Chapter 5 - The Twin’s Confession
The drive back to the 19th Precinct felt like descending through the circles of Dante’s Inferno. The rain had cleared, leaving the Manhattan streets slick and reflecting the harsh neon signs of evening, but the cold knot in my chest only tightened.
Detective Vance led me through the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of the precinct to the observation room overlooking the interrogation suite. Behind the one-way mirror sat a woman who looked almost identical to Rachel—same sharp cheekbones, same blonde hair, but with a wild, haunted look in her eyes that Rachel had always masked behind polite smiles.
Clara sat hunched over the stainless steel table, her wrists cuffed to the bolt in the center. Her prison jumpsuit was half-unzipped, and she was rocking back and forth, muttering incoherently to herself.
“She’s manic,” Detective Vance said, standing beside me with his arms crossed. “The medical staff at the hospital had to sedate her slightly just to get her into the transport van. She kept screaming that Rachel was going to ‘finish the job’ on both of them.”
“The job?” I asked, my hands gripping the metal railing of the observation deck. “What job could they possibly have together? They hated each other—at least, that’s what Rachel always told me whenever her family came up.”
“Lies, Mr. Davis. Professional, calculated lies,” Vance said quietly. He motioned to the audio feed, and the speaker crackled to life.
Inside the interrogation room, two detectives sat down across from Clara. One of them slid a folder across the table.
“Clara Pendelton. Or should we call you Clara Davis?” the lead interrogator asked.
Clara stopped rocking. She slowly raised her head, her eyes bloodshot, fixing a manic glare on the two-way mirror—directly at where I was standing. It was as if she could see right through the glass.
“He’s out there, isn't he?” Clara whispered, her voice raspy and cracked. “Javier is watching. The perfect husband. The wealthy tech mogul who bought a house built on graves.”
I stepped closer to the glass, my breath fogging the cold surface.
“Tell him about the uncle,” Clara continued, leaning forward until her nose was inches from the metal table. “Tell him what Rachel did to Uncle Arthur when he tried to stop her from taking over his estate. She didn't retire abroad, Javier! She bricked him into the foundation wall of the very cellar you just walked through!”
My legs gave out. I caught myself against the wall, the room spinning violently around me.
Bricked into the foundation.
Uncle Arthur wasn't missing. He was entombed beneath our feet the entire time I had been raising my daughter in that house.
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“And the girl?” the interrogator pressed, leaning in. “Who was the girl in the basement, Clara?”
Clara let out a harsh, chilling laugh that turned into a wet cough. “That was Rachel’s first victim after she married you, Javier. A private tutor who found out about the money laundering scheme. Rachel locked her down there to starve, and made me bring her scraps when she was feeling merciful. But I couldn't watch anymore. I tried to warn your little girl today. I tried to save Sophia before Rachel used her to cover her tracks!”
