Eight fifty-two P.M. Two police officers, tired and bored, escort Marcus Verdad into a high security interrogation room. They ask him to sit and wait quietly for the detective then leave; sealing the door behind them.
Verdad sits down behind a cold metallic square table fixed in the middle of the room and waits. Sandy hair neatly styled, a handsome face cleanly shaven. His large athletic frame takes up the entirety of the seat; retaining its elegance in a black designer suit, white collar shirt and satin red tie.
Verdad takes a deep breath, sucking in the room’s clean, sterile odour. He checks out the space, moving only his eyes, identifying video cameras cleverly hidden in the ceiling and walls. His eyes stop and stare through a two-way mirror flanking the wall opposite the door, complementing the surgical colour scheme.
He returns his eyes to the table and rests an ankle on top a knee before casually crossing his hands. A contemplative grin on his face; eyes thoughtful.
Silence.
When the door finally stirs Verdad jumps a millimetre; his composure regained within a second. Fresh, threatening air from the outside corridor leaks its way into the room, followed by Detective Peter O’Connell.
Droplets of sweat trail their way down O’Connell’s forehead, the mid-summer weather only partially to blame. He slips his lean figure effortlessly through the door. His dark wavy hair dances slightly in the artificial breeze created by his quick pace. His straggly appearance is matched with an un-ironed tan suit, a bulky nose, and fair skin. The dark hollows underneath his focussed blue eyes a permanent feature.
He steps into the room and seals the door in silence, walking forward; footsteps echo eerily off the grey and black linoleum. He stops in front of the chair opposite Verdad, averting his gaze, before dragging the steel away from the table and resting himself into it. O’Connell inhales a long silent breath, effectively slowing his heartbeat. His focus shifts towards his shaky left hand barley clutching onto an unmarked brown file. He places it briskly onto the cold table in front of him, disguising the rapid tremors. With one last silent breath he alters his head and stares unflinchingly into Verdad’s eyes.
The silence drags.
Verdad returns O’Connell’s gaze with a light grin.
‘I bet you didn’t expect to see me.’ O’Connell breaks the silence. His Scottish accent fainter since the last time Verdad heard it.
‘No, but, I would be lying if I said I was surprised.’ Amusement lingers in Verdad’s smile.
O’Connell pulls his fist into a tighter grip, ignoring the pain his nails create as they gouge into the warm flesh of his palm. He retains a strong and impenetrable face; the focus in his eyes unaltered.
‘Last week,’ he begins, ‘a woman was found murdered. She was dumped in a parking lot; the cause of death a single bullet straight through her heart.’ O’Connell’s tone remains steady, factual. He stops and waits for a reply. Verdad removes his grin before speaking.
‘Horrible world isn’t it?’ He places his foot back onto the ground and leans forward in his chair, resting his left arm onto the table’s cold, solid surface.
‘Oh, don’t jump to conclusions too quickly, there are a few more gory details as well.’ O’Connell pauses. ‘Her hands and feet were also tied up, tightly, with barbed wire and her mouth had been sewn shut with an old bit of fishing line.’ O’Connell picks up his clenched fist, releasing it and moves it towards the brown file splayed exclusively on the table. He opens it, pulls out photographs of the murdered woman and tosses them towards Verdad’s end of the table. The photographs glide along the smooth reflective surface, stopping in front of Verdad’s arm. He picks them up with a calm hand and studies each one closely with an un-altered expression. After a brief minute he deposits the photographs back onto the table and in a separate movement slides them back towards O’Connell. O’Connell watches as they skate along the table, coming to a stop centimetres from the brown file. He stares at the image of the woman’s lifeless, tortured body. After a few seconds of contemplation he faces Verdad once more and continues.
‘The autopsy report states her mouth was sewn up whilst she was still alive and conscious, no surprises there. Her hands and feet were also bound together before she died.’ O’Connell looks at Verdad, inviting him to speak.
‘Well, that information is very thorough, and I’m sure you find it very useful, but why are you wasting your time telling me?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I figured you might like me to refresh your memory.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Well, you killed her.’ O’Connell is serious. Verdad lets out a short laugh.
‘Come on, that’s one huge accusation. You must be pretty cocky, bringing me in here and calling me a murderer. What evidence could you possibly have to make you think I murdered this poor girl?’ Verdad leans his head into his left hand, expectant.
‘Well, I’m sure you would love to know the answer to that question, but you don’t need to, so I think I’ll keep that bit of information to myself.’
‘O’Connell, you know I’m not stupid. I don’t know why you’re using your bluffing tactics on me. You know as well as I do that you have no proof of what you are accusing me of.’ He leans back into his chair, supporting his head with his hands.
‘Come on Verdad, why can’t you be an honest guy and clear your conscience?’ O’Connell pleads.
‘I don’t have anything to clear from my conscience.’ He chimes, returning his grin.
‘Then you’re a far worse human being than I thought.’ Again, O’Connell stares into Verdad’s eyes.
‘That’s harsh O’Connell. You know, you used to be my friend.’ Verdad pouts for a moment before returning his grin.
‘I was an acquaintance not a friend. I fail to see why any kind of past relationship between us should prevent me from doing my job.’ O’Connell is stern.
‘Just an acquaintance? Now you really have hurt my feelings.’ The pout returns again for a few moments before breaking into a large grin of perfect pearl teeth. A manic laugh bursts deeply out of Verdad’s chest and echoes around the room. ‘How sure are you that I killer her?’ He asks once his laughter subsides.
‘Sure enough.’ The reply is quick.
‘I don’t think sure enough will do. You need a little something called ev-i-dence.’ Verdad mockingly emphasises each syllable. Once again a manic laugh fills the room.
O’Connell waits for the laughter to settle before speaking again. ‘Tell me, where do you keep your spare fishing line and barbed wire?’ His head leans in.
‘I don’t fish, and what on earth would I do with barbed wire?’ Amusement returns Verdad’s smile. He removes his hands from the back of his head and covers his chest with them.
‘Make fences I suppose.’ O’Connell smiles for the first time, resting his hands neatly on the table, allowing his fingers to wander mindlessly.
‘Come on, you didn’t bring me in here just to talk about barbed wire and fishing line or to accuse me of a murder I didn’t commit.’ Verdad’s face reddens.
‘Well, I did want to personally see what your reaction was when I showed you the photographs of the murdered woman.’
‘And was it what you expected?’ Verdad sits rigid, anticipating O’Connell’s answer.
‘Yes, perfectly unemotional and innocent.’
‘As it should be. I’ve never seen her before and I didn’t murder her.’ The reddening of his face subsides.
‘Oh? That is strange. Tell me then, why do my informants think she was your secretary?’ The words spoken boldly.
‘Secretary? I don’t think so.’ Verdad slowly takes his hands and wipes his palms along his tailored pants.
‘Are you sure? Perhaps you should have another look.’ O’Connell slides the photographs back towards Verdad. He ignores this action and speaks before they reach his end of the table.
‘Okay you win. She was my secretary, but I didn’t murder her.’ He shrugs.
‘Then why deny knowing her?’
/> Verdad drags his chair closer to the table, he leans towards O’Connell.
‘It’s harder to recognise a person when they’re dead and their mouth is all sewn up and bloody. Besides, my secretary was supposed to be holidaying in Greece.’ Verdad explains. ‘Naturally, I wouldn’t be thinking it was her, would I.’
‘But instead she was murdered ... So, are you willing, based on what you’ve said, to make a statement denying any involvement in her murder?’
‘Absolutely.’ He sits back confidently in his chair once more.
‘Good. Now incidentally you were right before, I didn’t just bring you here to talk about the murdered woman.’
‘No?’ Verdad’s eyebrows raise.
‘No.’ O’Connell picks his right hand up and loosens his coffee stained tie; beads of sweat now cover his entire face and neck. ‘Tell me, do you recall a nice girl by the name of Jennifer Barns?’ He smirks.
‘Jennifer…’ Verdad pauses. ‘I haven’t thought about her in a while.’ He looks down. ‘What’s she up to?’ He looks back at O’Connell waiting for an answer. O’Connell squints and opens his mouth, tilting his head quizzically before a guffaw of disbelief comes out.
‘Come on Verdad, you’re not going to pretend you don’t know where she is, are you?’ He is confused.
‘Why would I know where she is, she left me over seven years ago. Do you think I’m the kind of guy who stalks his exes?’
‘No, I think you’re the kind of guy who murders his exes.’ O’Connell searches Verdad’s eyes for an answer. They gloss over as they focus on the table in front of them. The corners of Verdad’s mouth drop, his cheeks turn limp.
‘I would never do anything to Jenny. If she hadn’t of decided her career was more important, we’d be married by now, maybe parents.’ He splutters. ‘I accepted Jennifer wanted to do her own thing. She didn’t want me and I left it there.’ His tone bitter. ‘I did try to look her up about … oh, a year after she left me, but I couldn’t find her. I figured you must’ve had something to do with that.’ He glares at O’Connell.
O’Connell’s head is still tilted. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow you.’
‘For some reason Jenny seemed afraid of me towards the end. I assumed she had gone to you and asked you to hide her. I didn’t bother looking for her after I realised that, clearly she wants me to stay away.’ He shifts back.
‘Why would she be afraid of you?’
‘I have no idea.’ Verdad’ says simply.
‘Jenny never came to me.’ O’Connell looks down towards the table. ‘She just vanished one day, by herself. I guess I assumed you had something to do with it.’ He looks up again. ‘So, as far as you’re concerned you have no involvement in her disappearance?’
‘Disappearance? Come on, she couldn’t have disappeared completely.’ Verdad snorts.
‘Well she has. No one, not even her parents, have heard from her for over seven years. She has not had a job, she doesn’t have a bank account, a current driving license, anything. Before her disappearance she put all of her belongings into storage and tied up every loose end. I would say she has successfully disappeared off of the planet and that it was a planned disappearance.
‘Now, are you sure you don’t know where she is? If you’re honest with me now it might make things better for you in the future.’ He stares, un-altered.
‘I don’t know where she is.’ Verdad says, solidly. ‘Why are you asking me though, weren’t you her best friend?’
‘No.’ O’Connell replies, louder than intended. He is silent for a moment and then continues, tone softer. ‘It sure is a mystery. I was certain you had killed her, or kidnapped her.’ He stares at Verdad again.
‘I didn’t do anything to her.’ He holds his hands up into the air.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I believe you.’ O’Connell says slowly.
There is a brief silence, then, Verdad’s eyes light up. ‘Why have you brought up Jennifer?’ He asks quickly.
‘Oh, I just thought she would’ve been a good witness to call up against you. You know, disgruntled bitter ex-girlfriends are great at testifying. I mentioned her because I wanted to know if you know where she is, I sure as hell don’t. But, by the looks of it she’s either dead or excellent at hide and seek. No matter. I’ll just have to come up with another witness.’
‘Witness?’ Verdad laughs to himself.
‘Yes. Did I forget to mention I’m building up a case against you? Well, I am. You might be in gaol sooner than you think.’ A smirk creeps onto O’Connell’s face. ‘Well, I think we’ve spent enough time chatting. Enjoy the remainder of your freedom, won’t you.’ The smirk on his face intensifies.
‘Freedom ...’ Verdad laughs quietly to himself.
The interrogation is over. O’Connell curls his fingers around the edges of the photographs of the murdered woman and carefully places them back inside the brown file. He wishes Verdad a pleasant evening, slowly stands up and fixes his tie. He turns and faces the door. His feet glide towards the exit while his face shifts its smirk to a frown. He opens the door in silence, turning to give Verdad one last stare before quietly sealing it closed behind him.
Verdad sits still, deep in thought. A mixture of anger and sadness etched into his perfect face.
#2 The White Ward