Chapter 3 - The Interrogation
By 3:00 a.m., Officer Miller and Officer Vance had brought Marianne down to the precinct. Daniel and I sat in the observation room behind the two-way mirror, watching every move she made.
Marianne sat at the metal table wearing her immaculate tweed jacket and pearl earrings, looking as though she were waiting for a tea party rather than an interrogation for attempted child poisoning. Her posture was rigidly upright, her chin tilted up with haughty defiance.
Detective Vance, a seasoned investigator with sharp eyes and graying temples, sat across from her. He placed a clear plastic evidence bag on the table. Inside was the empty bedtime bottle I had prepared, along with a white residue swabbed from the nipple.
“Mrs. Carter,” Detective Vance began, his voice calm and steady. “Do you know why you're here?”
Marianne scoffed, crossing her arms. “This is an absurd misunderstanding. My son is a paramedic, and my daughter-in-law is clearly hysterical. That girl has never liked me, and she’s trying to frame me to ruin my relationship with my son.”
“Mrs. Carter,” Detective Vance interrupted, leaning forward. “The residue in your grandson’s feeding bottle tested positive for Zolpidem. A high dosage of adult prescription sedative. Your fingerprints were all over the bottle, and you were the only person besides the parents who fed him tonight.”
Marianne’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second—a tiny tell of panic—before her mask of cool superiority snapped back into place.
“Anyone could have put that in the bottle after I left,” she retorted smoothly. “Emily is clumsy and distracted. She probably dropped something in it herself for attention. She has always been jealous of the bond I share with my family.”
Behind the glass, my hands curled into tight fists. I wanted to smash through the wall and shake the truth out of her cold, arrogant face. Daniel gently placed his hand over mine, his touch grounding me.
“Mom,” Daniel whispered softly, speaking into the intercom mic connected to the interrogation room. “Stop lying.”
Marianne froze. The intercom speaker crackled with her son's voice. She turned her head sharply toward the two-way mirror, her eyes wide with shock. She stood up abruptly, knocking her metal chair back against the floor.
“Daniel!” she cried out, her voice suddenly cracking with manufactured emotion. “You’re listening to her? You believe your own mother would hurt her flesh and blood? That woman has poisoned your mind!”
Daniel didn't flinch. He stood up, walked to the door of the observation room, and opened it. He stepped into the interrogation room, the fluorescent overhead lights casting harsh shadows across his weary face.
“I smelled it on you tonight, Mom,” Daniel said quietly, stopping a few feet away from her. “When you walked back into the hallway after I screamed. You smelled like lavender floor cleaner and crushed pills. You always crushed your sleeping pills into your chamomile tea when you had insomnia. I know that smell anywhere.”
Marianne stared at her son, her lips parting. The facade was crumbling. The arrogant, untouchable matriarch was suddenly looking very small under the weight of undeniable truth.
“I only wanted him to sleep through the night,” Marianne whispered defensively, her voice dropping to a harsh hiss. “He cried too much! He was ruining your life, Daniel! You were working double shifts to support them, and that ungrateful girl was draining you! A Carter man deserves peace! I was helping!”
Detective Vance immediately pulled out his handcuffs, standing up from his chair. “Marianne Carter, you are under arrest for the attempted poisoning and aggravated assault of a minor.”
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As the cold metal cuffs clicked around her wrists, Marianne looked past Daniel directly at me through the open door. Her eyes held pure, venomous hatred.
“You’ll never win, Emily,” she spat out as she was led away. “My son will never truly be yours.”
