Who killed my husband's mistress?

The eagle and The veil

“Detective Caesar DeMarco,” he said, flashing his ID card and handing over the search warrant to Diane. His voice was calm but firm, carrying an authority that couldn’t be ignored. “Mrs. Carter, you are one of the prime suspects in the murder of Miss Jane Wells. I’m here to conduct a search, and afterward, you’ll need to accompany me to the station for further questioning.”

Diane’s face went pale. She blinked rapidly, her composure slipping. “Excuse me, sir. Who is Jane Wells, and how am I even… even a suspect in her murder?” she stammered, her voice trembling with fear. “Well, ma’am,” Caesar said, a faint smirk playing on his lips, “people like to call me the eagle eye of the town. I see and know everything.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “A few days ago, I saw you get into a black sedan. That car happens to match the description of one seen fleeing the crime scene. Coincidentally, it’s also been spotted tailing your husband, Mr. Carter.”

Diane’s breath hitched, but Caesar pressed on, his tone turning sharper. “Oh yes, Mr. Carter. It’s no secret he had… let’s call it a ‘little thing’ with Miss Wells.” He chuckled dryly, though his eyes remained cold and calculating. “So, you see, Mrs. Carter, everything just adds up.” Diane’s lips parted as if to protest, but no words came out. She glanced at the officers standing behind Caesar, their expressions unreadable. Finally, she let out a shaky breath. “I need to use the restroom upstairs, if you don’t mind,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Caesar’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Well, I don’t mind… I honestly don’t,” he said, his tone laced with mock politeness. Then his expression hardened, and his voice dropped, sharp and direct. “But I know you, Mrs. Carter. I know you better than you think. Behind that innocent face is a sharp mind, and I know there’s a lot of intelligence in there. Growing up in a prestigious family of medical practitioners, lawyers, and, of course, a businesswoman like you,a Harvard Business School graduate, you’re not someone who comes easy.”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze unyielding. “You’re smart, but I’m smarter. So let’s not play games here.”

Diane swallowed hard, her face flushed with a mix of fear and frustration.

“Now,” Caesar continued, stepping back and gesturing toward the door, “get in the car, ma’am. We’ve got a restroom at the station.”Diane hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her shoulders slumping in defeat. As she walked past him toward the waiting car, Caesar’s eyes followed her, cold and calculating, as though he could already see the truth unraveling.

The journey from the Carter mansion to the station was long, lasting several hours. Diane eventually drifted off to sleep, the gentle hum of the car lulling her into a restless slumber. When they arrived, Caesar gave her a light tap on the shoulder. “Madam, we’re here,” he said calmly.

Diane woke up, blinking as she looked outside. Her heart sank at the sight of a large crowd gathered in front of the station; journalists with cameras flashing, curious onlookers murmuring, and some shouting questions. She felt her chest tighten. To hide her identity, she pulled a long black veil over her head, letting it drape down to her chest, and put on dark sunglasses. As she stepped out of the car, she tried to keep her composure, though her legs felt shaky.

Inside the station, the atmosphere was cold and unsettling. On the way to the interrogation room, she passed rows of cells. The prisoners inside stared at her, their faces filled with pain, anger, and hopelessness. She tried not to look, but the sounds of crying, shouting, and banging made it impossible to ignore.

When they reached the interrogation room, Caesar pulled out a chair for her. “Sit,” he said firmly. A moment later, he returned with a plastic cup in his hand. “Tea?” he asked, holding it out to her. Diane hesitated, unsure of what to say. Caesar smirked and added, “Oh, sorry. Would you prefer sparkling water? Or maybe red wine, champagne, or some fancy green tea?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, and the officers in the room burst into laughter. Diane’s face turned red with embarrassment. She clenched her fists as tears welled up in her eyes. She had never felt so humiliated before.

Caesar leaned closer, his tone suddenly serious. “Now, speak. If I find out you’re the murderer, you’ll stay here for the rest of your life, drinking this tea you rich folks call ‘disgusting.’”

Before Diane could respond, there was a knock on the door. One of Caesar’s officers stepped in,it was Dean, one of the men who had stayed behind at the Carter mansion to carry out the search. He leaned in and whispered something to Caesar.Caesar’s eyes lit up with a sly grin. “Thank you, Dean,” he said as he took a brown envelope from the officer. He turned back to Diane, holding the envelope in front of her. “Well, Mrs. Carter, let’s see what we have here,” he said, chuckling softly.

Before Caesar could open the envelope, Diane’s breath quickened. She already knew what was inside.

“A gun!” Caesar announced, pulling the weapon out and holding it up for all to see. Diane’s shoulders slumped as she lowered her head, her face pale with shame. “What would the great Diane Grey-Carter, daughter of Michael Grey and wife of Tim Carter, be doing with a gun?” Caesar’s voice dripped with mockery as he turned to his officers. “My dear Diane, why do you have a gun?”

Diane sat frozen for a moment, her lips trembling. But then, to everyone’s surprise, she raised her head, her voice calm and steady. “Having a gun doesn’t prove anything. I’m a public figure with plenty of enemies. My husband is rarely home to protect us, and I have two children to think about. The gun is for protection. It’s the 21st century, Detective,almost everyone owns a gun.”

Caesar leaned back, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re absolutely right. A gun doesn’t prove anything.” He paused, letting the silence grow heavy. “But why were you carrying it on the day of Jane’s murder? And why were you so scared when your husband caught you with it? Scared enough to run off for days?”

Diane’s confidence wavered. Her pulse quickened as Caesar signaled his officers to leave the room.

“Now, Diane,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “it’s just you and me. Let’s talk.”

He leaned forward, his piercing gaze fixed on hers. “We both saw you get into that black sedan,the same car seen at the crime scene. The same car that seemed to follow Tim and Jane everywhere.” Diane’s hands clenched in her lap, but she didn’t respond. Caesar continued, his tone sharper. “I paid your husband another visit—this time at his office. He told me everything, Diane. Every. Single. Thing.”

He let the words hang in the air before leaning back with a triumphant smirk. “So, I’ll ask you again: why were you carrying a gun on that day? And if you were innocent, why did you run?”