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Chapter 4 - Chapter 4 - Where Is the Murderer?

Chapter 4 - Where Is the Murderer?

Anna emerged from the kitchen, still wearing her apron, her eyes red-rimmed and her face pale as paper. She forced what might have been a smile and addressed the two detectives.

"I accidentally broke a plate just now," she said, tugging at her brother's sleeve. "Sitt, go clean it up."

Sitt glanced nervously at the two men standing in the doorway and didn't move. Anna pulled at him again, more insistently this time, and he reluctantly disappeared into the kitchen.

Anna turned back to them, her smile looking more natural now. "Please, come in and sit down. Thank you for taking that demon away."

Bernie shook his head. "You should have reported the abuse to someone earlier—the community center, or called the police directly."

Bernie began asking about the siblings' living situation. Anna explained that since Sitt was already eighteen, they wouldn't need to move out or be placed with a foster family.

Theodore cut through the pleasantries. "I need the key to the basement."

After Anna unlocked the wooden trapdoor, a narrow ladder descended into darkness. She flipped a wall switch, and warm yellow light illuminated the cramped space below.

Theodore climbed down while Bernie remained upstairs. The older detective had stopped making small talk with Anna and now stood half a step back, watchful and alert.

The basement was barely tall enough for Theodore to crouch in. Blankets covered the floor, and a few books were stacked beside them.

He flipped through the volumes briefly, then moved to the exit and reached up to cover the trapdoor.

"Bernie, can you hear me?" he called out.

"I can hear you." Bernie's voice came through muffled but clear.

"Put the rug back over it, too," Theodore shouted.

Rustling sounds came from above, then silence. The confined space forced Theodore to curl up uncomfortably. The single light bulb radiated heat that made his skin prickle with sweat within minutes.

In the oppressive quiet, every sound became amplified—his breathing, his heartbeat, even the rush of blood through his veins.

A primal fear of being buried alive crept over him. He recognized it as a normal physiological response and forced himself to focus on observing his surroundings.

Despite its size, the basement had no strange odors. It was meticulously clean, with no mold growing in the corners.

Someone had painted cartoon characters on all four walls and the ceiling—an attempt to make the space less terrifying for a child.

Theodore picked up the books again and found they were all fairy tales. The pages were well-worn from frequent reading, their edges soft and frayed.

"Are you... okay?"

Bernie's voice drifted down from above, barely audible through the floorboards and carpet.

A moment later, the rustling started again, and the trapdoor lifted to reveal Bernie's concerned face.

"You scared the hell out of me," Bernie said with relief, hauling Theodore up. "I couldn't hear you respond."

Theodore said nothing but turned to Anna with a direct question. "On the day of the incident, after Diane and Carter left, who else came to the house?"

Anna avoided his gaze. "I don't know. You just experienced it yourself—you can't hear anything down there. When you're trapped in that hole, all you can do is sleep and pray for time to pass. What else is there?"

Theodore didn't press the issue. He shook his head and headed for the door.

It was suspicious, but if Anna had actually heard something, she wouldn't be hiding it. Theodore had experienced the basement firsthand—sound was indeed muffled, and the environment was psychologically crushing.

Even if she had heard something, she would have dismissed it as imagination.

Bernie caught up, expressing sympathy for the siblings, then asked, "Where to now?"

Theodore stepped out of Brian's house and turned left. "Carter's place."

...…

Carter welcomed them enthusiastically. "Come and try this!" She brought out a large homemade cake on a simple, light blue decorative plate.

Theodore wasn't fond of sweets, but Bernie dug in happily, explaining their visit between bites. When he mentioned their good neighbor, Mrs. Brian, Carter's eyes immediately filled with tears.

"She called Diane and me over that day because of Anna," Carter said, wiping her eyes. "She thought Anna needed to find a husband. Once she got married, she'd stop shaving her head and wearing those Rose Street outfits. She'd become normal again."

Bernie frowned and asked about the abuse at the Brian household. Carter said she'd known about it for some time.

Bernie set down his cake, and Theodore straightened in his chair.

"Not only do I know—Diane knows too, and many others," Carter said. At over seventy, she had a tendency to ramble and drift off-topic.

"Oh, speaking of Diane, are you planning to visit her later?" Carter asked. Without waiting for an answer, she bustled into the kitchen and returned with a small bag of cake.

"You can take this to her for me. It's for little Doyle—he loves my baking more than anyone. We agreed yesterday that he'd come pick it up today, but he hasn't shown up yet. That woman's being stingy again."

Carter was clearly annoyed that Diane hadn't come, and she began complaining to the detectives about her neighbor.

"She wasn't always like this. Used to be lively and cheerful. Then her son Doyle was paralyzed in that car accident, and she kept trying to kill herself. During that period, she was anxious all the time, looked absolutely haggard."

"That's when she became strange. Started suspecting her husband, Reese, was having an affair, so she'd fight with him constantly. When Reese wasn't home, she'd come to my house and make scenes, blaming my husband for getting Reese that truck driving job in the first place."

"Reese is a good man, just not much of a talker, which made Diane even worse. One time, she scratched his face until it was bloody, then told the police he was trying to kill her. After that, Reese barely comes home anymore. Shows up just to see Doyle, leaves money for expenses, then disappears again. Never speaks to Diane."

Carter continued her rambling account, sighing heavily, then pulled out a photo album to show them.

"We used to be so close," she said, pointing to three smiling women in one of the pictures.

Theodore, however, was drawn to a different photograph. "Who is this?"

"Him?" Carter smiled. "That's my husband."

"He was a truck driver, too. The Truck Drivers' Union held a rally once, trying to get more drivers to join up. This photo was taken at that event—I asked the union for a copy."

The black and white photograph showed a truck driver standing in front of a gray truck, wearing a hat and dark coat, sporting a full beard, and grinning with his thumb raised in triumph.

Bernie's eyes widened as he looked at Theodore, who gave a subtle shake of his head and changed the subject.

"Carter, that's a beautiful plate. Where did you get it?"

Carter's attention immediately shifted to the porcelain, and she beamed as she explained. "My husband brought it back from New York. He knew how much I loved pretty dishes. It's part of a whole set—wait, let me show you the rest."

She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with matching bowls, cups, and serving pieces. "They're supposed to be from somewhere in Asia," she said.

Then she remembered her friend Diane. "Oh, Reese also brought Diane a set too—her favorite red ones with pictures of children and fish. They're supposed to bring good luck. But she smashed most of them during her fits."

"Only one piece left, and she brings it out every time we visit, showing it off like it's made of gold. Treasures it more than anything."

Theodore picked up the plate, examining it from every angle, then asked casually, "Did you use this plate for the cake that day?"

Carter clapped her hands. "Oh my goodness, I almost forgot! There's still a plate at the Brian house—I never brought it back. No wonder I thought one was missing."

As she spoke, her eyes grew distant, and she wandered toward her bedroom, still holding the plate.

Theodore and Bernie exchanged glances and quietly let themselves out.

"Her husband died in January," Bernie informed Theodore once they were outside. "Heart problems, according to the report."

Theodore nodded and started walking toward Diane's house. "Now we're going to see if Diane's 'treasure plate' is still there."

Bernie looked confused. "What does any of this have to do with plates? Shouldn't we be looking at Carter's husband?"

He'd investigated Carter during the initial inquiry and knew about her husband, but he hadn't seen that photograph and hadn't connected a man who'd died four months ago to the current case.

Now that he thought about it, the 'man asking for directions' that Diane had described sounded remarkably like Carter's deceased husband. If Diane had lied in her statement, she was their prime suspect.

Theodore continued walking, explaining his reasoning. "The killer committed the crime between 11:50 and 12:10—after Carter and Diane had left. During the attack, there was a struggle with the victim, but Mrs. Brian never screamed for help. What does that tell us?"

Bernie repeated the question back to him: "What does it tell us?"

"It means the victim knew her attacker. She trusted them enough to invite them inside."

Bernie's face lit up with understanding. "So that's why you said the struggle marks went from inside to outside—it really wasn't ghosts telling you!"

Theodore nodded wearily. "That's right."

"But what's the connection to the plate?"

Theodore stopped at Diane's front door and rang the bell. "Who would be most likely to return to the victim's house during that time period?"

Bernie thought for a moment. As Theodore rang the bell again, his eyes suddenly widened. "Diane!"

"Exactly. Carter said Diane treasured that remaining plate. She used it to serve cake and candy when showing off to her friends, telling everyone how happy she was and how much Reese loved her."

"That plate is probably one of the few pieces of evidence she has left to prove Reese ever cared about her, so she treasures it but doesn't hide it away."

"If Diane left her plate at Mrs. Brian's house, she would have come back immediately to get it."

Bernie frowned. "But how did she end up fighting with Mrs. Brian?"

Theodore rang the doorbell for the fourth time and shook his head. "We'll have to ask Diane about that."

Still no answer. Bernie's expression turned grim. He drew his service weapon, stepped in front of Theodore protectively, then edged along the wall to peer through a window.

After a moment, he smashed the glass with his elbow.

Turning back to Theodore, his face was pale. "Call the station. We've got another homicide."

At the same moment, the unmistakable stench of decomposition hit them both.

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