Chapter 21 The Real Identity of the Killer
Chapter 21 The Real Identity of the Killer
Sitting dejectedly in the interrogation chair, I looked helplessly at Zeke, who was organising his notes. “It wasn’t me…” I croaked. My voice was hoarse as the last bit of hope seemed to evaporate.
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I wish the police could uncover Bella’s true nature and clear my name. If they did, I would be at But now it appeared that the truth would never come to light.
peace, t
even if I died.
My body would never be found.
“Officer Palmer, she’s a liar. Bella had deceived everyone, I muttered, my voice breaking.
Why didn’t they believe me?
Why wouldn’t anyone believe me?
Why
hy did everyone believe Bella?
“Zeke, we’ve questioned a lot of people who know Madeline. None of them had anything good to say about her. It seems like she really has a bad reputation,” a young officer said as he entered the interrogation room, clearly siding with Bella. “Ms. White seems quite kind.
“She didn’t report it or press charges even after being pushed down the stairs and nearly killed. She even gave her a chance.” Zeke paused his note–taking and said, “What you hear and see may not always be the truth.”
Then what is the truth?” the young officer, Don, asked in confusion.
“Evidence” Zeke pointed to his notes and said, “I only believe in evidence.”
Human nature was complex and unpredictable; only evidence was conclusive.
I looked at Zeke, hopeless.
Until they found my body, no one would believe me.
”
A female officer walked in, looking troubled. She informed, “Zeke, the medical report on Stephen is out. He bears scars from his electrocution, but these are old scars that signify long–term abuse.
Zeke furrowed his brow and took the report.
From my angle, I could see the examination photos. Electrocution scars, burn marks, and whiplashes crisscrossed his skin. “He might be a lunatic, but he’s good–looking. Scars cover his body, except for his face. Could he have met some pervert in the orphanage because of his looks? The female officer angrily cursed, “These people are perverts! B’stards.”
Zeke remained silent. He simply stared at the report for a long time before speaking, “This case has nothing to do with him. He has a history of mental illness and doesn’t bear legal responsibility. Besides, he has no guardian, so he’s not our concern.”
The female officer understood Zeke’s implication–they needed to release him.
“Zeke, a mentally ill individual like him poses a significant threat. What if he hurts someone again?”
Don was worried.
“He’s a murderer. He’s a murderer!” I shouted at Zeke. Why are they releasing him? Just because he’s mentally ill, does that mean he can kill without consequences?
He’s a murderer!
No matter what he went through, he was still a murderer! That’s no excuse for the crimes he committed.
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625 AM c
Chapter 21 The Real Identity of the Killer.
He’d killed so many innocent women.
“Did he ever lose control and harm anyone before attacking Lance?” Zeke asked.
Don shook his head and said. “No, he never did”
“Those people went to the abandoned orphanage and provoked him first,” Zeke explained on Stephen’s behalf.
Clearly, Zeke didn’t think Stephen did anything wrong.
I was powerless to explain. Therefore, I stormed out of the interrogation room in frustration.
Zeke was a fool. He let the murderer walk again and again.
His good intentions would lead to more innocent girls being killed.
Outside the police station.
I stood in the wind and could feel the biting cold.
It was a bone–chilling cold.
Stephen was released. He stood in the cold wind and shivered. He was clearly freezing, too.
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The weather had turned cold, with significant temperature differences between day and night. Stephen wore only a tattered sweatshirt, ill–fitting pants, and worn–out shoes
“Stephen, someone’s here to bail you out. Zeke had caught up with him from the police station. He lit up a cigarette.
He was surprised that someone would come to bail out a mentally ill patient who was living in an abandoned orphanage.
I fearfully kept my distance from Stephen, hiding at the entrance and watching him.
Stephen kept his head down, but he suddenly looked up, glancing in my direction with a flash of astonishment,
I shrank back in fear, almost forgetting that I was already dead and invisible.
However, his gaze seemed to indicate he could see me.
Soon, Stephen averted his eyes and looked down in disappointment.
A black Maybach stopped at the police station entrance. A middle–aged man got out of the car and looked kindly at Stephen. He told him, “Mr. Stephen, it’s time for you to go home.”
Stephen warily looked at the man, clearly resisting the idea and wanting to run away.
Two bodyguards got out of the car. They forcibly dragged Stephen into the car, despite his struggles. The bodyguards entered the car from either side and drove off.
The cigarette in Zeke’s hand glowed faintly. I couldn’t tell what he had in mind.
Was he as shocked as I was, standing there for a long time and couldn’t snap out of his trance?
Mr. Stephen?
Someone actually respectfully addresses a mentally ill, homeless man who grew up in an orphanage as Mr. Stephen?
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