CHAPTER 12
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Inside the interrogation room, the isolating whiteness almost influenced his mood inside. Handcuffs held Raphael in place, but also shackling his willingness to speak out.
"I'll say it again. Do you know this man?" The man opposite him pointed at the photo on the table. George's lips were dry despite the full glass of water beside him.
Long fingers rhythmically drummed on the table, reflecting Raphael's anxiousness, unaware of the happenings in the other room opposite them; maybe worse than his current situation. 'I hope she's ok.'
The frustrated interrogator guessed his thoughts, but his tactics remained the same. "If you and your mother don't speak, it will get worse down the line of investigation."
Raphael stared at him, then studied the photo yet again, although his pupils were unfocused, thinking about yesterday - when he confronted his mother.
George watched Raphael, impatient for his cooperation.
"You know him, just give me a name and I might bail your mother out." His voice convincing, desperation unhidden. But Raphael feared to risk, even though he recognized the man; George saw it in him, that hesitation for self preservation.
The door opened abruptly, letting in a stranger to none inside.
Suited in a three-piece suit, the new guest immediately stood beside Raphael, relieving this annoying client of his.
This man's hair was scanty, eyes drifting observantly, "This is a violation of my client's rights. I am his lawyer, but my unavoidable absence doesn't give you the right to interrogate him without proper procedures in place."
George held his chin in thought, studying this lawyer, head to toe.
'Release him, or I will.' Those defiant eyes seemed to say.
George immediately released Raphael from his restraints. This uncooperative bastard is quite lucky. "This is not over yet."
Raphael rubbed his wrists. His frigid eyes followed George's retreating figure. His mood somber, but his gaze softened. His friend's usual smile brought memories.
"It took you a century to realize am not as enduring as you." His tone seemed dissatisfied, but his friend's hug wiped it away.
They quickly exited the suffocating room.
The nerd of a man hid his embarrassment, then his somberness deepened as they walked. "Your mother's case is more dire than yours. I can't estimate the impact of the evidence they have gathered, and am not sure I can work around it."
Raphael's steps slowed in the wide corridor, staring at the closed door ahead; He guessed that his mother was in the other side.
"Do you know this man?" Humphrey presented a spare photo of the same unknown man (the same man George was investigating) to Raphael.
Raphael took a deep breath, seemingly staring afar, gathering his thoughts. "He's my father-in-law."
Their stroll continued undisturbed, his whispers reserved for two. "And he's somehow connected to my father's death."
Humphrey stroked his unruly beard, hesitant to talk about the obvious. "Veronica isn't as innocent as I thought."
Stepping outside the precinct, the air was refreshing and free.
Raphael missed his mother's intimate touch, but he had to hold on for her no matter the time apart.
"I want to avoid telling you this. But I have no choice in the matter." Humphrey was confident no one could eavesdrop, they both took a seat at a nearest bench, some litter cattered around.
"Veronica is the main contributor to the case. She made a shady deal with the national security agency. I don't know how or when, but she had enough evidence to convince them to take a court order."
Humphrey stared at his client's expression. The sun wasn't as scorching; the clouds providing cover even in noon. Raphael knew the heat will prevail. "So, what are you trying to say?"
"What if Veronica was directly or indirectly involved in your father's death?"
Thoughts to digest, but the proof is inedible.
"Can you elaborate?"
Humphrey lacked the decency to lie, that nervousness of his, "Lets say...I got a mail from...Veronica."
Raphael raised a brow in surprise, while the clouds parted as he predicted.
"It's obviously not entirely related to you, but it's connected to this case." Humphrey surveyed his surroundings, fishing out a packaged dagger from his suitcase. Forged from unconventional means, its enigmatic material, stained by dried blood.
Raphael snatched it with quivering hands, trying to deny its tangibility.
"So, you know its origin?" Humphrey asked.
Raphael's hands sweated and trembled, conveying a traumatic tale.
"Raphael?"
"Raphael?"
Humphrey called out twice, his worry evident.
Finally, shaking him to soberness.
"Is this what I think it is?" Raphael mumbled.
"I'm not privy to its significance in this case, but it might prove useful." Humphrey was hopeful.
The wind swept some trash away, leaving Raphael with a frown.
"This dry blood is the key. There is a 50% chance it's the murder weapon. Why would Veronica frame your mother, then send this to me?" Humphrey fed him the words he wanted to hear.
He felt restless, forced to stand up to ease the havoc inside.
The bench was empty as Raphael tightened his grip. Blood almost dripped, forgetting the sharpness inside the translucent package holding the dagger.
"Idiot!" Humphrey cursed.
"Are you trying to erase the only evidence that can save your mother?" Humphrey immediately grabbed the dagger from Raphael.
The latter realized his mistake. Reason prevailed. "Sorry"
"So, what do we do about this?"
Humphrey sighed in relief. "Well, we need to talk to your mother.
******
CHAPTER 13
In haste, Humphrey arrived before him for good reason.
With the key they held - this dagger in their possession.
Humphrey knocked on the door before them, knocked harder again, with no response.
Frustration peaked on both sides of this gray door.
It suddenly opened, as an annoyed George peeked at them, his wrinkled forehead unforgiving.
"I cleared you. What else do you want?" George's tone was uninviting, as he hid their target with the half-opened door.
