him locked up isn't good for the police.

— Agent Norman, I have more than enough reasons to put him behind bars — Billy Nortgen said.

— Think about it, Mesdra is beloved in the region. Many people like her and do business with her farm. Furthermore, she's friends with the mayor. If she wants to, she can influence important people to remove him from office.

— So, are you deducing that Max Curie is innocent? — the inspector pondered, as if considering my response.

— Yes. He's innocent.

Before Billy Nortgen suspended his most urgent decrees, Mrs. Mesdra invited me for lunch on Martin Luther King Day. I knew her parents were at the farm, so she wanted to talk to me before they left, as she had to fly them back to Cheriton before January 25th.

Mrs. Curie had a stroke a few years ago, and her health hadn't improved much. She was debilitated and remained in a wheelchair. Unlike her, Mr. Curie seemed strong, at least in the photos I saw in the attic; a tall, black man with a white beard and hair, large eyes, and a long nose, nearing seventy years of age.

As I drove to the farm, I managed to recall memories of the old days, the few occasions we met, my adolescence, dragonflies fluttering over the lake, songs playing on the radios, bikers and their motorcycles roaring down those same bumpy roads, in a past so distant from the present.

— Hello! — Mrs. Mesdra appeared in front of the mansion and waved at me as I parked the pickup truck at the ranch.

— Hello.

— Come in — she said. Before introducing me to her parents, she politely asked me to sit at the table while the staff served the coffee.

— You've grown, Ellis — Mr. Curie maneuvered his wife's wheelchair into the kitchen — and you've become a beautiful woman.

— Do you still remember me?

— How could I forget such an adorable girl? I heard that you're a police officer now — he pointed to the badge on my chest. — Rangers, special forces for combating terrorism and mass murders, right?

— Do you know the Rangers?

— Of course, I do. I was in the Navy. I assume you've been to that end of the world as well.

My excitement faded right there. I wanted to say that I worked in a*****e, in a nightclub, anything but something that would make me look suspicious, even in front of a retired military man who seemed more like a military man than retired.

— I served in the Afghanistan War — I said.

— And did you receive medals for that?

— Some.

— Bravery is a gift, isn't it, a blessing. It's a pity the Taliban is growing again.

— Herbert, Miss Ellis didn't come here to talk about that — Mrs. Curie nudged her husband — sorry, dear.

— It's alright — I smiled.

After we had the cake, Mesdra mentioned that she had something important to give me and asked me to come upstairs to her office. It was a tiny room on the upper floor. There was an armchair in the center of the room, a ceiling fan, and a cabinet behind the metal desk, where the main farm documents were kept.

— I have a gift for you, dear — she took a check out of the cabinet and handed it to me. — Max said Sophia is sick, so I hope this helps your family with the expenses. Consider it a favor, Ellis.

In reality, that check covered Sophia's treatment costs for a year at the best hospital in Charlotte. I didn't want to accept it. I couldn't accept it.

— I'm sorry. — I shook my head.

— It's a gift, not a loan. It's alright. And before it seems like a bribe, I insist that you continue investigating the farm.

— But...

— No buts. Just accept it.

— I don't know how to thank you.

— Don't thank me, thank Max.

As evening approached, I saw Max leaving the stables, dressed in his usual overall with suspenders. The boy was grooming Pony in the shade of the wall, enjoying the last rays of sunlight.

— Why did you do that? — I asked him.

— Did what? — he looked at me — what are you talking about?

— Taking money from your mother. Why did you ask her for money?

— My mother just wanted to help. I've also been thinking about the possibility of the killer not being caught and you not getting promoted. After all, it's been six months since Kimberly died. Six months without answers.

— What do you want from me?

— Don't get me wrong, Ellis — Max got annoyed with that question. — I don't think gratitude is a currency. I don't want anything from you. Actually, I do. Once in a while, come visit the farm. Come visit the foxes and the ranch. My mother loves your visits. You can bring your boyfriend if you want.

— Is that what Kimberly would say?

— No. Kimberly would never say that to me. — he mounted his horse and left me alone. — Take care, Ellis. See you later.

If you were the killer, what a crude way to buy me. Maybe you like me. Or perhaps you care about Sophia and don't want to see her die. That's the most obvious explanation. I don't understand what kind of relationship you had in the past. We were kids back when we were together here. Can you really love someone when you're so young?

A few weeks before turning seventeen, my sister improved from her chemotherapy sessions. She was responding well to the new treatments, and the doctors gave her a week of home rest, as if it were an early birthday gift. My mother was happy with the news. As happy as the day she married Chester Landen. She even made a point to write a thank-you email to Mrs. Mesdra.

Dear Mesdra, Sophia is doing better. The stem cell transplant worked. I have no idea how many chemotherapy sessions it would have taken to bring her back to me. I'm speechless. Your generosity is priceless. Tell Max that he's an angel too.

Mirian Norman

Ariel, Chester's youngest son, came up with the idea to have a dinner to celebrate Sophia, even though she was hesitant to agree. He also showed up at the table with shaved hair, which made my sister emotional. Sophia noticed our efforts to make that family gathering as pleasant as possible. We ate, drank, and talked. We talked about outings, trips, and dreams. Nobody mentioned illness, hospitals, or death.

— She seems happier, doesn't she? — I asked my mom, as Sophia finally fell asleep.

— She complains about the pain, but she seems better. — Mom insisted. — And you, Ellis, how are you?

— I'm fine.

— How are the investigations in Portsmouth going?

— They're in the final phase.

— You're always so direct. You can open up to me. All the newspapers talk about is this serial killer. You know you don't need that promotion anymore. It's dangerous.— They would have fired me if I asked for a suspension from the case. Plus, there's something I need to resolve.