Mrs. Allen sat in the cold, sterile room at the police station, her hands trembling slightly as she clasped them together on her lap.
The bright overhead lights were harsh, casting stark shadows on her tired face. She had been questioned for hours about Laura's accident, the detectives probing for any hint of involvement, any clue that might link her to the crime.
She had denied everything, her voice firm yet laced with an underlying tension. She pleaded innocent—how could they think she was involved in something so heinous?
She didn’t even know Laura well, not anymore.
The detective leading the interrogation, a burly man with a thick mustache and a stern demeanor whom she had come to know as Detective Mitchell had scrutinized her every move, every flicker of emotion on her face.
