Chapter 33

It was Amber’s third day in the detention center and to her surprise, she found herself adapting quite well to the place. In fact, she had been sleeping a lot in her holding cell, often waking up only for meals or to answer nature’s call. All requests for visitations from Margaret and Fabian had been denied. She did not want to talk to them.

It’s better this way, she thought to herself as she sat huddled on her makeshift bed and staring up at the lone window to her cell. A warm stream of sunlight shone on her bed, and she gently waved her hands through the sunbeam, playing with the dust particles.

“Lunchtime!” a police officer called out as she slid a tray of pepperoni pizza, wobbly strawberry gelatin, and bottled water into Amber’s cell. In the next cell, a young inmate with about a million piercings stood up from her bed and cheered, “Pizza! My favorite!”

Amber took one look at her lunch tray and a nauseating wave hit her like a hurricane. Her eyebrows furrowed and she quickly looked away, covering her nose with her thin scratchy blanket. The smell of cheese on the pizza was strangely pungent.

“Hey, redhead!” the inmate in the next cell called out with her mouth full. “Are you on a diet?”

Amber swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to hold her stomach down. She shook her head meekly wishing for the pizza to just disappear. She had been sleeping very well the past few days but the same could not be said for her appetite. She just couldn’t seem to keep her food down. Even plain water made her feel like throwing up.

“I just don’t feel like eating is all.”

“Slide it over to me then,” the inmate suggested, stretching out her fully tattooed arms through the bars of her cell.

Might as well, Amber thought. She got down from her bed, still holding her breath and quickly pushed the tray over to the next cell. Her neighbor was overjoyed with her double portion for lunch and started to sing songs of praise as she polished off her tray.

Normally, Amber would love nothing more than to down a whole pizza, but on that particular day, the savory Italian dish just seemed horribly rancid, as if it had come straight from a rubbish dump.

“Amber Banks,” the police officer who sat at the desk opposite Amber’s cell frowned. She folded her arms with disapproval and said, “Let me remind you once again, we are NOT a restaurant. You won’t get Michelin star dishes here sweetheart.”

But Amber was not listening, a hand flew to her mouth, and she lurched on the standalone sink, doubling over; and out came the little food she managed to hold down from that morning’s breakfast.

***

The past three days had been a fruitful one for Anson’s case. With the footage from the pen drive that Amber managed to retrieve from Liam as well as Vincent Rodriguez’s bank records, John Smith and his team managed to clear Anson's name.

By putting two and two together, John and his team came to a conclusion: Vincent Rodriguez had been murdered by Liam Smith on that fateful night. Apparently, the former had been blackmailing Liam Smith for underaged soliciting and perhaps, just perhaps the blackmail got to a point where Liam Smith could no longer take it, so he took the man’s life and made Anson take the rap.

Too bad Amber Bank’s recording stopped short right after the mentioning of the Toyota that hit Anson. With the phone recording, they could only prove that Liam had a motive to kill Anson, but insufficient evidence to fight for Amber’s innocence.

Things were not looking good for Amber. Not good at all. She had refused Fabian’s attorney and practically shut everyone out. Plus, there was discriminating evidence against her. The stun gun which had killed Liam Smith bore only her fingerprints and the guy who sold her the stun gun was convinced she was out for murder.

“I’m telling you, man, she had this wild gleam in her eyes when I sold her the stun gun!” Ben the storekeeper exclaimed when John interviewed him. John personally felt that Ben needed to get a life and stop reading Agatha Christie stories.

The CCTV at Liam’s place was broken too, so it did not manage to capture anyone else entering his premises.

In short, Amber Banks was as good as dead.

John Smith sat in his office chair shaking his leg furiously as he drummed his fingers on his mug of coffee. His desk vibrated with the shaking of his leg. John let out a long sigh feeling extremely frustrated and wishing he hadn’t given the redhead three days to prove her brother’s innocence. In a way, he felt guilty for what had happened.

He took a sip from his mug only to let out a little yelp. It was too hot! Quickly he put the mug down and picked up Amber Bank’s file. He had named her case N0e2le; short for ‘No evidence to link to innocence.’ He had a dramatic flair when it came to naming his cases. He tapped the file on the desk and set his legs down.

“Leo, get me, Dirk, or Kirk. Whatever his name is. I need to talk to him again,” John Barked and his colleague, Leo, who had been dozing off at the other end of the desk abruptly sat straight up and rubbed his blurry eyes. The two of them had not been home for the past few days.

“Whatever for?” his colleague frowned, stifling a yawn before stretching his arms wide open.

John scratched the back of his head with his paper file, “I’m not sure. He keeps telling me that he never left sight of Anson Banks…but I wonder…”

“Wonder what?”

Another sigh.

“I wonder just how much he is hiding from us.”