Chapter 8 - The Interrogation
The following afternoon, I sat behind a one-way mirror in Interrogation Room B at the Boston Police Department headquarters.
On the other side of the glass sat Daniel, wearing an orange jumpsuit, his hair messier than ever, his face pale and sunken from a night spent in a holding cell. Sitting across from him was Detective Miller and an Assistant District Attorney.
“Mr. Carter,” the ADA said, laying out a series of high-resolution photographs taken by the forensics team at the mansion. “The lab results from the dining room table came back two hours ago.”
Daniel swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the photos.
“The soup bowl sitting in front of your mother’s seat tested positive for an extremely high concentration of liquid chloral hydrate and crushed triazolam,” the ADA continued. “A combination that, in high doses, causes immediate motor paralysis, memory loss, and severe respiratory depression.”
“I didn't put anything in that bowl!” Daniel protested frantically. “I tell you, it was Claire! She’s trying to set me up!”
Detective Miller leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the table. “Then explain why we found a small glass vial containing traces of chloral hydrate hidden inside the lining of your leather suit jacket in your master bedroom closet, Mr. Carter.”
Daniel gasped, his breath catching in his throat.
He had forgotten. In his panic after Evelyn collapsed, he had rushed upstairs and shoved the empty vial into his jacket pocket, intending to dispose of it later, but the arrival of the police had trapped him in the house.
“We also have text messages recovered from your phone,” Detective Miller added, pulling out a printed transcript. “Sent to an illegal online pharmaceutical vendor three weeks ago, purchasing thirty milliliters of concentrated chloral hydrate under an alias.”
Daniel stared at the transcript. The evidence was overwhelming, airtight, and incontrovertible.
“She… she switched the bowls…” Daniel whispered, his voice completely breaking as he realized his defense was impossible to prove without admitting his original intent. “She knew what I was doing and she switched them…”
“Are you admitting on record that you prepared a poisoned bowl of soup with the intention of administering it to your wife, Mr. Carter?” the ADA asked coldly.
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Daniel closed his eyes, tears of absolute defeat spilling down his cheeks. He couldn't answer. To deny it meant claiming the poison appeared by magic; to admit it meant confessing to attempted murder and felony assault.
Behind the one-way glass, I stood up, pulled my coat around my shoulders, and walked out into the corridor.
