Chapter 112: Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
Aiden
"I didn't harm the doctor," Annabelle insists for the umpteenth time as Jordan’s interrogation continues.
I am in the observation room with Noah, watching Jordan conduct the questioning. Noah had efficiently apprehended both suspects and delivered them into police custody. His suspicions were correct: the waitress was a willing accomplice in the attempted homicide of Hermione. She was a fugitive when Noah tracked her down, in possession of a sum of currency far exceeding her reported income.
Despite the evidence, the two assailants continue to feign a lack of collusion. I suspect they conspired to tamper with CCTV footage to conceal their illicit activities while Annabelle accosted Hermione and the waitress adulterated her drink. Upon inspection, there are no defensive wounds or marks of a struggle on the waitress's body; her claims of physical battery are a fabrication.
Annabelle, however, remains the quintessential histrionic—typical of her. Initially, she invokes her right to counsel, but it is a foregone conclusion that no legal representative is coming. She is merely obstructing the process. Her residence was searched pursuant to a warrant at the time of her arrest. The prosthetic appliance recovered from her wardrobe matches the description provided by Hermione at the restaurant.
Aware her alias is compromised, Annabelle had deliberately applied a medical cast. Her testimony remains insistent: "I didn't hurt her. She assaulted me," she claims, raising her bandaged arm with a wince. "I was merely sampling a luxury fragrance. She reacted with visible disdain. I felt defamed, so I questioned her right to judge me. Suddenly, she shoved me and vacated the restroom. I sustained a fracture from her unprovoked force. If anyone is liable for litigation, it is her. I am the aggrieved party."
"That has yet to be substantiated, Annabelle," Jordan counters. "Are you aware the victim suffers from a walnut allergy, which explains her physiological reaction?"
A look of affected surprise crosses Annabelle’s face. She gasps, covering her mouth in mock consternation. It is a convincing performance of innocence; I might credit it had I not known her criminal propensity.
"Why were you using a disguise?" Jordan asks.
"I prefer to maintain my anonymity. I enjoy experimenting with different personae. There is no statute against that," she replies, shrugging with indifference.
"Actually, Annabelle, there is. Criminal impersonation isn't a constitutional right; it's a prosecutable offense," Jordan states firmly. "Under Title 18, U.S. Code, Section 1028, the use of a fraudulent identity or a prosthetic likeness to commit a felony—in this case, attempted homicide and conspiracy—is a major violation. You didn't just 'test a look'; you utilized a deceptive identity to facilitate a crime. That's a statutory violation."
"It wasn't!" she seethes, slamming her hand against the table.
"You are acquainted with Aiden Mendes, are you not?" Jordan asks.
"We were formerly involved," she answers icily, her expression hostile.
"Your relationship didn't end well, I believe."
"That’s an understatement. He’s a complete asshole."
"Watch your language," Jordan cautions.
Annabelle leaned forward across the table, looking Jordan straight in the eye. "Listen, you don’t fool me with this 'upright investigator' facade. I know you’re Aiden’s man. If you want me to talk, you had better find an officer with no ties to the other party. I don’t trust this investigation; it’s clearly biased in Aiden’s favor. Nothing I say will matter because your mind is already made up. Aiden wants to get rid of me, and you’re merely his legal lackey," Annabelle tuts, sagging back into her chair.
Jordan slams his hand against the table to intimidate her.
The waitress jumps, fear visible in her eyes, but Annabelle maintains her composure under pressure, meeting Jordan's gaze unflinchingly. A knowing look settles on her face, her lips curving into the ghost of a smile.
"You approached Hermione Mendes, Aiden Mendes's wife, with a vendetta," Jordan says. "You share a bitter history with Aiden, and you haven't moved on. Enraged that he is happy while you are not, you sought to ruin him."
Annabelle rolls her eyes, moving her jaw as if chewing gum. She folds her arms across her chest and replies, "You can analyse me all you want, Detective. However, I won't cooperate with this investigation unless the lead officer is changed and I receive confirmation that he has no ties to Aiden Mendes."
She looks directly at the one-way mirror separating the interrogation room from the observation room. Although she cannot see us, she knows we are watching.
"Make your choice, fellas. I don't have all day."
"It's 'Officers' to you, Ms. Wilson. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to assume this new officer you’re requesting is actually an ally of yours," Jordan states.
Annabelle looks amused. "Don't be ridiculous, Detective. I haven't been around long enough to know the officers in this precinct."
Noah swallows hard, his expression rigid as he watches the investigation proceed. Annabelle's cunning has only increased over the years. Because Jordan’s colleague supports her request to avoid any claims of bias, Jordan had no choice but to yield the interrogation to another detective.
Annabelle is led to a separate room while the waitress stays behind.
"Janine," Jordan begins, "how do you explain the large amount of cash in your possession? Why were you on the run? And why did you quit your job immediately after the incident? You should have known you were critical to the investigation unless..." Jordan pauses, leaning in close to her face, "...your guilt propelled you into action."
Janine tries to mimic Annabelle’s bravado, but she isn't trained for it. Even as she speaks, her body language betrays her.
"Don't believe everything that man told you," she says, referring to Noah. "I've been saving for a long time. It’s a mere coincidence that this happened at the same time my plans to move kicked off. I’ve wanted to leave for so long that I couldn’t let the incident deter me."
"You claim you were forced into poisoning a customer's drink," Jordan scoffs. "You betrayed your employer's trust and endangered a woman's life, yet you thought it was fine to just leave on your 'long-anticipated' trip?"
"I'm sorry. I should have handled it better."
"For someone who was supposedly manhandled, you aren't sporting any bruises," Jordan points out.
"I heal fast. I used a salve."
"A miracle-working salve?" I hiss under my breath.
I hate that I am no longer privy to Annabelle’s interrogation. I want to see her restrained; she is like a rabid dog who will cause irreparable havoc if left unfettered for too long. I doubt another detective will grant me observation privileges the way Jordan has.
"I am a victim too!" Janine snaps, glaring at Jordan.
My attention returns to the two of them.
"I would have believed that," Jordan says, "if you hadn't tried to sweep your involvement under the rug, ignored the fact that you put a life at risk, and attempted to flee with a suspiciously large amount of money."
"You look down on me, Detective!" she bristles. "What makes you think I couldn't have that much money? Is it because I’m just a waitress that it’s hard to believe?"
Jordan shakes his head. "If you had truly earned and saved that money, it would be in a bank. No one in their right mind carries their entire life savings around in a box, making themselves an easy target. Let's not waste time, Janine. You know Annabelle. She assigned you the task of poisoning Mrs. Mendes’s drink to avenge her failed relationship with Aiden. While you laced the drink with furosemide, she was waiting in the bathroom to finish the job by triggering an allergic reaction with a walnut-extract perfume."
He leans in closer. "You're a team, and you might think you’ve deleted the evidence, but not everything stays buried, Janine. We investigated the route from the kitchen to the dining area. We scoured every inch, and there was no DNA where you claimed your face was slammed against the wall—"
"I didn't say my face was slammed against the wall!" Janine interrupts.
Jordan raises a hand to silence her and continues, "—nor was there any sign of a scuffle in those halls."
Janine scoffs, trying to act smart. "Do you know how many people walk through that hallway? How could you possibly detect a struggle from footprints?" she demands. "I didn't resist them because I was outnumbered. And even if it were one-on-one, I have no chance of winning a fight against a man."
"There was no man. We have evidence to prove that," Jordan states with a conviction that makes me raise an eyebrow at Noah.
Noah’s expression gives nothing away, but he subtly shakes his head. Jordan is bluffing.
"I restored the deleted footage from your workplace," Jordan adds.
A flash of fear crosses Janine's eyes, and her body language shifts, exposing her panic.
Convinced he has her cornered, Jordan locks his fingers over the table. "Now tell me, Janine—who were your partners in crime? Or are you willing to take the fall alone?"