

### Closed Door

The Angela Hunter Series, #1

Published by Laybels Publishing

Copyright 2013 C. M. Okonkwo

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at their preferred ebook distribution platform, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
DISCLAIMER

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, undead, in the before-life or in the after-life, will be deemed a compliment of the author's genius.
DEDICATION

I dedicate this novella to all my ardent readers who asked me for a second part of Closed Door. This was meant to be just one short story, but it ended up being a novella with seven parts.

**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

Part One: Closed Door

Part Two: The Confession

Part Three: The Pursuit

Part Four: The Informant

Part Five: The Deal

Part Six: The Italian

Part Seven: Private Eye

Special Preview

Acknowledgments

## Part One: Closed Door

"Aggie! Open the bloody door and get out of there right now," I yelled, as I banged on the grey door that separated my room from Agnes's own. "I need to use the bathroom." I banged a few more times, but she didn't open it, or make an attempt to.

Honestly, it wasn't surprising that Agnes refused to open the door, because she always spent an eternity in the bathroom doing heaven-knows-what. You would bang and bang repeatedly, and she wouldn't even have the courtesy to say, "Yes?" or even "Give me a minute." Perhaps "Give me one hundred minutes," as it was always the case with her.

I would always go to our older brother, Samuel to knock the door down, and we would see Agnes standing in front of the full mirror, either singing or acting. She would hiss at us, roll her eyes, and stomp out in anger.

"There's a mirror in your bedroom!" I always said to her, reminding her that she could lock herself in her room and look in the mirror for as long as she wanted. No one would bother her, or even care.

If our brother wasn't home, I would go to our mom. But after unsuccessfully trying to talk Agnes out of the bathroom more than ten times, Mom gave up. She couldn't be bothered. She had a bathroom in the master bedroom she shared with Dad, so Agnes could spend the rest of her life in the one she and I shared for all Mom cared. Dad had also tried to talk her out of the bathroom on several occasions, but like Mom, he gave up trying. He would always jokingly say to me, "Sorry Angie, but your sister is crazy in the head."

I admit that Agnes was kind of weird. She was the total opposite of me: quiet, introverted, shy, and very brilliant. Not that I wasn't brilliant, I wasn't just as brilliant as she was. And even though we looked identical, we were always referred to as "beauty" and "the brain."

Well, I think it's mostly because we just entered college; I chose to major in Creative Arts and Make-up, while she chose to study Engineering. I wasn't bothered at all, though. Life was too short to study anything difficult. I just wanted to do something easy, be done with college quickly, then start "painting faces," as Mom always put it.

To tell you how excited I was about choosing that major, I started constantly doing Mom's make-up. I mean, forcing her to wear make-up, and I think Dad liked it. I always felt his heart race whenever he saw Mom looking so beautiful and yummy, many thanks to me. I also tried to apply make-up on Agnes's cute face a couple of times, but she always shoved me aside.

She didn't really like that kind of stuff: make-up, manicured fingernails, or even fancy, colorful clothing. So you can only imagine the look we had on our faces when Samuel kicked the bathroom door down the first time, and Agnes was there, hairbrush in her hand, singing into it.

"Dammit Aggie. There's a mirror in your bedroom!" I told her, in case she hadn't noticed.

On that same evening, after I had banged on the door repeatedly, I decided to use Samuel's bathroom, but when I got to his room, his door was locked. I think he was on the phone with Alexandra "Lexie" Smith, again. I didn't know what Samuel saw in that neighborhood slut, but whenever he got on the phone with her, his door remained locked for the rest of the night. Well, it was also because I walked in on him once, touching himself.

That day, Agnes had locked herself in the bathroom and I needed to shower, because I had a party to attend with my friends. I called Samuel a couple of times, but he didn't answer. So I went into his room, thinking he was sleeping, hoping to drag his muscular body off his bed. I was so embarrassed when I switched the bright light on and saw him stark naked on his bed, holding his thing and saying, "Yeah baby," "Say my name Lexie," "Call me daddy."

"Oh, my goodness!" I gasped, and held my hands over my mouth immediately.

"What the hell are you doing, Angie? Get the hell out of here!" he yelled. I had frozen like ice when I saw him in the act. "Are you fucking deaf? Get out!"

I ran out and slammed the door behind me. I stood there for a while, awkwardly biting on my fingernails before realizing I needed them to be perfect for the evening. I took a few deep breaths, then turned back to face Samuel's door and remembered my manners.

"Sam?" I called out politely, as I knocked gently on the door.

"What?" he replied, sounding military.

"Can you let me use your bathroom?" I hesitated briefly. "Pretty please?" I added quickly.

"What's wrong with yours?"

"Aggie is!"

"Go to Mom's."

"Dammit Sam," I said, feeling frustrated. "Mom and Dad are out!"

Our folks usually locked their bedroom door whenever they were going out. They started doing that a long time ago, and eventually got used to it. Well, thanks to Agnes; she had done a few too many experiments in their bedroom, which resulted in Dad having to fix one of their closet doors, repaint the walls, and change the whole light-brown rug. I don't know what tools and chemicals she had used, but Dad spent a lot of money getting the bedroom fixed.

I knocked on Samuel's door again, in an irritating way, and I heard him get up, put some clothes on, and walk toward the door. He yanked it open and walked past me. In less than a minute, he broke my bathroom door down. Agnes was in there, and this time, she was reading a play she had written, or copied off the net. She was also acting it out in front of the mirror.

"You are welcome," Samuel said, shaking his head as he walked back to his bedroom. Then he went in and slammed his door behind him.

I reminded Agnes, again, as she walked out, that she had a full mirror in her bedroom. Gosh, I hated our house. Samuel's bedroom had an in-built bathroom. And since Agnes and I had separate bedrooms, I wondered why we didn't have separate bathrooms too.

Dad was mad when he came home that day, but he got the door fixed the same week. And after about six more door-breaking-down episodes, he vowed never to fix it with his money again. In fact, he even threatened to fix it with Samuel's allowance the next time.

So you can understand why Samuel didn't want to help me out on that particular evening. I had a get-together to attend, and Agnes was being annoying again, but he couldn't afford not to have his monthly allowance. I banged one more time, and there was still no answer. I went to Samuel's bedroom and knocked on the door, gently.

"Get lost!" he yelled, anger in his tone.

I figured he was on the phone with Lexie, and didn't want to be disturbed. I walked past the living room, heading toward my folks' bedroom when Mom stopped me.

"Where do you think you are going, young lady?" she asked.

"I need to use the bathroom, and queen Aggie won't come out," I replied, still walking toward their bedroom.

"I didn't say you could use ours."

"But Mom—"

"Didn't you already have a long bath this morning?" Dad interrupted with the question.

"And a longer one this afternoon?" Mom added.

"Yes!" I answered. "But I'm going out soon, so I have to take a quick bath."

"You go out every single day. Don't you think you should rest today?" Dad asked.

"No, I don't! This is a very big event and I _have_ to be there," I pointed out clearly.

"Don't you have any studying to do?" he fired back.

"I know, right? Don't you ever have any homework, like your sister does?" Mom asked.

I didn't reply. Mom was like Dad's shadow. Instead of being on my side, she supported his every word.

"Or tests, or even exams?" she added, confirming my belief she was not on my side.

"No, no, and no!" I said, breathing like a threatened dragon. "I study creative arts and make-up, so I have no coursework or research paper."

My folks saw the desperate and angry look on my face, but instead of being compassionate, they laughed out loud before Mom finally motioned for me to go into their bedroom.

"Thank you both," I said, rolling my eyes as I opened the door and entered the bedroom.

I had a thirty-minute, warm and relaxing bath. Then, I wiped myself dry, creamed my body, and put on my housecoat. I smiled as I walked out of my folks' bedroom, already thinking of what to put on for the get-together. As I walked toward my bedroom, I felt their eyes fixed on me before Dad asked a question.

" _Quick_ bath, huh? Do we still have any water left?" He and Mom burst out laughing again. I didn't think it was funny, so I ignored them and kept moving.

As I continued toward my bedroom, I noticed the bathroom door was still closed. I sighed, because I knew I would have waited endlessly if I were hoping for Agnes to come out before it was time for me to leave. I pounded on the door one more time as I walked past it.

"Queen Aggie, what act and scene are you on now?" I asked, muffling a laugh. "Or did you compose a new song this time?"

I don't know what made me do it, but I tried the door. I guess it was just my reflexes, since I knew she always locked it. Surprisingly, it wasn't locked this time. And as curious as I was, I opened it and pushed it to the end. As soon as I saw Agnes, I screamed, right before I fainted.

When I woke up, some police officers were in my house, and a red stretcher was already wheeling Agnes's body out in a black body bag. I stood up immediately, but Dad told me to sit back. Mom was standing by the door and crying, as she watched the stretcher leave. Then, she ran after it and started pulling it back into the house before Dad went to hold her. I turned my head to the side and saw Samuel by the hallway, his phone glued to one ear, whispering into it.

I didn't know what exactly had happened, but as I was trying to put everything together, an officer walked up to me. He introduced himself as Detective Jacob Slaughter, and his partner as Detective Kingsley Pruitt. Before I could even grasp both their names, he started throwing questions at me. Then, he asked if I saw anyone in the bathroom when I opened the door.

"No, Detective. I only saw my sister on the floor, her wrist slit and the knife by her side." I shook at the mention of that. "There was blood everywhere." I sobbed and Dad came to me. He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed them gently.

Dad was joggling between consoling Mom and I, while Samuel was making himself useful to his phone, and useless to us. No one could even hear what he was saying, but we were very sure Lexie was on the other end of the call.

"So was she depressed, or was anyone giving her any trouble?" Detective Slaughter asked, looking back and forth at the three of us. I suddenly snapped out of the thought of snatching Samuel's cell phone, telling Lexie to get lost before smashing it on the wall right in front of him. Mom had walked back to the sitting room and joined me on the couch.

We all shook our heads at Detective Slaughter's question. For one thing, we knew Agnes was very quiet and never got into any form of trouble. And neither did I.

"And you are absolutely sure you didn't see anyone in the bathroom?" He fixed his gaze on only me when he asked the question.

"No, Detective." I shook my head several times. "I didn't see anyone in the bathroom."

"Do you normally leave the bathroom window open?"

I stopped to think about it for a second. I wasn't sure if I normally did. "I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" He looked at me as if I had just spoken in Latin. "It's either a yes or a no!"

"Well, I don't! Leave it open, I mean. And I don't know if Aggie did, or does, or did." It felt weird speaking about her in present tense, but weirder referring to her in past tense.

"Aggie?" he asked, with eyebrows raised, almost touching his hairline.

"Agnes, I mean. We shared the bathroom," I said, correcting myself. They obviously had no idea we called her "Aggie" for short.

"Did anyone ever enter the house through the window? Or did Agnes ever have someone in through the window?"

I rubbed my jaw and squinted my eyes at those questions. As I thought about it, I realized it might have been possible. Agnes might have had people climb in, then send them out quickly whenever she heard our voices at the door. All the singing and acting in front of the mirror might have just been a way to distract us. But as I was thinking of what Agnes might have or might not have done, it suddenly hit me that the detective's questions were off point.

"Does it matter if someone was in the bathroom, or if we always left the window open?" I asked. "I mean, what does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything, because Agnes didn't commit suicide," Detective Slaughter said, and paused briefly. "She was killed."

We all stared at Detective Slaughter as those words came out of his thin lips. Samuel finally put his phone down to hear what the detective was going to say next. I was sure it was probably Lexie that asked him to listen, because she also wanted to know what was going on.

"What are you saying?" I asked the detective almost immediately. "How would you know that?"

"Agnes was cut on her right hand, and unless she turned her left hand 360 degrees, there's no way she cut herself," he replied with absolute certainty.

"What does that mean?" Dad asked.

"It means that a left handed killer sliced Agnes's wrist and let her bleed out."

"And if we are very lucky, the killer would have left us some prints on the knife," Detective Pruitt added.

We all turned to look at Detective Pruitt. He hadn't said anything before then. Just like me, I was sure the others were also thinking he was mute. I guessed he was just naturally laconic. It was good to know that he wasn't a robot. When they were done with the questions, they took the evidence they found, and Detective Slaughter gave me his business card before they left.

The following day, my family was invited to the station to witness an interrogation. Just as Detective Pruitt had said, some fingerprints were pulled off the handle of the knife, belonging to two boys: a certain Bill Newman, who I had only seen once before, and a Gregory Kindle.

I saw them both at an event. Bill Newman looked lost, as if he was looking for something or someone. He had introduced himself to me, but I didn't remember what else had come out of his mouth that night. Gregory Kindle, on the other hand, was new in the neighborhood. Apart from the first time I saw him at the event, I saw him again two weeks later at a house party I attended, and we had spoken a bit. He said his family had just moved in, and so he wanted to make new friends. He was very good looking, but to a fault. His charm gave him the looks of a mysterious killer. But right after he left me, all the girls were all over him and he gave out a soft smile, making him look angelic all of a sudden.

Anyway, after about two hours of interrogation, the detectives weren't able to get anything out of the boys. So they kept them in holding, and walked us out of the building. As we were going to our car, we saw a young guy casually strolling down the street. I recognized him.

The young guy noticed our eyes on him, and turned to look at all of us. Then his eyes shone bright when he saw me, like it was love at second sight. I had also seen him once before, so this was our second eye contact.

"No. It can't be real. You!" he yelled, pointing at me. "I killed you! I watched you die!"

Before he could say another word, the detectives ran over to him, tackled him to the ground, and handcuffed him. Dad and Samuel were confused, and Mom already started to panic.

Dad turned to me. "Who in the world is that?" he asked. "Do you know him?"

"Yes," I replied, shocked. "That's Benjamin Clay!"

"Who the hell is Benjamin Clay?" Dad asked, as we watched the detectives drag Benjamin into the station.

I turned to look at Samuel before replying, "Benjamin is Lexie's cousin!" I then turned back to look at Dad. "He dropped Lexie off at the house about two weeks ago."

They all looked at me with eyes and mouth wide open, before running back into the station to join the detectives. In the process, Samuel pulled out his phone and started making a call. I had a feeling he was calling Lexie to inform her of the situation. I also followed them into the building, because I didn't want to miss out on anything. But I couldn't stop thinking of what I could have done wrong to Benjamin. I didn't know why he wanted me dead then, but he had murdered my identical twin sister, thinking it was me.

## Part Two: The Confession

Okay, I wasn't entirely honest when I said I didn't know why Benjamin wanted me dead. At least I had an idea, even though I didn't believe it was a good enough reason to want to put an end to someone's life.

I believed it all happened on the day I was walking back home from a friend's house. There was a lemon-green car parked two blocks away from my house. It was the color of the car that caught my attention, but when I looked into it, something else piqued my interest. There were two people in it. I couldn't see their faces, but I noticed that they were locking lips intensely. I knew I should have walked away at that moment, but I couldn't just turn my back on a free show, especially a live one.

I pulled out my cell phone from my front pocket, and with three clicks, I started recording the show. The pair started from kissing, to smooching, then to the main deal. Before I knew it, the front seats were reclined, almost touching the floor, shirts were flying in the air, and pants were pulled down. Then came the full action. I zoomed in and continued recording the scene.

The car windows were gradually becoming misty, but the video quality was good, so I kept it rolling. I watched with wide-open eyes as the two of them had a crazy ten-minute session in the car. After their session, they collapsed beside each other, as they took deep breaths. I was still filming and watching them on my phone when I noticed they had stopped moving. I then looked up at them, and it seemed as though the guy was staring at me.

I was a bit scared, because I didn't know if they had realized that I was filming them, and I didn't want to get caught. So I quickly stopped recording, put the phone on my ear, and acted as if I was talking to someone. The plan worked, because they both suddenly looked at me for a brief moment before turning back to look at each other. They weren't able to tell that I had watched them all through. It was probably too dark to see the nervous expression on my face or even make out my features because of the hat I had on.

Luckily for me, our eyes didn't meet when I walked past their car. And as I continued down the street, I felt them looking at me until I disappeared into the next street. I thought it wise to slip away from their gaze, or from an attempt to run me over if they suspected anything. I was still one block away from home, but I needed the diversion, even though it meant me walking an extra fifteen minutes. When I got home, I needed to pee badly, but the bathroom door was locked. I banged and banged on it repeatedly, and as usual, there was no answer.

"Damn you, Aggie!" I yelled. "I don't know why you never want to use the mirror in your room, but this is getting ridiculous."

I danced all the way to Samuel's bedroom, twisting my legs together, with a heavy bladder that was getting ready to erupt, and he clearly told me to get lost. He said he didn't want me to use his toilet or even enter his room, because he wanted his room to remain tidy for Lexie.

I didn't know what he meant by "remain tidy," but that statement really pissed me off, and I detested Lexie immediately. Anyway, I told myself I was going to have to deal with that issue much later, because any form of hating, or rage was sure to speedup the bladder eruption I felt was going to happen at any moment.

I ran to my folks' bedroom and tried to open the door. It was locked. That was weird, given that I had just seen their cars in the driveway when I was walking back home. I banged on the door a few times, and as loud as possible. I waited for an answer, but I got none.

It didn't take long before I heard some noise coming from inside their room, but then it went dead silent almost immediately. That didn't fool me, though. I banged repeatedly again, and it was even louder than the first few bangs, until someone finally decided to talk to me.

"Who's that trying to bang our door down?"

"Dad, it's Angie," I replied. "I need to use your toilet, please. And don't tell me to wait for Aggie or go to Sam's."

"Then go to the guest toilet, Angie. Your mom and I are trying to get some sleep."

"Yeah, right. Sleep my foot," I said to myself. It wasn't even seven in the evening yet, and it was a Saturday. So there was absolutely no way on earth they could have been trying to sleep. As I stood there, my bladder already started to punch me in the gut. I couldn't just give up and walk away. The only other option was to go outside and do my business behind our house, in full view of the five houses that circled ours. Thanks, but no thanks!

"The pipe broke some two months ago, remember?" I asked, wondering how he could have forgotten about that. "Besides, the fix-it guy said we shouldn't use the guest toilet until further notice," I added, and waited impatiently.

"Dad?" There was no answer. "C'mon, Dad!" Total silence. "Please, Dad! My bladder is going to—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Angie!" Dad interrupted me, irritation in his tone.

I heard him stand up, and after taking his time, he came toward the door and yanked it open. "You have only two minutes to do your business and run off," he said, then clapped his hands, signaling for me to move it.

"Roger that!" I replied, saluting him with two fingers, as I scampered toward the toilet.

Mom was on the bed, with the covers pulled up neck high. I didn't want to imagine what I had interrupted, but I was glad they had thought of locking the door. I didn't want to be given any nickname by having another _Samuel-like_ incidence added to my list. The only difference would have been me walking in to see the full scene, and having a weird image of my folks from then on.

"Thanks, Dad. My bladder also thanks you dearly for saving it," I said, throwing him a soft and grateful smile as I walked out of their bedroom. "And enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Oh, we definitely will!" Dad said, mischief in his eyes. Mom started giggling at his reply.

_Ewww!_ I walked out quickly and slammed the door shut behind me.

"And make sure you lock the door," I said, and marched off. I didn't want to walk into any disturbing scene if my bladder started to trouble me again, because the one I recorded on my phone was enough to last me the whole year.

Just then, I remembered I was yet to lay back and enjoy my new video. I grinned and rubbed my hands together at the thought of that. As I walked toward my room, I removed my sweater and the matching bright-pink hat I had on, freeing my hair that I had held up in a bun. But as I reached for my bedroom doorknob, I heard the front door bell. I quickly opened my door and flung my things in, before going to check who was at the main door.

I looked through the peephole, but before I could see who it was, three very loud and heavy bangs on the door pushed my head back.

"Lexie! That wasn't funny," I reproached, as I opened the door. "You knew I was looking through the peephole, didn't you?"

"Sorry, Aggie," she said, unremorsefully, and walked past me. "You took your time."

"And it's Angie, not Aggie!" I corrected. She had been a regular face at my house for more than six months, but she still couldn't tell the difference between Agnes and I.

"Yeah, whatever! It's the same to me," she said, as she headed toward Samuel's bedroom.

"And who are you?" I asked, and blocked the door with my arm, scrutinizing the young guy that attempted to walk in a few seconds after Lexie.

"Umm, my name's Benjamin Clay," he replied, staring at me and smiling like it was love at first sight.

"Okay, but who are you here to—"

"Let him in," Lexie said from the hallway, interrupting me. "He's my cousin."

I stepped aside and motioned for him to enter and take a seat. Then I shut the front door and went straight to my room. I jumped into my bed and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I inserted my earphone into the port, and I immediately started watching my new video.

Halfway through it, I heard some noise coming from the hallway, so I paused the video and went to check it out. I peeped through the keyhole and saw Lexie. It was obvious that she had just finished a quick session with Samuel. She was creeping out of his room, holding her bra in one hand, and her tank top in the other. She stopped to put them on, and I noticed black ink on her back. I looked closely at the ink, then immediately looked at my phone again.

"Oh, my goodness!" I exclaimed, in a whisper.

Lexie had the same black rose tattoo on her back as the girl in the video I recorded. It could only mean one thing: Neighborhood slut was doing it with her cousin, Benjamin Clay. It was the best discovery I had ever made, because if the video were to be released, it would break Samuel and Lexie up for good. I liked the thought of that, so I knew exactly what to do with the video. I quickly sent it, along with nametags to someone we all nicknamed _The Informant_. It was none other than the foul-mouthed Mary-Kate Pearson.

Before I could put my phone down in total satisfaction of my handiwork, I started receiving a lot of notifications. The video had already gone viral, and within a week, it caused havoc in Lexie's home, neighborhood, and school. But the only thing I had expected to happen didn't. Samuel didn't care about the video, or about Lexie's loose ways; he still glued himself to her, like bee to fresh honey.

As far as I know, leaking the video was the only thing that could have linked me to Lexie and Benjamin, and caused an issue between us. The only contradiction was that Mary-Kate never gave out her sources to anyone.

So we were back at the police station, Benjamin Clay handcuffed and escorted into the building by Detectives Slaughter and Pruitt. We all followed them to see how everything would play out, especially the motive behind Benjamin's action. A part of me was scared, because if my folks found out that the video I had recorded and my childish behavior had motivated Benjamin, I would be in serious trouble. But then again, it could have been a different motive altogether.

Detective Pruitt led us through a door to watch the interrogation behind a one-way mirror, while Detective Slaughter handled Benjamin, pushing him into the interrogation room and forcing him to sit down. After all four of us were settled in the viewing room, Detective Pruitt left the room briefly. A few minutes later, he returned with another officer and... Lexie!

Lexie ran up to Samuel and hugged him. "Thanks for calling me, babe. I came here as fast as I could." She turned to look at Detective Pruitt. "Why the hell are you holding Benjy?"

Detective Pruitt ignored her question and said, "This officer will stay here with you all until the interrogation is over." He walked out and slammed the door behind him.

Lexie turned to look at my folks, but they frowned at her without saying a word. They were probably very angry that she was in the same room as us, after her cousin had murdered their daughter. She then looked at me, but I gave her an icy stare until she looked away. Just then, Detective Pruitt entered the interrogation room and the questioning began.

"You obviously intended to kill a girl," Detective Slaughter said. "But you ended up killing her twin sister instead. So my question is: Why did you want to kill anyone in the first place?"

"What? I didn't even know there was a twin involved," Benjamin replied, sounding lost. "I was never given that information."

"And who was supposed to give you the information?"

Probably realizing he had slipped and given out an unknown accomplice, Benjamin adjusted himself in the chair and said, "I wasn't aware she was a twin, I meant to say."

"Look here, boy. If you don't start telling us the truth right now, you are going to spend the rest of your life in prison. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Benjamin didn't like the sound of that. He looked back and forth at the detectives, fear in his eyes, and sweat trickling down his forehead. "Yes, I understand what you are saying." He nodded. "And I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison."

"Then start talking! Why did you want to kill Angela Hunter?" Detective Slaughter banged his fist on the interrogation table, breathing furiously.

"Wait, Angela? I thought her name was Agnes? I was supposed to kill Agnes."

Behind the one-way mirror, we all looked at each other in utter confusion. And there I was, thinking I had just escaped death, but then Benjamin was implying that Agnes was _the_ target. Mom held her hands over her mouth, tears dropping from her eyes. Dad pulled her closer and held her on the shoulders, squeezing them gently. Samuel was emotionless. It was hard to tell what he was feeling. Lexie had one hand on her hip and the other hand on her forehead. One thing was for sure: we were all confused, worried, and eager to hear the end of the story.

I was distracted and shaken out of my deep thought when Detective Pruitt lifted Benjamin up with one hand and slammed him against the wall. "Tell us what we need to know right now or this will be the last time you'll ever be able to look up at the sky!"

Detective Pruitt was undoubtedly full of surprises. He hadn't said a single word since the beginning of the interrogation, but now he happened to be the mean bully. No one understood what he meant by his threat, but it sure made Benjamin so scared that he trembled.

"Ohey, ohey," Benjamin said, trying to breathe. "Haw suhl."

"What the hell did you say?" Detective Pruitt asked, maintaining his firm grip on Benjamin.

"Haw suhl. Haw—"

"Let go of his fucking throat, will you?" Detective Slaughter butted in. "He sounds like a dying frog."

Detective Pruitt let go of Benjamin's neck, and he dropped on his knees, holding his neck with both hands and coughing with difficulty.

"What the hell was all that croaking about, boy?" Detective Slaughter asked.

"In case you didn't notice, _Detective Dinosaur_ here had his limbs around my neck. Even you would sound like a dying frog if your neck was squeezed," Benjamin said, and paused briefly, finally catching his breath. "I was trying to say 'okay, I'll talk.'"

"So quit wasting our time and talk already!" Detective Slaughter barked.

"First of all," Detective Pruitt cut in. "What were the roles of those boys in the murder? Or should I say, the roles of _your_ _accomplices_?"

Benjamin looked at them with confusion plastered on his face. "I don't understand what you mean. What boys are you talking about?"

Detective Pruitt banged his hand on the table, then banged on it repeatedly after every word he said. "Stop _(bang)_ joking _(bang)_ us _(bang)_ around _(bang)_!" he yelled, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He composed himself after a few seconds, then sighed before opening his eyes to look at Benjamin. "Bill Newman and Gregory Kindle? I believe they are friends of yours."

"I've never heard those names before," Benjamin replied, looking back and forth at the four angry eyes staring at him. "I swear. I don't know who they are. I only come around here once in a while, and besides, I only talk with..." he cleared his throat, "...with girls when I'm here."

"Well, we found their fingerprints on the knife you used to slash Agnes's wrist. Do you care to tell us how the prints got on the knife?"

"How am I supposed to know that? I have no idea. You are the experts!"

"Think, dammit. Think!" Detective Pruitt said, almost reaching to grab Benjamin again.

"Okay, okay. I remember now." Benjamin shut his eyes and started to mumble. "I met her at a get-together earlier that evening, and we talked briefly. She said she wanted her dead before picking up a napkin, wrapping it around a knife, and pulling it out of the cake. She then wiped off the cake particles and gave me the knife." He opened his eyes when he finished talking.

"You are not making any sense," Detective Slaughter said. "Who wanted her dead?"

"Agnes, the girl behind the closed door!" Benjamin replied.

"We know that, stupid," Detective Pruitt said. "But _who_ wanted her dead?"

Benjamin lifted his face and looked Detective Pruitt in the eyes. Then he moved his gaze to Detective Slaughter before looking at the wall where the one-way mirror was situated.

"Who the hell wanted Agnes dead? Dammit!" Detective Pruitt yelled, and banged his fist on the table.

"It was my cousin, Lexie Smith!" Benjamin spat out. " _She_ wanted Agnes dead, not me."

Detective Pruitt immediately ran into the room where we were all standing and watching the interrogation. But just like us, he was also very shocked to discover that Lexie was not in the viewing room anymore. She was gone! We didn't know exactly when she snuck out, but she had already exited the building. And the pursuit for her began.

## Part Three: The Pursuit

The only thing that kept ringing in my ears was Benjamin Clay's deep voice. It wasn't like he had ever said anything nice or cool to make me notice the depth in his voice, but the way he said it when he implicated Lexie in the closed-door mystery made me tremble all over. It didn't stop playing in my head, and it wasn't ever going to stop until the end of the case.

I couldn't stop thinking that the detectives hadn't done their job right, or the police station was a mere joke. I mean, how could they have let Lexie slip out, and without a trace? It had been more than a week since Benjamin's confession and she was still nowhere to be found. Apart from the fact that I wanted nothing better than to see her behind bars, I really needed to know why she was particularly after Agnes, because Benjamin's confession didn't provide us with the answers we needed.

In fact, after giving up Lexie's name, Benjamin also told the detectives that personally, he had nothing against Agnes. He only owed Lexie a favor, and killing Agnes was what Lexie wanted him to do. He said he had tried talking her out of it, imploring her to change her mind but she was headstrong with her decision. So with Lexie still missing, it felt as if I was going to lose what was left of my mind.

Even in my grief, I was happy about one thing: Samuel wouldn't be spending long hours on the phone anymore. But annoyingly, he was upset about losing Lexie, and was still finding it difficult to accept Benjamin's confession. He didn't even show the same level of grief when Agnes was being wheeled out on the stretcher. I remember he was glued to his phone with _the_ killer the whole time when he should have been by his family's side.

It was little wonder why she wanted him to listen carefully to what Detective Slaughter was saying about Agnes _not_ committing suicide. And she probably came to the police station after she received his call to know how far they had gone with the investigation. But how she was able to escape from the viewing room still remained a wonder to all of us.

Anyway, we were on the dining table, quietly having dinner. I couldn't remember the last time we sat together as a family. It was awkward. In fact, I think only Mom and Dad used the dining table. Samuel, Agnes and I always ate in our bedrooms, even against Mom's wishes.

But on that particular evening, Mom insisted all four of us sit together. It was her hope to try to bring the family back together so that we would remain strong. She really believed that had we been closer in the first place, we probably would have all been doing something together, maybe having dinner, or watching a movie on the evening Agnes was taken from us. She was right, though. We should have spent more time together. _I_ , personally, should have spent a lot of time with my other half so that she wouldn't have spent all her free time locked up in the bathroom, talking, singing or acting with herself. The solitude she must have felt!

We said grace and were about to dig into our food when there was loud, continuous banging on the front door. Dad put his cutlery down and went to check who it was. He then yanked the door wide open as soon as he looked through the peephole, while the rest of us watched, eager to know who the impatient visitor was.

"Where the hell is Alexandra Smith?" Detective Slaughter asked, as he drove the door back to the wall and stepped into the house with Detective Pruitt following closely behind him.

"What's all this about? You damn well know that I have no idea where she is!" Dad said, an apparent mix of confusion, reproach and anger gingered his tone. "And heaven forbids I find her first before you two do." He darted his eyes back and forth at them.

"You don't know where she is, but _he_ does," the detective pointed at Samuel with one hand, and attempted to approach him with his other hand curled up in a fist.

"Hey, hold it right there," Dad said, trying to take charge of the situation. "That's my son you are accusing. Back away from him and unroll that fist of yours."

"Sam?" Mom called out in a shaky voice, almost breaking down. "What are the detectives talking about? Do you know where Alexandra is?"

"Of course not, Mom. These men are talking nonsense. I would never even speak to Lexie, let alone care where she is. Not after all that has happened."

"Fat liar!" I spat out. I knew he was madly in love with Lexie, and there was absolutely no doubt in me that he would choose her over us, any day, any time.

"Shut the hell up!" he replied immediately, flashing me his dark, squinted eyes.

"No, you shut up!" I fired back at him, with my eyes also squinted.

He stood up, enraged. I also stood up. We maintained eye contact for a few seconds before I lowered my stare and looked at his muscles. He was deliberately moving them to frighten me. I surely couldn't take him in a duel, but there were three men in the house who would readily take him in my place. Not to forget Mom, she would never sit and watch Samuel fight me.

"Why don't you both shut up?" Detective Pruitt said, looking at the two of us. Then he fixed his gaze on Samuel and said, "Give me your cell phone."

"And why the hell would I want to do that?" Samuel asked, looking at Detective Pruitt as if he had said something ridiculously stupid.

"So your parents, and your sister can see all the text messages you've been exchanging with your killer girlfriend."

Samuel got agitated, and we could see lumps of sweat starting to trickle down his forehead. He began to panic, and before we could figure out what was going on with him, he took off, making his way for the front door. But Detective Pruitt's reflexes were sharp. He took a few steps to the side, stretched out his arm and caught Samuel on the chest, sending him flying backward. Samuel fell atop the dining table, smashing into the plates.

"Now, you both have ruined dinner!" I yelled, making everyone turn to look at me.

Yes, I cared about dinner, not Detective Slaughter's accusations, Detective Pruitt's smack-down show or Samuel's bruised back. If he had cooperated in the first place, Detective Pruitt wouldn't have had to knock him down. And him dashing off like that obviously meant he had been in contact with Lexie, or at least knew where she was.

"I swear to you, I don't know where Lexie is," Samuel said to Detective Pruitt, as he tried to get back on his feet, touching the back of his aching head and wincing in pain.

"Give me your phone, now!" Detective Pruitt ordered.

I turned toward the front door and saw Detective Slaughter with his phone glued to one ear. I was distracted by what he was saying. He had received a phone call shortly before Detective Pruitt knocked Samuel down, and walked away to talk. I took interest in the words that were coming out of his mouth, even though I couldn't really make any sense of the conversation.

" _I don't believe it ... What else? ... No way! ... Are you serious? ... Right now? ... Okay, I'll check that out_..."

"What was he talking about and what was the other person telling him to check out? What didn't he believe and what was going on right now?" I asked myself. I then turned to Samuel. He had already given his phone to Detective Pruitt, who didn't waste another second going through it, scrolling down slowly and looking at the screen with interest.

I turned back to Detective Slaughter. He had just thanked the person on the other end of the phone and hung up. He looked at his phone's screen for a few seconds, then put the phone in his pocket and headed toward the hallway leading to our bedrooms.

"Where the hell is he going?" Samuel asked, shifting his worries from Detective Pruitt and his phone, to Detective Slaughter. No one answered him.

"Where the hell are you going?" he asked Detective Slaughter directly this time.

Detective Slaughter paid no attention to Samuel and kept moving before attempting to ask, "Which one's Samuel's bed—"

"Second to the left," I replied, interrupting him before he could finish his question.

"You stupid brat!" Samuel yelled at me. He tried to run to the hallway and stop Detective Slaughter, but Detective Pruitt held him back.

"Any reason why the door is locked?" Detective Slaughter asked, tugging at the doorknob.

"Yes, because it's _my_ bloody room..." Samuel shot out, "...which means _stay the hell out_."

"You better open it now or I'll break it down."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I will in three seconds," Detective Slaughter replied before he started counting, "Three, —"

Samuel interrupted, yelling out the longest 'no' and 'don't' I had ever heard followed by the words 'door,' 'window' and 'grass.' I wondered what he was talking about, and if the blow to his upper torso had made him delusional all of a sudden. And before I could get an answer to that, there was a loud bang. Detective Slaughter had kicked in Samuel's door.

At the same time, Samuel made a run for the front door again, but Detective Pruitt ran after him immediately, tackling him to the ground. They scuffled raucously while Mom, Dad, and I stood there, shocked, gaping at the drama like zombies. With all the noise they were making, we weren't able to hear what Detective Slaughter was saying to us. When Detective Pruitt had finally subdued Samuel, we were then able to hear Detective Slaughter clearly.

"Well, well, well. Look who I found trying to jump out of the window, onto the bed of grass under it, after attempting to barricade the door."

"Holy heaven," "You have got to be kidding me," "My goodness," Mom, Dad and I said at the same time when we saw Detective Slaughter walking out of the room, pushing Lexie in front of him, her hands secured behind her. Samuel's eyes also weakened, revealing complete disappointment when he saw them coming out of the hallway.

"Door, window, grass? Seriously?" Detective Slaughter asked, as he approached the front door. He looked at Samuel and said, "That's one hell of a code, boy. Never heard of _run_?"

"Yeah, I've heard of run, thank you very much," Samuel replied, as he tried to free himself from Detective Pruitt's grip. He couldn't. "Get off me, you beast!" he yelled, then turned back to Detective Slaughter. "Let Lexie go. She didn't do anything. She told me she was innocent."

"So why is she hiding?" Detective Pruitt asked, dragging Samuel to his feet. "Get up! You are under arrest!" he added, as he pulled out his handcuffs.

"What the hell for?" Samuel threw a confused look, then added, "Mom! Dad! Don't let—"

"Shut up and keep walking!" Detective Pruitt interrupted and pushed him out of the house.

Mom, Dad and I suddenly jumped out of our zombie mode. Then Dad quickly grabbed his keys and headed toward the door. Mom ran into her room to get her purse, while I took a big piece of chicken, and we left for the police station, following the detectives' patrol car.

We were back in the viewing room, again, and it was just Dad, Mom, and I in there. The detectives started the interrogation with Samuel. He was officially a suspect in the case, and also an accomplice for communicating with Lexie and hiding her under his bed for five _whole_ days. It was too much for any of us to understand. Mom cried nonstop, and I was so tempted to shush her so that we could hear what the detectives were saying to Samuel. I didn't have to eventually, because once Dad put her head on his shoulder, she started sobbing quietly.

"So why did you want your sister dead?" Detective Slaughter asked.

"Why would I want my sister dead?" Samuel asked, with a sarcastic look on his face.

"I believe I just asked you the same question, stupid. Why did you want her dead?"

"I'm not stupid, okay? I didn't want my sister dead and I would never have wanted that."

"And Alexandra Smith?"

"What about her?"

"You were hiding a killer in your house, under your bed. That makes you an accessory to murder. So you better start talking."

"See, that's where you got it all wrong. Lexie didn't kill anybody. Benjamin did."

"So you knew about the plan all along, didn't you?"

"Of course not. Benjamin already confessed, and he clearly wanted to implicate someone."

Detective Slaughter sighed. After five minutes of a seesaw interrogation, he knew he wasn't going to get anything out of Samuel. Either Samuel was genuinely clueless, or he was hiding something. For the sake of love, and family peace, I hoped it was the former.

Detective Pruitt had been sitting there, watching Samuel quietly, not contributing anything to the interrogation. He then leaned toward Detective Slaughter and whispered something into his ear. Detective Slaughter nodded, then Detective Pruitt stood up and left the room. He then came into the viewing room where we were, and asked us to follow him.

"Is something wrong, Detective?" I asked, curiosity and fear in my voice. I hoped we hadn't become suspects as well, because technically we were all in the same house with Lexie.

He didn't answer. He stopped in front of a door, opened it, turned the light on, and told us to go in before he spoke. "My partner has taken Samuel to holding for now. We will interrogate Alexandra Smith instead to hear what she has to say." He then left us and shut the door before we could even say anything.

As we turned around, Detective Slaughter was walking into the interrogation room where Lexie was waiting. Detective Pruitt joined him a few seconds later and the questioning began.

"You dragged your lover into killing his sister with you and Benjamin Clay? Why?"

"Don't be silly! Sam had nothing to do with this," she said, and sat back in the chair. "I only sent him a text the day after I ran away and swore that I was innocent. He didn't believe me at first, but I was able to convince him after he allowed me go over to his house to talk to him."

"And just like that, he let you stay with him? One of the main suspects in his sister's case!"

Lexie looked down. "Well, what can I say? He believes I am innocent. Plus I also told him my family was trying to clear my name, so I needed some place to hide until then."

"Okay, enough with the bullshit," Detective Pruitt cut in. "Why did you want Agnes dead? And just so we are clear, you _are_ going to prison one way or the other."

"I didn't do shit, okay?" Lexie yelled back. " _Benjy_ slit Agnes's wrist, not me!"

"But _you_ asked him to do it because he owed you a favor. Why did you want her dead?"

One look into Detective Pruitt's blood-red eyes, Lexie spat out, "That Agnes bitch! She was always acting quiet and holier than angels. She recorded me and umm..." She paused.

"Go on. She recorded you and umm what?"

"She recorded me and a guy doing... something in the front seat of his car. And—"

"You and Benjamin, you mean. What? Are you suddenly ashamed to say it as it is?"

"Fine, whatever, me and Benjamin. And she didn't stop there. She shared the video with the world, made my life miserable and got me expelled! So you see why she had to pay for it."

What Lexie said didn't make any sense to me. She was clearly lying to the detectives. There was more to what she was saying. As far as I was concerned, she hadn't told us the truth yet. There had to be some sort of connection with Agnes, but it had nothing to do with the video.

"Let me get this straight," Detective Slaughter said. "So a video goes viral on social media, and the one person you thought was responsible for it is a quiet, shy, and anti-social girl?"

"Yes! At least I heard she was the total opposite before I made my decision."

"Who told you she was the total opposite? How did you even know she shared the video?"

"Why don't you throw all your questions to the person that uploaded the video instead?"

"And who might the person be?"

"Someone we call _The Informant_. Mary-Kate Pearson. She told me Agnes was the source."

I shook my head when she said that, because I knew it couldn't have been true. Mary-Kate knew _I_ was the source of the video, and not Agnes. And if the detectives had gone through her phone, they wouldn't have found Agnes's number in it. The only things I wondered were if Mary-Kate had set Agnes up or made a mistake, and why she would even give out her source.

"Let's go, Pruitt. We are bringing Mary-Kate Pearson in. We _will_ get to the bottom of this!" Detective Slaughter said, waking me out of my thought. Then they left the interrogation room, leaving us in the viewing room, staring at each other. And the wait for Mary-Kate began.

## Part Four: The Informant

I didn't check what time it was when the detectives went in search of Mary-Kate Pearson, so I couldn't tell how long we had been standing in the viewing room, waiting for something to happen. We didn't know what to expect next, but to keep waiting. Dad was walking around in circles, engaging himself in a loud monologue. Mom, on the other hand, was glued to the one-way mirror, her stare fixed steadily on Lexie.

Lexie was seated in the interrogation room and was agitatedly biting her fingernails. She would stand up, walk around the room twice, sit back on the chair, put her head on the table, draw imaginary circles on it with her index finger, lean back in the chair, bite her fingernails again, and the cycle would restart.

I stood there and watched all three of them express what they were feeling in different and bizarre ways. My thoughts flashed to Samuel. I wondered if he was still in holding, or if he had been allowed to go. He must have been eager to know what had happened in his absence. Agnes also crossed my mind. I thought of her body still in the morgue, cold and alone.

I couldn't wait for the investigation to be over so that we would finally lay her to rest. I felt it was long overdue. If it were left to me, I would have done her funeral the day after I found her in the bathroom, or maybe even on the same day. It had been more than a week, but my folks didn't want to lay her to rest without first finding out why she was killed.

While I was still grieving in my thoughts, the door of the viewing room swung open. It was Detective Pruitt. He poked his head through the door and said, "Follow me," motioning with a slight nod of his head to signal what direction we were to go.

We all jumped out of our thoughts, startled, our minds fully alert, and we followed him. We went through the same drill: entering into a dark empty room, Detective Pruitt turning on the light, then walking away without waiting for us to say anything at all to him. I looked around and noticed that we were back in the same room we had used to watch Samuel's questioning, because I spotted the same napkin I had used to wipe my hands after eating a piece of chicken in the bin. I then wondered where Samuel was being "held."

After Detective Pruitt left and closed the door behind him, we walked toward the one-way mirror and waited because there was no one at the other side yet. But in less than a minute, the interrogation room door swung open and both detectives stormed in. Detective Slaughter held Mary-Kate with one hand and pushed her to the chair, forcing her to sit down.

I didn't know how or where they had found her, but she was clad in a _Supergirl_ costume. I wondered if there was a theme party happening that I wasn't aware of, because I always knew about _every_ single event happening in my neighborhood. Anyway, I wasn't fazed. I was better off staying up-to-date on the investigation until the end, than keeping myself informed about parties or events. I didn't even have my phone on me, and that was my main source for event notifications and gossip.

Mary-Kate sat down and eyed both detectives menacingly before saying, "Do you want to tell me why you sleazebags dragged me out of a nice party in such an undignified manner?"

" _Supergirl_ sure knows big words!" Detective Slaughter joked.

"They don't call her _The Informant_ for nothing, I suppose," Detective Pruitt added.

"Very funny! In case you don't know, Detectives Dickhead, I go to college. I'm in my first year, pursuing a degree in criminal law," she uttered, as she rolled her eyes. "So tell me, why the hell am I here?"

"Criminal law, you say?" Detective Slaughter asked. "Then, please feel at home."

Both detectives laughed. I also let out a muffled laugh in the viewing room before suddenly realizing that I wasn't meant to be happy. I was still in mourning, and Mary-Kate was now a main suspect in the case, so every joke from or about her wasn't supposed to be funny.

"This isn't some game," Mary-Kate shot out, before turning to look at Detective Pruitt. "Did you see how many video cameras were rolling as you lifted me up with such brutality? I'm so certain that they are floating all over the net right now as we speak."

"That's the least of your problems, young girl," Detective Pruitt replied. "Agnes Hunter!"

"That was a rather misconstructed phrase, Detective Slowbrain." She stared back and forth between them, but they remained silent until she realized what they were trying to say to her. "Oh, I get what you mean, but how exactly is Agnes my problem? She is dead, Detectives."

"She is your problem because her blood is on your hands," Detective Slaughter said.

"No, no, no, no, no," Mary-Kate shook her head several times, and her index finger as well. "Her blood was all over her bathroom floor from what I heard, not on my hands."

"Let's get serious here, Miss Pearson. What was your connection with Agnes Hunter?"

"Let me see," Mary-Kate said, and put a finger on her temple as though she was seriously pondering. "She lives, or lived, in my neighborhood. We went to high school together, and we were in the same college before her demise. There! How's that for a connection? Or is there something else you need to know?"

"You think this is a joke?" Detective Pruitt barked at her. "You facilitated Agnes Hunter's murder and you are counting sticks with your tongue?"

We all exchanged glances at each other in the viewing room. None of us understood what it meant, but one thing was for sure: Before the end of the investigation, and before leaving the station, we were going to end up learning one or two ridiculous phrases from Detective Pruitt.

"First of all, I don't understand what the hell you just said, or what sticks and tongues have to do with anything. Secondly, I don't think you two conducted a proper investigation. Agnes committed suicide, duh! And finally, in case you are wondering, I didn't convince her to kill herself, or give her the knife to do so. Hell, I've never even spoken to her in my life."

"Counting sticks with your tongue is what a stupid person would do," Detective Pruitt said. "So is trying to act smart and waste our time when we all know that you are involved in this case."

"I'm not stupid," Mary-Kate replied immediately. "And I'm not involved in the case. I said I've never spoken to Agnes before."

"So you wouldn't describe her as your friend?" Detective Slaughter asked.

Mary-Kate looked at him. "No, not at all. I'm only friends with Angela. Hmm, you know I always wondered if Agnes was actually mute. Never heard her speak before."

"So if we go through your cell phone, we wouldn't find any form of interaction between the two of you, either by calls or text messages?"

"Didn't I just say that, Detective Slowpoke? No! I don't even have her number!"

That statement instantly answered the one million questions that were flooding my head. I knew it. There had to be a different kind of connection somewhere because Mary-Kate never spoke to Agnes, and I wondered what it was. I shook myself out of the thought and focused on the interrogation again, listening intently. A few questions had flown past me during my brief thinking session, but they weren't that important.

"So prove yourself right and give me your cell phone," Detective Slaughter said, stretching out his arm to receive it.

Mary-Kate hesitated for a short moment, then bent down slightly, tucked her hand into her boot, and pulled out her phone.

I laughed out loud when I saw that, then quickly covered my mouth with my hand when my folks turned to look at me. I smiled sheepishly at them, then immediately turned back to look at Mary-Kate. The detectives exchanged glances briefly, probably wondering if she was mad. She didn't seem to be bothered about what they thought of her. She just slid the phone across the table, without even looking at what trajectory it took. Luckily for her, Detective Slaughter caught it right before it could hit the ground.

He looked at it briefly, then stretched out his hand to her face. "I need your unlock code."

"Oh, right!" she said as she stretched out her hand, meeting his halfway. She pressed in her four-digit code with super speed, then nodded at him. Detective Slaughter withdrew his hand, as he started scrolling and searching immediately.

Meanwhile, Detective Pruitt was setting up the TV and a video player. We were speechless in the viewing room. I began to wonder if he had found some evidence or if he wanted to play the sex tape and question Mary-Kate about it. I hoped it was the former, because I didn't want my folks to know _I_ made it. But I was sure they were going to find out one way or the other. Maybe they would even think I purposely told Mary-Kate the video was from Agnes in order to protect myself from trouble, as it was the assumed case.

Detective Pruitt hit the play button, and the video came on. Luckily for me, it was Benjamin Clay's questioning and confession. Mary-Kate watched with wide-open eyes, and a hand over her mouth, letting out a few too many drops of tears.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I didn't know she was—"

"Quiet," Detective Pruitt interrupted. "Keep watching."

After watching the end of the video recording, Mary-Kate sprang up, saying, "No way. Wait a minute, it was Lexie's idea? But why would she want to do something like that?"

"Well, Miss Pearson, we were hoping you could tell us why," Detective Slaughter replied.

"Me? Why would you hope such? I don't discuss with Lexie like that, especially not about committing murder. In fact, I don't think I've ever even spoken with her before. I can't recall. I would have—"

She paused, because she was interrupted by what Detective Pruitt was doing.

He removed the tape and put in another one before saying, "This tape should help jog your memory a bit. It will certainly help you _recall_." He hit the play button and it was Lexie's own interrogation and confession.

Mary-Kate's eyes dried instantly as she watched it. She couldn't even wait until the end of the video; as soon as she heard her name come out of Lexie's mouth, she banged her hand on the table and blurted out, "Don't believe anything that slut says. She's a bloody liar."

"Oh, is she?" Detective Pruitt asked.

"Yes, of course. Think about it, Detectives. She's a renowned slut who has a nasty sex video floating around. Why would she care who recorded it? Her slutty ways aren't new to anyone."

"Apparently, she cared so much about who recorded it that she asked you for your source. And you, Miss Pearson, gave her a name."

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!"

"No! I didn't!"

"But your cell phone says otherwise," Detective Slaughter butted in, putting an end to the irritating yes-and-no word battle.

"What do you mean by..." Mary-Kate paused when she realized that she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask. "Wait a minute, you tricked me. I fucking hate you. You took my phone for something else." She looked at Detective Slaughter furiously.

Detective Pruitt sighed, and said, "Counting sticks with your tongue."

"Go to hell," Mary-Kate yelled. "And count sticks with your tongue on the way there."

Detective Slaughter cleared his throat. "Okay, so your cell phone showed a missed call from Alexandra two days before Agnes was killed, which you didn't answer. But then you sent her a text message a couple of minutes later, asking her 'what's up?' She told you she wanted the name of the person that sent you the video. And in another message, sent almost immediately, she said she had some interesting information to give you in exchange. And after you told her it was Agnes Hunter that sent you the video, she told you she had slept with your boyfriend earlier that evening, and called you an ugly, big-mouthed loser for uploading the video."

"Well, I told you she was a slut. Didn't I? If she had told me that information first, I would never have given her my source. Hell, I would have told her to shove it somewhere."

"Counting sticks with your tongue," Detective Pruitt said again, making Mary-Kate angry.

"What the hell is your problem?" She turned to Detective Slaughter. "What's his problem?"

Detective Slaughter didn't reply to her question, instead he continued what he was saying. "That's not all. You were right. You don't have Agnes Hunter's number on your phone, and the video was sent to you by Angela, to which you replied: 'Thank you, Angie!'"

I immediately felt iron spikes in my belly at that moment, and shut my eyes as soon as I saw my folks' stare rest on me from the corner of my eye. Mom called my name a few times, but I didn't answer. Dad also called my name; I still didn't answer. I knew what they were going to say and I wasn't ready for any form of scolding or questioning. They kept on calling my name until I was forced to answer.

"I'm sorry, okay?" I said to both of them when they started raising their voices.

"No, you would be sorry," Mom fired back. "Your foolishness cost your sister her life. How mean could you have been? Weren't you thinking?" She shook her head. "What am I saying? Of course, you couldn't have been thinking. You study make-up and you paint faces, so you obviously can't think!"

"Geez! Why don't you cut off my head and hang it on a spike while you are at it?" I asked.

"Oh, you can count on it. Then you would properly apologize to Aggie when you see her."

"Speak now or so help me I will fling you into a cell right now!" Detective Pruitt shouted, distracting Mom and I from our argument.

We looked into the interrogation room, then looked back at each other in what was a brief staring contest before Mom said to me, "This is not yet over, Sandra Angela Hunter. It is not over!"

_Well, bring it on!_ I said in my mind. Then we both turned away and continued watching the interrogation quietly.

"Okay, okay. No need to threaten me any further," Mary-Kate said. "I can explain."

"We are listening," Detective Slaughter replied, giving her the go-ahead.

She took a deep breath and started, saying:

"On the evening I missed Lexie's call, I was on another call with a guy I met some months back. Although I had Lexie's number on my phone, we had never spoken before. So I was too curious to know why she was calling. I wanted to put the guy on hold, but he said he had an interesting deal for me that couldn't wait. So I ignored Lexie's call and listened attentively.

"He said that people had been asking questions about the video I had uploaded, especially who had sent it to me. I interrupted him immediately by saying 'no way.' My principle was to never disclose my sources to anyone. He then said he didn't care to know, but if anyone came asking, I should say it was Agnes Hunter. Honestly, I was shocked, so I had to ask him why he wanted me to wrongly implicate Agnes. I couldn't do that. He simply said it was for some funny game. He had been dared to make Agnes talk, since people thought she was mute.

"He said if he won the dare, he would get three thousand bucks and give me one-third of it. Sadly to admit, the offer interested me, and I wanted to know how serious he was. I asked him for proof and a signed agreement, because I didn't want him to cheat me out of the deal. So he sent a photo of him holding the 'dare' money. I thought it was a doctored image at first, until I noticed the TV behind him was showing current news. So I agreed to the deal and promised to tell who ever asked me that Agnes was the source.

"I should have known it was a trick, because right before the guy hung up, he reminded me to call Lexie back. So I sent her a text message and she replied, telling me what she wanted to know. She then offered to tell me something important in exchange for my source... you know the rest. I thought it was a mere coincidence that day — the guy telling me to call Lexie back, and Lexie asking for my source. But thinking about it now, I feel used," she concluded.

"Used, you say?" Detective Slaughter asked, sounding very sarcastic. "But you accepted the money, without even thinking twice about it."

"I didn't know it was blood money, Detective. I thought it was a joke. I would never—"

"Your sudden show of morals doesn't interest us," Detective Slaughter interrupted. "But the name of the guy does. Who offered you the money?"

"His name is Greg." She paused briefly before adding, "Gregory Kindle."

My eyes popped open when she mentioned Gregory's name, because the case had appeared to be a confusing and entangling triangle. I couldn't speak for the others, but it was difficult to say if we were ever going to get to the bottom of the mystery at that moment.

And sadly for us, Detective Slaughter confirmed that Bill Newman and Gregory Kindle had been released after Benjamin Clay's arrest and ensuing confession.

None of them were going to let the closed-door mystery go unsolved, and neither were we.

The detectives left the station immediately in search of their new piece of the puzzle. And the wait continued.

## Part Five: The Deal

We were back home after an eventful day with three inconclusive interrogations of Samuel, Lexie, and Mary-Kate. Samuel and Mary-Kate were free to go, but Lexie was kept in holding. The detectives weren't going to let her or Benjamin go until they got to the bottom of the plot. They had also gone to look for Gregory Kindle, but they told us to go home, since they didn't know when and if they would find him that night. At the same time, it was getting late and we were hungry. At least I was. I couldn't speak for the others.

Inside our house, the tension had almost reached the boiling point. Samuel had stormed into his room because he was mad at our folks. They had rained insults on him all through the ride back home, and I felt the harsh words pierce his skin. I wouldn't have even been shocked if he opened the door of the moving vehicle and rolled out.

When he entered his room and slammed the door, locking it, Mom turned to me and said, "And where do you think you are going to, Angela Hunter?"

But being the teenage girl that I was, annoying to an extent, I ignored her and kept walking to the kitchen. I was going to answer any of her questions or endure her wrath only after I had eaten. I was starving, and I could hear my belly speak in different languages already.

"Angela, get back here right now!" Dad ordered, commander style. "Don't you dare walk away when your mother is talking to you. Is that clear?"

"I'm hungry, okay? I just need to grab a snack before I pass out," I said and kept walking.

"You better not touch Aggie's favorite snack," Mom yelled.

I laughed out loud and said, "Why? Are you expecting her to come back any time soon to eat them?"

Just then, I realized I had said something really stupid and an unwarranted joke. I felt a rush of guilt flow through my body at that instant, so I looked down immediately. "I'm very sorry, Mom. I didn't mean that."

"Of course, you didn't. The same way you didn't mean to record that video and send it out, making Aggie pay for it."

"Mom, c'mon. Why are you trying to make me feel bad? I didn't mean to hurt Aggie."

"I don't care what you meant to do or not do, don't just touch her snack, period!"

I grumbled as I opened the drawer. I needed sugar in my system. Agnes always had all the sweet snacks and I always had the salty ones, but I didn't feel like eating any type of crackers at that moment. I wanted sweet. I gazed at my folks and they were staring at me, scorn in their eyes. I certainly hoped it wasn't because of the snack that they were watching me like hawks.

"Okay, fine. I'm not going to touch Aggie's snack. Stop staring at me already."

"Good," Mom said. "Because you don't deserve to touch any of them."

"Mom. This has to stop. I'm sure I wasn't the only one that heard Mary-Kate's confession when she said she set Aggie up. Besides..."

Dad's phone started to ring at that instant, interrupting me. So he turned around and walked away to answer it because of the noise Mom and I were making.

I turned back to Mom and continued, "...Besides, Gregory Kindle was behind everything. I knew he was trouble the first time I saw him at a get-together. He is very good looking, but to a fault. He is the key to this mystery. We should be mad at him, not at each other."

"Speaking of Gregory Kindle," Dad butted in, as he walked back into the sitting room. "The detectives have him in custody now. They want to start interrogating him."

"What, like right now? Can't it wait? It's almost..." Mom looked at her wristwatch. "Eight p.m."

"No, it can't. I told them it was fine. So, let's go, let's go," Dad replied, clapping his hands.

"Sam!" I yelled, but he didn't answer. "Sammy!" I yelled again. There was still no answer. He was still probably pissed off at our folks. "Sam, answer me, dammit." No answer.

"Samuel August Hunter!" Mom yelled. She must have been very impatient and angry at the same time. She only called out all three names whenever she was frustrated or angry.

"The fuck you calling my name for?" he replied immediately.

On a normal day, Mom would have reacted to his use of the F word, his raised voice, and his tone, but she couldn't be bothered at the time. I knew her too well to understand why she didn't say anything. Mom never forgot. She was just in a hurry, and she was certainly going to bring it back up after the interrogation, when Samuel would have forgotten about it.

"Gregory Kindle is at the station now. You coming or what?" she yelled back.

In less than a second, we heard him unlock his door, and he swung it open, jogging out to meet us. No matter how angry he was, he wanted to get to the bottom of the case, as well.

"Let's go, guys," Dad said. "It didn't sound like the detectives were going to wait for us."

We all ran outside, but not before I grabbed some of the snack. I wasn't prepared to collapse in the viewing room. So I sat in the car, smiling as I crunched on my snack bar. Mom quickly turned back to look at me. She must have heard the crunching sound I was making.

"Angie!" She yelled. "Didn't I specifically tell you not to touch Aggie's snack?"

I looked at her, pop-eyed, speechless because my mouth was full, and I had no answer.

She stared back at me before saying, "Let me have one. I'm starving."

Dad turned back as well, briefly glancing at my face and at my lap before saying, "Are you going to eat all of that? Let me have one, too. Give it to your mom for me."

I shook my head at both of them, because they were just about to crucify me moments ago. Well, it was a good thing I had thought of taking enough to go round at least five times, since I had grabbed four boxes from the drawer before running out. I gave Mom two packs, then I opened up two packs for Dad, before passing them to Mom to feed him while he drove.

"Hey, give that back!" I snapped as Samuel snatched some of the snack packs. "Couldn't you have asked before doing that?"

"Well, it's not yours. So I can have one or two if I want," he replied, opening the first one.

He was right about one thing: It wasn't mine. But saying he took one or two was definitely out of context, given that he had grabbed six in his massive hand. I shook my head, guarding the rest beside me and watching out for him. I stayed like that until we arrived at the station.

When we entered the building, Detective Slaughter offered us four medium-sized packets of juice and escorted us to the viewing room. Luckily for us, the interrogation hadn't started yet. The detectives were nice enough to wait for us. When the lights were switched on, we saw the good-looking Gregory. He sat there with a smirk on his face, and with the look on Detective Pruitt's face, I could tell they had had a tough time bringing him in.

"Start talking!" Detective Slaughter said, as soon as he walked into the interrogation room.

"Like I said before, I have no idea of what you both are accusing me of this time. But if this is about the dead girl, didn't we already settle that?"

Detective Slaughter turned to Detective Pruitt and asked, "Why do they always have to play around first before finally owning up? Do they think we have all the time in the world?"

"I think they do," Detective Pruitt replied. "I guess they also believe they are the smart ones and they know about everything."

"When in reality they are as dumb and stupid as shit," Detective Slaughter added. "And they don't—"

"Hey!" Gregory interrupted. "I'm sitting right here. If you have something to say to me, tell it to my face."

"You are as dumb and stupid as horse crap," Detective Pruitt said as he stamped both hands on the interrogation table and eyeballed Gregory.

Gregory smiled. "Okay, now you have proven yourself to be a—"

Gregory didn't have the chance to complete his sentence. He was interrupted by _Detective Dinosaur_ , in Benjamin Clay's words. He lifted Gregory up by the neck and slammed him on the interrogation table. Before anyone could follow the speed of the action, Detective Pruitt's gun was already caressing Gregory's forehead.

"Were you about to say something, Gregory Kindle?" Detective Pruitt asked, as he cocked his gun.

Our eyes lit up in the viewing room — Mom, Dad and Samuel in fear, shock and confusion, but me in excitement. I was already starting to fall in love with everything about the detective. He was my type of guy: tall, handsome, nice build, quiet, tough, and filled with action. Never mind him trying to choke people to death, he was just doing his job. Gregory's coughing, and gasping for breath shook me out of my brief fantasy.

"Yes, I was... I was about to say something," he said, after Detective Pruitt let go of him. He took a deep breath and said, "I didn't know Agnes Hunter, but her name came up while I was at a neighbor's house."

"In what context did her name come up?" Detective Pruitt asked, as he put his gun away. "And what neighbor is this?"

"Since I was relatively new in the neighborhood, my neighbors told me I could drop by at their place anytime. So one afternoon, I walked in through their back door and heard voices coming from their study. As I walked into the study, Luca, their only child, was just saying 'Agnes Hunter' to his mom as though he were asking her a question. I startled them when I joked and said, 'Yes, Agnes Hunter.' Luca immediately asked me if I knew who the person was, and I said yes."

"So you lied?" Detective Slaughter asked. "Because I doubt you ever met Agnes."

"No, I didn't lie. I met Agnes once before at a house party. I drank a lot that evening, but I remember she said her last name was Hunter. Yeah, Agnes Hunter," Gregory confirmed.

"Are you sure it was Agnes, and not Angela?"

"Umm..." Gregory stopped to think. "I'm not sure anymore. I think it was actually Angela she said. But wait a minute — so who's Agnes?"

"Angela's identical twin sister, who is dead, thanks partly to you."

"No kidding? I never knew she was a twin!" he said. "And Agnes's death wasn't my fault."

"The hell it wasn't. So why were your neighbors talking about her? Any idea?"

Gregory gave a half-twisted nod, something between nodding and shaking his head.

"What was that? A yes or a no?" Detective Slaughter asked, impatiently.

"It's a yes and a no," Gregory said, before he started narrating the story:

"I don't know exactly what they were talking about before I walked into the study, but the minute I said I knew Agnes Hunter, Luca's mom suddenly became interested in me. You see, I have always been afraid of Italian people in general because of all the movies I've seen, but I was soon to realize that an Italian movie was sitting right in front of me.

"Luca's mom went straight to the point. She said she would give me fifteen thousand bucks to get rid of Agnes. I laughed out loud, because it certainly had to be a joke. But her face was strict, and her gaze steady on me. She pulled open a drawer and took out three bundles of five thousand US dollars. I gulped when I saw them.

"Then I asked her why she wanted Agnes dead. She said the less I knew, the better for all of us. Before I could tell her that I wasn't interested, she said if I didn't do it, she would have to kill me and get someone else to do it. So I collected the cash from her and went home. I was thinking of what to do when I saw Lexie waiting by my front door. I had totally forgotten she was supposed to drop by for a quick session. Umm, Lexie is a neighborhood slut who—"

"We know all about Alexandra Smith," Detective Slaughter butted in. "Just carry on with the rest of the story."

At the mention of "quick session," I looked at Samuel's face. He was furious, and I hoped he would finally see the true side of Lexie and forget about her once and for all.

Gregory cleared his throat and continued:

"I let Lexie in, and we went into my room to talk. From talking, we made out, and had some action. The session was longer than we had initially planned, because I wanted it to be. I had just remembered Luca's mom's threat on my life, so I reasoned with myself: If I wasn't going to be able to kill Agnes, Luca's mom was surely going to kill me instead. And before I died, I wouldn't mind having one crazy session in my memory to accompany me to the grave.

"After the session, Lexie was about to leave, but then she threatened to kill me if a random video of both of us popped out of nowhere. I mean, she didn't think I'd video myself making out with her, then give it to my girlfriend to upload."

"Why your girlfriend?" Detective Slaughter asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Wouldn't you just send it to _The Informant_ directly?"

"Well, I wouldn't send it to either one," Gregory replied. "Because _The Informant_ and my girlfriend have one thing in common: They are both Mary-Kate Pearson."

"What? Mary-Kate Pearson is your girlfriend?" Detective Pruitt asked. Gregory nodded.

Detective Slaughter shook his head. "That smart soon-to-be lawyer somehow missed that interesting piece of information."

"Wait a minute," Gregory said. "You spoke to her?"

"How did you think we found out the connection between you and Agnes?"

"That ratting bi..." Gregory stopped and clenched his fist.

"Well, you made out with Alexandra Smith, and she couldn't help but tell Mary-Kate about it after Mary-Kate gave up Agnes as her source."

"What?" Gregory exclaimed, surprised. "Why would Lexie even think of doing something like that? Mary-Kate will never take me back now, that's for sure."

"Alexandra and Mary-Kate are the least of your problems right now, Gregory Kindle. Finish up the story, will you? We don't have all evening."

"Okay," Gregory continued. "So Lexie complained about how she lost everything because of the video, and vowed to kill whoever sent it to Mary-Kate. I asked her if she meant it, and she yelled, "Yes," saying that whoever was responsible had to pay with their life. When I saw how serious she was about that threat, I seized the opportunity and waited for her to get dressed and leave. Then I called Mary-Kate immediately and told her that I had a deal.

"Before I started giving her the main detail, she said she had another call and that she would ring me back. When she said the call was from Lexie, I told her not to pick it up yet because I had a deal and it couldn't wait. Then I mentioned Lexie's sex tape, but she told me there was no way on earth she was going to give up her source's name.

"I told her I wasn't interested in the person's name. I just wanted her to tell whoever came asking that it was Agnes Hunter. She asked why, and I told her because I had five thousand bucks to give to her. She immediately agreed, and said she wanted proof, so I sent her a photo of the money. After she had done her own part, I met her at a playground, and gave her the five thousand. She slapped me twice for no reason before she left, and now I know why."

"Wait a minute, five thousand US dollars?" Detective Slaughter asked, with doubt in his tone. "But Mary-Kate Pearson said you offered to give her one thousand US dollars from a sum of three thousand US dollars that you were hoping to win from a game you were dared to do."

"I don't know what she told you guys, but that's a pack of lies. There was no game. It was a job to be done. And everything happened so fast because two days later, Luca's mom actually called me to thank me for keeping to my own end of the deal. I didn't know what she meant at first, until I was arrested for killing Agnes. I thought Luca's mom had set me up initially, but when the other guy — Bill something — was randomly added in the investigation, I knew she wasn't behind it. So I acted clueless because I knew you guys didn't really have anything on me, and I was free to go home."

Gregory concluded with that.

"But here you are again, and not so clueless this time," Detective Slaughter said. "So who is this Italian mafia woman that paid you to do her dirty job?"

"Her name's Vittoria Ammirati. She lives next door to my house, by the right side."

"You sit here and stay put! We are going to get her now," Detective Slaughter said, as he walked out of the interrogation room with Detective Pruitt.

As the detectives closed the door behind them, I sighed because I knew it was going to be a long night. None of us had ever heard the name "Vittoria" or "Ammirati" before then, but we were very determined to know why an Italian woman was out for my sister's blood. And I felt the mystery was going to end with her. So all we had to do then was to wait and find out!

## Part Six: The Italian

"Angie?"

I heard a voice call out my name, but I didn't know who it was.

"Angela?" the voice said again. "Can you hear me?"

I felt my head turn from left to right.

"Are you okay?" the person asked again.

The voice sounded so familiar. Just like Agnes's. "Agnes?" I said. It couldn't be real.

"No, Angie, it's not Agnes. It's me, Mom."

"Mom?" I was confused. "Oh, Mom!" I said when I opened my eyes from a dream. Mom was holding my hands and staring at me.

I looked around me. Dad and Samuel were also staring at me. I was on a couch, but it felt as if I had been swimming. "Why am I wet? What happened? And why do my cheeks hurt?"

"I think you were having a nightmare," Mom replied. "We tried to wake you up, we poured water on you, and your brother even smacked you across the face twice. Did you see Agnes in your dream?"

"Yes, I did. She saved me," I said, not wanting to explain it. "So glad I'm awake now."

"Saved you from what?" Mom asked, as she touched my head. She didn't take the hint.

"From nothing, Mom." I cut her off immediately, pushing her hands away from my head. "The dream wasn't that important to me. It was what it was: just a dream."

I sat up and looked around the room. We were in a cozy unfamiliar room, very warm, with a flat-screen TV showing the news. I had fallen asleep while waiting for the detectives to bring Vittoria Ammirati in. It then occurred to me that I might have missed the whole interrogation.

"What happened to the Italian woman? Why did she say she wanted Aggie dead?" I asked, looking back and forth at all three of them. Anyone was welcome to answer.

"Still no clue, my dear," Dad said, shaking his head.

"Why not? She refused to tell?"

"No, not that. The detectives are taking longer than expected to bring her in. So we don't have a confession for now."

"We might have to go home soon and come back much later, or whenever they find her," Mom added.

"Yeah, I think we should," Samuel said. "It's been a long day."

I was sort of relieved. I couldn't imagine missing such a crucial interrogation for anything, especially not to a dream with Agnes's killers in it. I shook when I remembered how Lexie and Benjamin had stabbed me in the dream, instead of Agnes, and Agnes came to save me.

"On an unrelated note," I began, rubbing my tummy, "I'm hungry. What time is it?"

"It's almost one in the morning," Samuel replied after glancing at his wristwatch. "Foodie!"

"I thought you were still in holding. Who even let you out?" I teased, poking out my tongue.

He laughed. "Well, you know better, Angie. Holding is for the guilty alone."

"Of course it is. It'll surely be a nice place for Lexie," I said, not joking. I could see Samuel physically react to that. He looked away. But I only called a spade a spade. Lexie was a killer.

"We'll wait for an additional thirty minutes," Dad chipped in. "If we don't see any signs of the detectives or hear from them, then we'll leave."

"Can we do the waiting in a fast-food restaurant, please?" I sounded gluttonous, but I didn't care. I was still growing, so I needed all my nutrients. "I'm hungry," I reminded them.

Dad nodded. "Why not? I think we are all famished, as well."

Mom and Samuel also nodded in agreement. And off we went.

We got to the fast-food restaurant and ordered some burgers and fries. Then we sat down to eat quietly, after which Dad and Mom bought themselves coffee. Samuel gobbled down a big cup of soda while I sipped on my strawberry milkshake with cream and a cherry on the top.

Dad's phone rang all of a sudden, breaking the sounds of sipping and yawning. He fumbled for it in his pocket and then quickly answered it. "Yes, Detective... Oh, just now?" he asked, then listened. "No, we had to leave... But we can... Sure thing. Okay... All right... That's fine by me."

Dad hung up and turned to us. "We need to get back to the station right now."

"What's happening?" Mom asked, as we prepared ourselves to leave.

"It was Detective Slaughter calling to give us a head's-up, just in case we already left. They have finally found the Italian woman, and are heading back to the station right now."

We left immediately and got back to the station at the same time as the detectives, and saw them drag a lady inside the building. If her name was strange to us, then try her face. None of us had ever seen her before. She was yelling in her native language and throwing her feet in the air. I noticed she was wearing high heels, and wondered where she had been. No, actually, I wondered where they had found her, because the detectives took a while to bring her in.

Anyway, I hoped she spoke English, too, because it would have been a waste of time if she started answering every question in Italian.

In a few minutes, we stood behind the one-way mirror and watched the interrogation, eager to get to the bottom of the mystery.

"Don't you pigs ever sleep? It's fucking two in the morning," Vittoria barked.

At least she spoke English. That was all I needed to know.

"Well, we saw someone creeping into a house, we had to investigate," Detective Slaughter replied. "It's our job."

"But I told you it was _my_ house. And this beastly one still felt the need to throw me over his shoulder." She gave Detective Pruitt a mean look. His behavior didn't surprise me anymore.

"So why were you sneaking into your house?" Detective Slaughter asked.

"I believe the key word there is "my house," which means that I can go out and come back in whenever, and however I want."

It sounded like the detectives had waited outside her house for a long while. Then I stopped to wonder why she was sneaking into her house. I was glad they eventually got her, anyway, because we would have had to sleep at the station otherwise. Well, at least I already dozed off earlier, and I didn't think any of my family members were really ready to go home.

"Were you hiding from someone or spying on someone?" Detective Slaughter asked. I think he read my mind.

Vittoria mumbled something under her breath before saying, "What the fuck do you care?"

"You are right. We don't care about that. What we care about is Agnes Hunter."

"What about that dead whore?"

"So you do know who she is, and you know she is dead?"

"I know her well enough to hate her and make her pay for messing with my family."

"Okay, so you admit to killing her, then. Why? And how did she mess with your family?"

"No, I didn't admit to anything. I didn't kill her. I've never killed a soul."

"Oh, right." Detective Slaughter smiled. "You have people do your dirty business for you."

"Detective, unless you have something tangible and real on me, I'm out of here."

"Sit back down. We are not finished with you," Detective Pruitt pushed her on the chair.

"Look, if this man touches me again, I'll..." She paused and took in deep breaths.

"Kill him?" Detective Slaughter complemented.

"Nice try, Detective," Vittoria said. "You are not going to get anything out of me."

"I didn't think we would. You do look like a smart woman."

"I would say thanks, but I sense it's more than a compliment. Isn't it?"

"You are indeed a smart woman," Detective Slaughter started. "And that's why I expected you to know better. I expected you to be smart enough to know that we are aware of your deal with your neighbor's son, Gregory Kindle — who, by the way, is in holding right now. You obviously know we wouldn't bring you in if we didn't have anything on you. And I'm sure if we bring Luca in, he would confirm Gregory Kindle's claim."

"Keep my son out of this, okay?" She rolled her eyes and sighed. "What do you want?"

"Your confession. The truth. Your connection to Agnes Hunter. Why you wanted her dead. Anything you can give us that will finally put an end to this long lasting, twisted case."

"You sound desperate, Detective. What do I get in return for my cooperation?"

"Let's see." Detective Slaughter acted as though he was seriously thinking. "So how about this? Luca doesn't spend the rest of his life in prison as an accessory. How does that sound?"

She shook her head. "You son of a bitch. Fine, you win." She started confessing:

"I married my sixth husband a few years ago. Things had been going great with us. I mean, he even took Luca as his own son. I gave him everything you can ever imagine: love, a warm bed, money... a lot of money. I even started cooking every day for that son of a whore. And he was out there sleeping around, spending my money on another woman.

"I wouldn't have known about his affair, because I didn't expect him to have one. And like you said, I am a smart woman. I traced all his expenses to female gifts shops, mostly lingerie, shoes, and perfumes. There were occasional lunch and dinner dates, too.

"Then he came back one evening, stinking of another woman. I tried not to worry about the stench by getting close to him and trying to touch him. Imagine me, the most-sought-after Vittoria Ammirati, begging to be touched. He pushed me away and went to sleep. And that's when I noticed the fingernail scratches on his back and some love bites on his body screaming out: lies, cheating, filth, whore, and need I say more? So I decided to hunt down his mistress, teach her a lesson, then let him know it was his fault."

With that, Vittoria finished her confession, and it made absolutely no sense to anyone but herself.

"Okay, Mrs. Ammirati, that was rather interesting. But the thing is..." Detective Slaughter paused. "...The thing is, Agnes Hunter wasn't a _whore_ to the best of my knowledge. She isn't, I mean, wasn't the person you portrayed her to be."

"Of course you would say that. I know her kind. She's a wolf in a sheep's clothing."

"Did Mr. Ammirati ever say anything about Agnes Hunter and the affair?"

"Mr. Mutinda, you mean. After changing my last name five times already, I thought it best to stick with Ammirati."

The hair on my body suddenly sprang up when she mentioned "Mutinda." I was as shocked as my family at the revelation, because Mr. Mutinda was my high school principal. I actually didn't know the full story, but it was general knowledge that Principal Mutinda had divorced his first wife in a terrible legal battle he lost about a year ago, and no one even knew he would ever be able to date another woman, let alone get married a second time and have a mistress. But going back to the main issue, those were serious allegations against Principal Mutinda that could lock him up for good, and it was a wild lie against Agnes.

I turned around briefly and glanced at everyone, there was a mix of emotions in the viewing room. Dad was angry, hitting his fist in his hand and muttering words under his breath. Mom was nauseous; she ran to the bin and puked out her guts. Samuel was indifferent, as usual.

"What did Mr. Mutinda have to say about it?" Detective Slaughter continued asking.

"The S.O.B. was surprisingly not fazed about the whole thing. He was totally unbelieving, and didn't look downcast for a second. If I didn't know better, I would think he was Italian."

"So you don't think he believed she was dead? And if he never admitted he was cheating, and didn't act concerned about what you did, then there's only one possible explanation."

We all opened our eyes wide when we realized the explanation.

"You probably got the wrong person," Detective Slaughter continued. "Because believe me, Agnes Hunter was the last person on earth to have had an affair, and with a married man, or any man at all. Her family can vouch for her."

"My husband probably didn't believe, maybe because he is a good actor. And speaking of Agnes Hunter's appearance, looks can be deceiving. My husband fooled me, too."

"So if your husband never mentioned or admitted he was cheating on you, you must have at least some proof that he was cheating with Agnes. Did you ever catch him in the act? Or ever see him with Agnes during one of your late nights sneaking in and out of your house?"

Vittoria noticed how desperate the detective was with the way he was throwing questions at her. "Calm yourself down, Detective. I'm afraid Mutinda didn't mention or admit to anything, neither did I catch him in the act or ever see Agnes. But my source did. I paid a lot of money to have my husband followed and his secret lover tracked down. I believe you know the rest."

"Who is this source of yours? Did you at least verify the information given to you?"

"I didn't have to. I paid for the best and I got the best. My source is Mr. Louis French."

"Louis French?" Detective Slaughter asked, exchanging glances with Detective Pruitt. "You mean the private investigator? That Louis French?"

Vittoria nodded several times. "Yes, that one. Now you believe me, right?"

With the look on all their faces, I could tell that something big was up. The detectives knew something we didn't know. They also seemed to have stopped to ponder for a while, meaning they believed it could have been true that Agnes was actually having an affair. It didn't take long before the detectives confirmed to us that Louis French was the best of the best P.I.s in the whole city, and he _never_ gave false information. Well, it was very good to know, but my family and I needed to see the proof first in order to believe anything.

The detectives told us to go home and return the next day, because they were going to bring Mr. Louis French in for questioning. We obliged since we had no other option than to wait for answers. And as we left the station, I hoped Mr. Louis French would be the final piece of the puzzle so that the mystery would be solved, once and for all.

## Part Seven: Private Eye

I don't think any of us was able to sleep when we got home that night, especially Mom. She started feeling sick, and I couldn't blame her. It was certainly due to the endless investigation and regular visits to the station. It looked as though she was about to lose hope. I almost lost hope, too, but Agnes being my sister and my twin was my only motivation to keep going.

I managed to close my eyes only briefly, because by seven in the morning, Dad woke us up, informing us that Mr. Louis French had agreed to come into the station in an hour to answer any questions the detectives had. It meant we had only one hour to get ready and be there. By the time we were ready, only ten minutes had passed, and it was time to go. Everyone met in the sitting room except Mom.

"Where's Mom?" I asked my dad, as he headed toward the main door.

"She's still in bed," he replied.

"She's not coming?" Samuel asked, making his way to the front door too.

Dad shook his head. "No."

"I'm going to talk to her," I said.

"Angie," Dad whispered. I turned around. "Your mom isn't up for it. She's emotionally drained."

"Okay," I said and shrugged my shoulders. I didn't know what he meant by that.

I went to their bedroom and knocked on the door, but Mom didn't answer. I opened the door and entered anyway. Mom was still on the bed, covered from head to toe with the duvet.

"Mom?"

"I'm not going," she replied.

"C'mon, Mom," I tugged at her feet.

"I'm not going," she repeated, and moved her feet away.

"Please, Mom, let's go. I strongly believe the case will be closed today."

"I know it will. But I haven't slept at all, and I don't feel too well, so I can't. And I know..." she hesitated, "...I know that Aggie won't understand."

"Aggie _would_ understand, you mean. But if anything, at least you should be there for her."

"I should," she managed to say. "But I know she won't understand, so I can't be there."

"She won't understand what?" I asked, because her sentence sounded odd and not different from the last one.

"I'm not going!" she said, harshly.

"Do you think she would be angry because she felt you weren't there for her, or that you could have saved her?"

Mom didn't answer.

"Because I know Aggie wouldn't have thought that. She knew we all loved her."

Mom still didn't say anything. And while I was waiting for her to change her mind, I heard Dad honking his horn impatiently.

"Hmm." I sighed. "Okay, fine. See you later I guess."

Mom still didn't reply. I left her room and closed the door behind me. I ran outside and went straight to the car. Dad didn't even allow me close the door properly, he just drove off. I knew he was angry, so I decided not to say anything. While the car was still in motion, I opened the door again and slammed it properly.

Dad looked at me through the rear view mirror. "What did your mom say?" He asked.

"She wasn't making any sense to me," I replied, hoping I didn't sound rude. "So I think she really needs to take a break."

Dad nodded and kept his eyes on the road. Samuel had already snoozed off in the front seat, snoring like he hadn't slept in years. I sat there in silence, looking blankly out of the window, and yawning at intervals.

We reached the police station twenty-five minutes early, and we were offered coffee. So we sat there and waited, drinking our coffee, each one of us lost in our thoughts.

"Louis French is here now," Detective Pruitt opened the door and announced. "Follow me."

I looked at the time and it was a quarter after nine. Mr. French had come in pretty late, and we didn't even notice that we had been sitting there for an hour and forty minutes. We got up immediately, looking around in confusion.

"Don't worry yourselves about the coffee cups," Detective Pruitt said, "You can drop them anywhere." After noticing me trying to stifle a yawn, he said, "Or you can take them into the viewing room, if you are still drinking."

We all entered with our cups of coffee. I wasn't prepared to put mine down, anyway. I think I was already on my third cup, and I was ready to have a hundred more if it was going to keep me awake until the end of the questioning.

Detective Pruitt entered the interrogation room and nodded once, as he said, "French."

"Pruitt," Mr. French reciprocated, also with a similar nod. "Good to see you again."

I looked at the two of them, wondering if the exchange of pleasantries meant something else, because it sounded forced. It sounded like they had some kind of history.

"I see you are still a P.I.," Detective Pruitt started. "Running around the city and doing more harm than good."

Mr. French smiled. "I see you are still a detective, Detective. Running around, looking for people to help you out, as always."

"At least I am very good at my job, and when I make a commitment, I fulfil it."

"And here you are." Mr. French smirked. " _Begging_ _me_ for help."

"Don't get it twisted, French. There's no _begging_ involved here. One way or the other, we are getting to the bottom of our case. And _you_ are going to make sure that happens."

As they kept beating around the bush with their ridiculous catch-up session, Dad started to grumble, while Samuel was yawning as if he was bored out of his mind. Detective Slaughter, on the other hand sat there and watched them both. Dad was almost about to bang on the one-way mirror when Detective Slaughter cleared his throat, interrupting them.

" _It's about time_ ," I said under my breath, and I could see Dad and Samuel nod in agreement from the corner of my eye.

"Are you two done catching up or would you need some more time to make out?" Detective Slaughter asked. When he didn't get an answer from either, he turned to Mr. French. "So care to tell us why your client, Vittoria Ammirati, killed Agnes Hunter?"

"Wait, hold up," Mr. French said, confused. "Vittoria Ammirati did what?"

"Yes, you heard him," Detective Pruitt replied. "Not only did you fish out the wrong person, you also got her killed. Like I said, more harm than good."

"Back off, Pruitt. My search wasn't wrong! You know I never get anything wrong."

"So why don't you clarify everything?" Detective Slaughter cut in. "Why Agnes Hunter?"

Mr. French looked down and pondered briefly, then raised his head up and started talking: "Vittoria Ammirati came to me a few weeks back, distraught. She said she knew her husband was cheating on her and she wanted to prove it. She also told me about the constant spending, the perfumes, the love bites, and the scratches on his back. She said she wanted me to find out what all the money was spent on, prove that her husband was having an affair, and track down his lover.

"It was a piece of cake for me, and the money she paid was an indication that I couldn't go wrong with my findings. And since it was a high priority case, I didn't use any of my staff. I followed the man throughout the week and noticed he had a pattern. He spent his lunch breaks in the same restaurant with his lover, and most evenings, they went shopping. I followed the woman one day to her office building, and after a thorough search, I got all her information. It was verified, and I was told that her name was Agnes Hunter," he concluded.

"I'm sorry, but I think you got it wrong this time," Detective Pruitt said. "The Agnes Hunter you think you exposed was a timid, quiet, and antisocial girl. And unless she has an identical twin sister — which she actually does have — who works in the office building you claim to have followed her to, you got it all wrong."

"Inasmuch as you don't want to believe that I am right, I _am_ right. Besides, Agnes Hunter doesn't have a twin. I would have known that. My researches are always thorough."

"Hold your horses, French," Detective Pruitt fired back. "The Agnes Hunter your client had someone kill, was an eighteen-year-old engineering student at the city university, and her twin sister, Angela, attends the same university as well."

Mr. French shook his head in disapproval.

"Oh, what? You know Agnes Hunter better than her family and birth records?"

"No. That's not what my head-shaking is about," Mr. French corrected. "I'm sorry to say, but you guys are the ones that got it wrong. I think _everyone_ got it wrong."

"Everyone except you, right?" Detective Pruitt asked. "Care to explain how wrong we are?"

"The Agnes Hunter I followed and investigated wasn't a girl. She was a woman."

"What are you saying, French?"

"I'm saying there might be another Agnes Hunter out there. And believe me, if I had known before now that there could have been a mix-up, I would have informed Vittoria right away." Mr. French paused briefly. "But it's all strange, because I didn't think Vittoria would even want to kill Agnes Hunter."

"So what did you think? She would invite her husband's lover over for coffee? For heaven's sake, French, she's a fucking Italian woman!"

"Of course I didn't think she would invite Agnes Hunter for coffee, and yes I know she's a fucking Italian woman. I didn't just think she would kill Agnes. Hell, I didn't even think she would go after her. I say this with confidence because Vittoria never even knew what Agnes Hunter looked like in the first place."

"So much for a _thorough_ research, French," Detective Pruitt mocked. "So did your camera pack up on you or what?"

"My research _was_ thorough, mind you." Mr. French raised a finger. "When I mentioned Agnes's name to Vittoria, she just stormed out of my office. She didn't even take a look at the photos I took. She left my hand hanging with the envelope. You know for a second, I thought she was even angry with me for confirming that her husband was indeed cheating on her. So, after she stormed out, I concluded that she might have only wanted to confirm whether her husband was having an affair or not, and leave it at that."

The detectives threw each other a worrying glance, as though they had reached a dead end. I looked at Dad and Samuel, and I had an idea of what they were thinking. I was also thinking the same thing. I was half-relieved because all that was said about Agnes being some mistress was false, and half-angry because she had just been a pawn in a messy love, betrayal, bribery, and revenge game.

"This Agnes Hunter," Detective Slaughter started. "Do you have her pictures with you?"

Mr. French nodded. He reached for his briefcase and pulled out a brown envelope, then slid it across the table. "I guess it's your lucky day."

"Was it just a lucky guess to put them in your briefcase today?" Detective Pruitt asked, as he took the envelope. "Or did you really know why we called you in today?"

"I might be a talented, intelligent, one of the best... No, sorry, _the_ best private investigator in this city, but I'm no seer. I can't look into the future. So, no, I had no idea why you called me in today."

Detective Pruitt looked at Mr. French, then looked back at the envelope he was trying to open. "That's my bad. I thought you had your ear to the ground, especially in this station."

"Not this time." Mr. French laughed. "I was actually going to stop by at Vittoria's house after this meeting with you fine detectives. That's why I have the pictures."

"For what purpose?" Detective Slaughter asked, as he was watching Detective Pruitt fight with the sealed envelope.

"Because I woke up late this morning, forgetting that I had to come in for questioning. And when I stepped out of my door, _bam!_ " — he banged his fist on the table at the same time — "I saw none other than Mr. Mutinda meeting with his lover... Agnes Hunter!"

"What?" the detectives exclaimed in unison.

Mr. French started to explain. "Agnes Hunter's car was parked in front of his, but she was in his own, speaking with him. I couldn't hear what they were saying, so I dashed back inside to get my files on the case and grab my camera. When I came down, they were already gone."

At the mention of that, I looked at Dad and Samuel, and they had the same confused look on their faces as I had. I turned back to look into the interrogation room, and Detective Pruitt had finally unsealed and opened the envelope, he held on to some of the pictures, then passed the rest to Detective Slaughter.

They glanced over the images rapidly, as if they didn't recognize the faces in them. But just then their speed started to decrease gradually. They started loosening the ties they had around their necks, their eyes started to bulge out, and they were gulping down their saliva with great difficulty. They then turned their gaze toward the one-way mirror, shaking their heads.

It took Dad, Samuel, and I a few seconds to realize we indeed knew another Agnes Hunter. It was... Mom! Her full name was Helen Agnes Hunter. She had always gone by Agnes when she was much younger, but only immediate family and friends called her Helen.

At that moment, I began to remember what Mom had been trying to say to me about Agnes _not_ understanding. She was right, though. Agnes would surely never understand why she had to pay for Mom's affair with her life! With that, we got to the end of the closed-door mystery.

When we got home, Mom had packed her things and fled, leaving us with a note that read, "I'm sorry." It was just that, nothing more, nothing less. Not even a short explanation for her actions, details of her regrets, or why she said nothing to us earlier. It could have saved us all the suspense, the time wasted, and the humiliation. I guess we should have just buried Agnes ever since, put Benjamin and Lexie behind bars, and called it a day. Digging deeper ended up doing more harm than good, because it broke up what was left of our family.

Anyway, a few days later, we had Agnes's funeral. She looked so peaceful. Everyone was there, except Mom, of course. I couldn't understand why she didn't make any effort to come. It was the least she could have done. It wasn't her fault that Agnes got caught up in the mix, so she had no reason to run or hide because the police weren't after her. After the funeral, we went home and called it day.

*****

## *** Special Preview ***

The day after Agnes's funeral, I started feeling sad and upset. I wanted to talk to someone, but I had no one. Samuel was _finally_ heartbroken, or so it seemed. Dad was also heartbroken. They stayed locked up in their rooms all weekend, so I didn't want to disturb them.

I went to my room and tried to sleep, but after rolling on my bed for hours, I decided to take a walk to my church and say a little prayer for Agnes, and one for Mom. I hoped she was safe, wherever she was hiding. As I walked down the street, I smiled to myself, because everyone involved in the closed-door mystery was behind bars. It didn't bring Agnes back, but at least we got our closure.

I pushed the doors of the church open, walked to the front pew, and sat down to say a prayer. I started praying, but stopped when I heard some noise coming from one of the confession boxes. I was embarrassed because I had been praying aloud, thinking it was just me in the church. Father Paul was probably getting ready to receive someone for confession.

"Father Paul?" I called out, as I walked toward the boxes. There was no answer.

"Father Paul?" I called out again. "Are you in there?" There was still no answer.

I stood on my toes and looked into one of the boxes, but I didn't see anyone there. I looked into the other box, and the door opened from behind and something ran out of it. It must have been a cat or maybe a rat, but I wasn't sure. I didn't care, anyway, I turned around to leave. I hadn't finished saying my prayers yet, but I decided to go home and force myself to sleep.

Before leaving, I thought of seeing Father Paul first and talking with him briefly. So I went to his office at the back of the church, knocked on the door, opened it and entered. As I was walking past the waiting area, the door closed with a bang, startling me. I peeped into Father Paul's main office and he wasn't on his seat.

When I went back to the front door to leave, I couldn't. The door was jammed! I tugged on it, trying to force it open, but the handle fell off. I quickly pulled my phone out to make a call, but there was poor signal in a second, then no signal the next second. It was normal, because Father Paul's office was at the back of the church, underground and secluded by heavy, stony brick walls.

I dashed to his desk to use the office line, because I was sure that it would work. He had installed it, as he could never get phone signal down there. So I called Dad's phone: no answer. I didn't bother calling Samuel. I knew he wasn't going to answer. I called Detective Slaughter. He had given me his business card the first day he met me, so I saved his number.

"This is Detective Jacob Slaughter," he said as soon as he picked up.

"Hi, Detective Slaughter, this is Angela," I said. "Angela Hunter."

"How are you Angela?" he asked. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry to bug you, but everything isn't okay. I'm a little stuck."

"Stuck?" he asked. "How? Where are you?"

"I'm at St. Andrew's."

"Why are you there? Did something happen?"

"No, not the hospital. I'm at the church and the door is jammed. I can't get out."

"Seriously?" Detective Slaughter asked, sarcastically.

"Yes, Detective," I replied. "Please, I'm really stuck, and the priest isn't here to help."

"What about your father and brother? Why didn't you call any of them?"

"I tried to call my dad, but he didn't answer. And I'm not sure about Sam."

"Hmm, okay. I guess I'll be right there," he replied. "Where's the church located again?"

"Umm, it's not too far from my house. Let me get the address."

I went around the desk, still holding the phone to my ear, and sat down. As I was searching the desk for the address, my foot hit something under the table. I bent down and got on all fours to check out what it was. I screamed as loud as I could when I realized what I was staring at, then I passed out.

*****

## Acknowledgments

My profound gratitude goes to my family for their support, and thanks to all the pre-release reviewers for their great feedback and input.

Many thanks to editors Jynnah Michelle, Tina L. Carter and Jason Schneider for the editing and for their patience.

Cover image by Stockfreeimages.

### About the author

C. M. Okonkwo is a Nigerian author who grew up in Lagos and moved to France to study, where she obtained a B.Sc. in Business Administration and Management, an M.Sc. in Personnel and Employment Management, and an advanced M.Sc. in International HR Management and Development. A lover of travel and tourism, her writing ideas and style are inspired by experiences gained in different countries she has lived in and visited.

### Author's Note

If you wish to keep in touch with me or give me some feedback on my book, please use any of the links below. I'll be happy to hear from you.

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Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!

### Other books by C. M. Okonkwo

Novels:

The XIth Hour, Thriller/Suspense, 2013
