Chapter 23
[Marcus's POV]
The hallway was quiet except for the distant hum of an air conditioning unit and muffled television sounds from neighboring apartments. Derek flanked me to the right, his FBI training evident in his controlled breathing and alert posture.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my fist and knocked firmly on the door. Three sharp raps, professional but commanding. Standard police procedure.
"Silverwood Police," I announced, my voice carrying the authority of years of experience. "We need to speak with the residents of this apartment."
I could hear movement inside—quick footsteps, a muffled conversation, the creak of floorboards. My right hand moved instinctively to my holster, drawing my service weapon and holding it at the ready position. With my left hand, I retrieved my badge and credentials from my jacket pocket.
Derek mirrored my movements, his own weapon drawn but pointed downward. We'd done this dance before, though not together. The tension was familiar, that heightened awareness that came with potentially dangerous arrests.
The door opened slowly, revealing a young woman in her mid-twenties with shoulder-length brown hair and worried eyes. She wore a sweatshirt and jeans, and her face immediately registered fear at the sight of two armed officers.
"I'm Detective Marcus Reid, Silverwood Police Department Homicide Division," I said, holding up my badge so she could clearly see it. "Are you Danielle Shaw?"
"Yes," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's this about?"
"We're currently investigating a homicide case," I continued, keeping my tone professional but firm. "We have reason to believe that Stella Shaw may be connected to this investigation. Is she here?"
Danielle's eyes widened in shock, her hand gripping the doorframe for support. "Stella? You think Stella killed someone?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "That's impossible. She's so small, so young. How could she possibly kill anyone?"
The genuine shock in her voice was telling, but I'd learned not to take family reactions at face value. Sometimes the people closest to perpetrators were the most surprised by their capabilities.
"Ma'am, I'm going to need to search your apartment," I said, holstering my weapon but keeping my hand near it. "We have probable cause to believe Stella Shaw is on these premises."
Derek stepped forward slightly, his FBI credentials visible. "This is a federal investigation, ma'am. We need your cooperation."
Danielle's face went pale. She looked back into the apartment, then at us, then back again. "I... she's my cousin. She came here last night, but she was upset, scared. I didn't know..."
"Step aside, please," I instructed, gently but firmly moving past her into the apartment.
The living room was modest but clean, with a couch, coffee table, and small television. I could see into a kitchenette area and noted two doors that likely led to a bedroom and bathroom. The apartment had that lived-in feel of someone who'd been there for a while, but I could sense recent disturbance in the air.
"Stella?" I called out, my voice carrying through the small space. "This is the Silverwood Police. We need to talk to you."
Derek moved toward what appeared to be the bedroom door while I covered the bathroom. Standard clearing procedure, even in a small apartment.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and I could hear movement inside. Derek positioned himself beside the door and nodded to me. I pushed the door open slowly.
"Stella, this is Detective Marcus Reid. I'm coming in."
The bedroom was small, with a single bed, dresser, and one window that looked out onto the parking lot below. Stella was standing by the window, now wearing what appeared to be her cousin's clothes. Her blonde hair was disheveled, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
She turned when I entered, and I could see the defeat in her expression. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked smaller than her twenty years.
"I thought about jumping," she said quietly, gesturing toward the window. "But we're on the fourth floor. I'd probably just break my legs."
"Stella Shaw," I said, raising my weapon and pointing it at her, "you're under arrest for suspicion of murder."
She didn't resist, didn't run, didn't argue. Instead, she simply held out her hands in front of her, wrists together.
"You have the right to remain silent," I began, reaching for my handcuffs with my free hand. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at no cost."
The metal cuffs clicked into place around her wrists. They seemed too large for her delicate frame.
"Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" I asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
Derek secured the room while I led Stella back to the living room, where Danielle was standing with tears streaming down her face.
"Oh God, Stella," Danielle said, her voice breaking. "What did you do?"
"When she arrived here," I asked Danielle, "what condition was she in?"
Danielle wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "She was terrified. There was... there was blood on her face, and her hands were shaking. She had blood under her fingernails." She looked at Stella with a mixture of love and horror. "I made her take a shower and gave her clean clothes. I thought someone had hurt her."
Stella turned to her cousin, guilt etched across her features. "Danielle, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to involve you in this. I'm sorry I dragged you into my mess."
"The blood," Derek interjected, taking notes. "Did she explain where it came from?"
Danielle shook her head. "She wouldn't talk about it. She just kept saying she was in trouble, that she'd made a terrible mistake."
I guided Stella toward the door. "Ms. Shaw, we'll need you to come with us to the station for questioning."
The ride to the Silverwood Police Department was silent except for the occasional radio chatter. Stella sat in the back seat, staring out the window with vacant eyes. I'd seen that look before—the thousand-yard stare of someone processing the reality that their life had just changed forever.
At the station, we led her through the booking process. Fingerprints, photographs, personal effects inventory. She cooperated with everything, answering basic questions with monosyllabic responses.
Sarah met us at the interrogation room door. "Detective Reid? The room's ready, and I've got the initial paperwork started."
"Any word from the crime scene team about additional evidence?" I asked.
"Actually, yes. There's something significant you need to know about before you start the interview."
I looked at Derek, then back at Sarah. "What is it?"
"Detective Reid, we have an update on those micro digital cameras that Agent Hayes discovered in Brandon Field's hotel room," Sarah said, her expression serious. "The tech team has made significant progress—we've successfully recovered portions of the recorded footage."
Derek's eyebrows shot up.
I felt the pieces clicking into place. "How many cameras?"
"Four that we've found so far. Positioned to capture different angles of the bed and seating area."
I turned to look through the one-way mirror at Stella, who was sitting quietly at the metal table, her handcuffed hands folded in front of her.
"She doesn't know we found them yet?"
"No sir. We wanted you to have this information before beginning the interrogation."
Derek was already heading for the door. "This changes the entire dynamic of the case."
I opened the door to the interrogation room and stepped inside, Derek following behind me. Stella looked up as we entered, her eyes red from crying.
"Ms. Shaw," I began, taking a seat across from her. "You've indicated that you understand your rights. Do you wish to have an attorney present?"
"I want a lawyer," she said immediately. "I'm not saying anything until I have a lawyer."
Derek leaned forward. "Ms. Shaw, before we discuss legal representation, there's something you should know about the crime scene."
Stella's head snapped up, wariness replacing the defeated expression.
"We found evidence in Brandon Field's hotel room that you might want to know about," Derek continued. "Evidence that significantly changes the context of what happened that night."
"I said I want a lawyer," Stella repeated, but there was curiosity in her voice now.
"The deceased, Brandon Field, had installed multiple hidden cameras in the hotel room," I said, watching her reaction carefully. "High-end recording equipment. It appears he was systematically documenting his encounters with women without their knowledge or consent."
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Stella's face went through a rapid progression of emotions—shock, understanding, rage, and then something that looked almost like relief.
"He was recording everything?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Everything," Derek confirmed.
Stella's composed facade cracked. She began crying—not the quiet tears from before, but deep, body-shaking sobs.
"I didn't mean to kill him," she said through her tears."