Chapter 6 - Interrogation of a Monster
The fluorescent lights of the Cedar Ridge Police Department interrogation room hummed a monotonous tune, casting long, harsh shadows across the gray metal table.
Arthur Vance sat slumped in the bolted chair, his hands cuffed to a metal loop in the center of the table. The cocky, defiant smirk he had worn earlier in the hallway was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, sweaty panic. His gray T-shirt was rumpled, and his hair stood up in tufts where he had nervously clawed at it during the past two hours of solitary confinement.
The heavy steel door clicked open, and Sergeant Thomas Avery walked in, carrying a thick manila folder under one arm. He didn't sit down immediately. Instead, he pulled out the chair opposite Arthur, straddled it backwards, and rested his forearms on the backrest, staring silently at the prisoner.
“You can’t keep me in here like this,” Arthur finally blurted out, his voice cracking with feigned outrage. “I want my phone call! I want a lawyer! This is police harassment! My daughter fell down the stairs, I told you that!”
Avery didn't blink. He slowly opened the manila folder, sliding a sheaf of glossy medical photographs across the metal table.
The photos showed Lila’s bruised arm, the splintered chair, the nailed-shut windows, and the bleak, prison-like interior of the pink bedroom.
Arthur’s eyes flickered across the images, and his throat bobbed. He quickly looked away, staring stubbornly at the concrete wall to his left.
“You know, Arthur,” Avery began, his voice dangerously calm, almost conversational. “In my twenty-eight years on this job, I’ve seen all kinds of monsters. Men who lose their tempers, men who crack under financial pressure, men who break in moments of absolute madness. But you? You’re a special kind of sick.”
“Shut up,” Arthur hissed, his jaw clenching. “You don't know anything about me. About us. Raising a kid alone is hard. She’s difficult. She needs discipline.”
“Discipline?” Avery slammed his hand down on the metal table, the loud bang echoing like a gunshot through the small room. Arthur flinched violently back into his chair.
“Nailing windows shut isn't discipline, Arthur! Taking the lock off her door so she has zero privacy, starving her, beating her until her bones crack—that isn't discipline! That’s torture! And the best part for you?” Avery leaned in close, his face inches from Arthur’s sweat-slicked forehead. “The medical report just came in from Cedar Ridge General. Multiple fractures, chronic malnutrition, defensive wounds dating back nearly eight months. That’s not a single bad day. That’s a felony indictment for every single week of that little girl's life.”
Arthur’s chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow gasps. The bravado had completely evaporated, leaving only a pathetic, cornered coward.
“I... I was just trying to keep her safe from the world,” Arthur whispered pathetically, tears finally springing to his eyes—tears of self-pity, not remorse.
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“Well, the world is finally safe from you,” Avery said, standing up and sweeping the photographs back into the folder.
As the heavy door swung open to lead Arthur away to the county jail, Avery felt a profound sense of closure. The paperwork was ironclad, the evidence was overwhelming, and the district attorney was already preparing a multi-count indictment that would ensure Arthur Vance spent the rest of his natural life behind bars where he belonged.
