CHAPTER 1
Detective Jaco van der Merwe walked into the interview room. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, the fluorescent lights harsh on the pale walls. And there she was Selene Marlowe sitting straight-backed, hands folded neatly on her lap, dressed as perfectly as everyone who had ever known her would expect. Her hair was sleek, her makeup flawless, and her eyes calm, unblinking. To anyone, she looked like a devoted mother, a kind neighbour, the sort of woman you trusted with your life. Handcuffs on her wrists and ankles proved otherwise.
“Mrs Marlowe,” Jaco began, taking a seat opposite her, “I have to be honest. I can’t believe a mother like you would kill five children she brought into this world, her own sister, your husband, his two brothers, and their mother. Are you… are you sure you didn’t get framed? Maybe someone wanted to make you look like the villain.”
Selene tilted her head, the faintest smile playing on her lips. “No, Detective. I killed them all.”
Jaco blinked. He had expected denial, hesitation, some hint of remorse. Instead, she said it with the calm, measured tone of someone reading the weather report.
“I gathered everyone for lunch,” she continued, coldly, “and I had to get rid of them. For the greater good.”
“The greater good?” Jaco asked slowly. “Do you… consider yourself a good person?”
Selene’s eyes met his, unwavering. “I am an angel compared to them. I only helped the world be safe. They should thank me.”
Jaco stared at her, trying to understand, but nothing made sense. Her face, her words, her calmness nothing.
Selene leaned back and began to narrate, her voice eerily serene. “I had a life. Breakfast routines, school drop-offs, chore charts, Sunday brunches with the neighbours. Everyone thought I was the perfect mother, the perfect wife. And I was, in a way. Until the truth showed itself.”
She spoke of her children next, her words clinical, almost loving in their precision. “My oldest sons manipulative, cruel. Always scheming, always testing limits. The twins, quiet and watchful, always plotting in their own way, waiting for weakness. My last born innocent, yes, but already suspicious of the world. All of them… little demons.”
Her eyes softened for a fraction, and Jaco shivered. “Little demons?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “All five of them. They needed exorcisms, Detective. Someone had to do it.”
She paused, folding her hands over her knees, then continued. “My husband… the devil. His brothers advocates. Always backing him, always helping him in his games. Their mother Lucifer herself. And my sister Victoria, clever, dangerous in her own way. None of them deserved to live. Not if the world was to remain safe.”
Jaco took notes slowly, though his hands trembled slightly. He had seen killers before, men and women, but nothing like this. Nothing that made sense. She sounded calm, logical, even meticulous. But the things she said, the lives she ended it was monstrous.
“Detective,” she said softly, almost conversationally, “you think I am mad. Or cruel. But I only helped the world. They were demons. I am the exorcist. That’s all.”
Jaco looked at her, and for the first time, he realized he was not speaking to a human as he knew it, but something else entirely cold, brilliant, unfeeling, and utterly terrifying.
Jaco leaned forward slightly, lowering his pen. “Madam Marlowe… do you want to tell us what really happened? What led you to do all this?”
Selene’s eyes lifted slowly to meet his. She sat perfectly still for a moment, as if weighing him like a chess piece. Then, almost casually, she said, “I’ll tell you everything. Every last detail. But only one hour a day.”
Jaco frowned. “One hour? We can’t… we don’t have the luxury to-”
She cut him off, her tone flat, precise. “As long as you bring the meals and drinks I request each day. Breakfast, lunch, snacks… everything. I don’t work without conditions, Detective.”
He rubbed his temple. “I can’t do that. I’m not… I can’t make arrangements for that.”
Selene’s lips curved into the faintest smile, but her eyes were sharp as knives. “Then you’ll have to rely on hearsay, Detective. Not proof that I killed them.”
There was a pause. Jaco swallowed hard, feeling the tension press in from all sides.
“And…” Selene added quietly, her voice almost conversational, “there’s one more body. One the police hasn’t discovered. One they don’t know about.”
Jaco’s heart skipped. He opened his mouth, but Selene was already moving. Slowly, deliberately, she stood from the chair, chains rattled. Her posture was perfect, her movements elegant, controlled. Every step echoed softly against the cold tile floor.
She picked up the papers she had been quietly arranging beside her, stacking them with precise care. “I’ve exhausted my talking bundles for now,” she said calmly. “We’ll continue… later.”
Her stilettos clicked lightly as she walked toward the door. She paused for a moment, turning slightly to glance at Jaco, as though daring him to look away. Her gaze was icy, yet unflinching, like she was already ten steps ahead of him in a game he didn’t even know he was playing. With a slow exhale, she opened the door and slipped into the hallway. The fluorescent lights bounced off her hair, making it shine like a halo over something far darker. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Jaco staring at the empty room, feeling the weight of everything she had just revealed and everything she hadn’t.
He sat back, shaking slightly. Nothing about this woman made sense. And yet, he knew one thing for certain: Selene Marlowe was far from finished.
Detective Jaco sat in the empty interview room, staring at the door Selene had just closed. The sound of her stilettos had barely faded, but the weight of her presence lingered, cold and sharp. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking fast. Two months until her trial. Two months to gather evidence, understand her motives and maybe, just maybe, learn what made her tick before the court decided for itself.
He pushed the thought out of his mind and walked down the corridor to the commanding officer’s office. “Captain,” he said, closing the door behind him, “we need to consider an option. Selene Marlowe… she’s willing to talk. On her terms, yes, but she will talk. If we can secure her cooperation, we might learn things we can’t get from evidence alone.”
The captain frowned. “You’re suggesting we cater to a murderer’s demands?”
Jaco shook his head slowly. “Not cater, manage. We bend just enough to let her think she has the upper hand. One hour a day, meals and drinks according to her request. She feels in control, but we control the schedule, the record, the transcript. We could gather critical information for the trial.”
“And risk… what?” the captain asked sharply.
“Risk nothing more than two months of logistics,” Jaco said calmly. “Look, she’s already trending online. People are fascinated. Stations have been calling. There’s a market for a live confession, a true crime interview from a serial killer. If we do this officially, we control it. We decide what goes public. And yes… it generates revenue for the city while keeping the story contained.”
The captain rubbed his chin, glancing at the papers on his desk. “You’re telling me the city could profit from her talking about… her murders?”
Jaco nodded. “Controlled. Safe. Recorded. And we learn her thought process before she even steps into court. That’s invaluable. It’s the only chance to understand a woman like her.”
The room was silent for a long moment. Finally, the captain exhaled. “Alright, van der Merwe. Arrange it. Give her her hour a day, her requests. Let her feel in charge. But you manage everything else. She gets her illusion of power nothing more.”
Jaco allowed himself a small nod. “Understood, sir.”
Back in the corridor, he felt the tension lift just slightly. He knew this wouldn’t be easy. Selene Marlowe was brilliant, manipulative, and completely unafraid. But if he played it right, he could gather insight that might change everything both for the trial and for the city’s understanding of the coldest female killer in decades. And for now… that was enough.
