The House of Horror

Chapter 26 _ Great Effort From The Investigator

-The scene from the interrogation room: A great effort by Detective Mohammed.

A dim yellow light hangs from a single lamp in the ceiling, casting intermittent shadows on the pale walls. The air is heavy, and silence hangs over the room like a taut thread about to snap. Behind a wide wooden desk, Detective Mohammed sits, a pen between his fingers, his eyes fixed on the papers scattered before him. A wall clock ticks with a monotonous rhythm, adding to the tension of the moment.

The door opens slowly with a creak. A soldier stands there, erect and perfectly disciplined, glancing at the detective before speaking in a firm voice:

Soldier: Rovan is here, sir.

The detective raises his head slightly, his eyes unwavering:

Detective: Let her in.

The soldier bows slightly, then steps back from the door, before opening it wide. He looks outside, his voice terse and formal:

Soldier: Come in.

Rovan enters hesitantly. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear of the unknown. She wore simple, dark clothes, her hands clasped tightly to conceal the trembling of her fingers. She stood before the desk, unable to raise her gaze to the investigator.

Investigator Mohammed looked at her for a long time, then gestured to the chair opposite him.

Investigator: Sit down.

She lowered herself slowly into the chair, as if her body were resisting its weight. His eyes were fixed on her, reading her expression like a hidden text.

Investigator (calmly): What is your nationality, Rovan?

Rovan (quietly): Lebanese.

He wrote the word in his notebook without looking up, then asked again:

Investigator: And what was your relationship to Mr. Nabil?

Rovan: I worked in his house... as a maid.

Her breathing quickened slightly. The investigator noticed, but ignored it, continuing in a more determined tone:

Investigator: I want you to tell me in detail... the details of Mr. Nabil's death. Rovan takes a deep breath, her voice trembling as if she's replaying a recording etched in her memory:

Rovan: I was tidying up some things around the house... Suddenly, I heard his voice, faint, calling me: "Rovan... Rovan."

I rushed to his room... I opened the door and found him lying on the bed. His face looked different... sick... he couldn't breathe properly. He barely managed to say, "I want water."

She paused, swallowing hard before continuing:

Rovan: I ran quickly to the kitchen... I got a glass of water... and rushed back. He couldn't hold the glass, so I helped him... He drank a little... and then, in seconds, he lost consciousness.

I panicked... I ran out of the room and called Dr. Ziad.

The detective looks up from his notebook, studying her intently:

Detective: Why Dr. Ziad specifically?

Rovan: Because he was Mr. Nabil's personal physician... and also his friend... and his neighbor who lived in the apartment across the street.

Detective Mohammed nodded slowly, shifting slightly in his chair.

Detective: Did Mr. Nabil suffer from any illnesses? Breathing problems? Heart problems?

Rovan (firmly): No. His health was good... despite his advanced age. He rarely got sick.

He quickly jots down another note, then looks up:

Detective: Continue… What happened after you called Dr. Ziad?

Rovan: He answered and said, "I'll be right there." A few minutes later, the doorbell rang… I opened it for him. We went into Mr. Nabil's room together. He examined him… and after he finished, he gave me a strange look… as if he was accusing me of something! Suddenly, he took out his phone and called the police.

The detective leans forward, his eyes sharp:

Detective: Why do you think Dr. Ziad suspected you?

Rovan (his voice trembling): I don't know.

Detective (firmly): Were there any marks on Mr. Nabil's neck that would indicate he had been strangled?

The words hit like a thunderbolt. Rovan lowers her gaze to the ground:

Rovan (whispering): Yes… there were finger marks on his neck.

The air is freezing. The detective slowly jots down his notes.

Detective: And where did these marks come from?

Rovan (shaking her head helplessly): I don't know… I swear I don't know.

Detective: Was anyone else in the apartment at that time?

Rovan: No.

Detective: And his son… Daniel… where was he?

Rovan: Daniel rarely came to his father's apartment… he lived alone. After Mr. Nabil died, he came and asked me to stay and work there.

The detective leans back, his gaze piercing:

Detective: So, at the time of the incident… you were alone with Mr. Nabil. Dr. Ziad had every reason to accuse you. Especially since the weapon… was in your hands!

And I, too… now formally accuse you of murdering Mr. Nabil Faiq, the lawyer. Rovane stiffened, gripping the edge of the chair, tears glistening in her eyes.

Rovane (in a hoarse voice): No! I didn't kill him! I loved and respected Mr. Nabil... I saw him as a father. I said that in my statement when the police first questioned me.

The detective narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly.

Detective: Then explain... how did these marks appear on his neck?

She shook her head in despair, her breath quick and shallow.

Rovane: I don't know... I thought about it a lot after he died... but my mind went blank.

At one point, I told myself maybe he was suffocating... and clutched his neck with his hands... leaving those marks.

Maybe... something like that. I don't know... I don't know... that's all I have.

A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the ticking of the clock. The detective placed his pen on the desk and carefully closed his notebook.

Detective (quietly): Thank you, Rovane.

She stood up with difficulty, her legs trembling. She walked towards the door, opened it slowly, and left without looking back.

The detective remained seated, watching her disappear, his gaze enigmatic. Then he turned to the soldier standing by the door:

Detective: Summon Malik and Sophia... and also Mina, Shadi, and Ashraf.

Soldier (firmly): Yes, sir.