chapter five
1123 Words
Mary Idris Interrogation. That was the next step. Janet’s closest friends were the last people to see her alive, and they were the puzzle pieces I needed to put together. First on the list was Mary Idris.
From behind the two-way glass of the observation room, I studied her. Mary Idris was striking, 5'5", with brown hair flowing down her shoulders in soft waves. Her big brown eyes were captivating, though now they seemed darkened with worry. She sat stiffly at the steel table in the interrogation room, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her delicate features, small nose, graceful lips showed no emotion, but her body language screamed discomfort.
Janet spoke of Mary often, calling her a loyal assistant and a brilliant fashion designer. They had worked closely for years, though I never pressed for details. I trusted Janet’s instincts, but proximity to success can often spark envy, and envy is a dangerous thing.
Can Mary be trusted?
Detective Layla entered the room, clipboard in hand, her movements purposeful. Layla had a sharpness about her, an efficient, no-nonsense air that made her ideal for interrogations. I stepped closer to the glass, arms crossed, watching intently. I wanted to be in there, leading this questioning myself, but protocol demanded otherwise. My personal connection to Janet made me too close to this case.
Layla didn’t waste time. “Good afternoon, Miss Idris. I’m Detective Layla. I’ll be asking you a few questions about Janet Bello.”
Mary’s hands tensed on the table. “I already told the officer who brought me here everything I know. Do we really need to do this?”
“Yes, we do,” Layla replied firmly, sitting across from her. “Janet’s death is an active homicide investigation. You were one of the last people to see her alive. Let’s start there. Walk me through the night of the party.”
Mary inhaled deeply. “Janet won her award that night—Presenter of the Year. She was so excited. She threw a small celebration at her apartment. Just her close friends. It was fun at first. Everyone was drinking, laughing… Janet was so happy.”
I leaned closer to the glass. Her tone was flat, rehearsed.
“And then?” Layla prompted, her voice calm but probing.
Mary hesitated. “And then it got messy. We had too much to drink. Words were exchanged.”
“What kind of words?”
“Personal things,” Mary replied, glancing at the floor. “Things that shouldn’t have been said. It got heated. We all started arguing, and one by one, everyone left.”
“Who started the argument?” Layla pressed, her tone sharper.
Mary shook her head quickly. “I-I can’t say. It was all of us, really. Alcohol makes people say things they don’t mean.”
“Who left first?”
“Me,” Mary admitted, her voice quieter now. “I couldn’t take the yelling. Janet was upset, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”
Layla leaned forward slightly, her sharp gaze locking onto Mary. “What were you arguing about?”
“It’s not my place to say,” Mary said, her voice tight. “Ask the others. They were there too.”
“Can you mention their names?” Layla asked even though she knew.
“Ben, Sharon, Morris, and James,” Mary said nervously.
From the observation room, I clenched my fists. She was stonewalling, and it was infuriating. Layla seemed unfazed, though.
“Let’s move on,” Layla said, her voice calm but deliberate. “Where did you go after you left Janet’s apartment?”
Mary straightened slightly. “Home. I went straight home. I was tired and upset, and I didn’t want to deal with any more drama. I stayed there all night.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
Mary blinked, caught off guard. “No, I was alone. But why would I lie about that?”
Layla didn’t answer the question. Instead, she shifted gears. “How was your relationship with Janet?”
Mary’s brow furrowed. “She was my boss and my friend. She was there for me when my son died. I owe her a lot.”
“And yet,” Layla said, her tone deceptively casual, “you seem hesitant to tell us what happened at the party. If you cared about Janet, why not help us find out who killed her?”
Mary’s composure cracked slightly. “I am helping,” she snapped. “I just don’t want to throw anyone under the bus. Janet wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“Janet wouldn’t have wanted to be murdered either,” Layla shot back, her voice icy.
Mary’s eyes widened, and she recoiled slightly. “I didn’t kill her,” she whispered.
Layla let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything you noticed at the party?”
Mary hesitated again. Her eyes darted to the corner of the room, then back to her hands. She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head. “No. I’ve told you everything I know.”
Layla studied her for a long moment before standing. “You’re free to go for now, Miss Idris. But don’t leave town.”
Mary nodded quickly, grabbing her bag and hurrying out of the room.
I stepped back from the glass as the observation room door opened. Layla walked in, her expression unreadable but her body language tense.
“Well?” I asked, my voice tight.
“She’s definitely hiding something,” Layla said bluntly, tossing her clipboard onto the desk. “But we won’t get it out of her here. Not yet.”
I nodded, running a hand through my hair. “She was defensive, evasive… I could see it from here. You think she’s lying about going straight home?”
“I don’t know yet,” Layla admitted. “But her alibi is thin. No witnesses, no proof. We’ll keep her under surveillance, and I’ll dig into her background. If there’s something she’s not telling us, we’ll find it.”
I leaned against the wall, my arms crossed, my mind racing. Mary’s nervous hands, her evasive answers, her refusal to elaborate on the argument at the party, it all felt wrong.
“Janet trusted her,” I muttered, more to myself than to Layla.
“And maybe that trust was misplaced,” Layla replied.
I didn’t respond. My chest ached with a mixture of grief and determination. Janet deserved justice, and I wouldn’t stop until I found it.
If that meant tearing apart the lives of everyone she called a friend, so be it.
- Writer
