I hadn't a clue what they were talking about when they arrested me. Murder? Who did I murder? I didn't murder anyone. I didn't even contemplate murdering anyone (well apart form Jagan once or twice but that was just in a friendly way).
I decided to go quietly for the simple reason that I didn't want anyone to get hurt and I knew that these guys meant business.
They were really rough with me, one guy slammed my head off the door as he pushed me into the car and I felt my vision blur and go dark. Something was off about this. It really was. Normally they bring you in for questioning. Even military arrests have rules. I didn't understand it. If it was a civvie that got murdered then it was nothing to do with the military court.
As they dragged me up a staircase and down a corridor I slowly opened my eyes and just as I did I caught site of a man standing in the shadows. I couldn't see him properly but I could see enough of his face to know that he was smirking.
They put me in a high holding cell. How did I know? Because it was the kind that needed three key cards to open the door and there was no window.
I lay on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. "Why the f*ck am I in here?" I asked myself out loud.
"Because your DNA was found all over the crime scene." a man walked in and I sat up and looked at him. "Look." I said grimly "You guys must know I don't do sh*t like this."
He nodded. "Maybe, but your fingerprints were found all over the murder weapon." he tossed a file at me and I flipped in open and pulled out a picture. "That's the biggest bloody knife I had in my old knife block!" I exclaimed as I stared at it. "But I left that out for the charity collectors last week. I got myself a new one."
The man raised an eyebrow and looked at me. "And how can you be sure it's that knife Steve?"
I handed him the picture and he looked down at it. "There are three things scratched on the handle. One of them is the letter 'M' the other is nothing, just a scribble of sorts, and then on the other side, the side that's not shown in the picture, there's an eye scratched into it." I rattled off in one breath.
He looked surprised. "So you admit that the knife is yours?" he said calmly after a moment.
"No. I admit that the knife WAS mine, up until a week ago when it belonged to the charity organisation that was collecting door to door at the time." I glared at him.
"We'll talk about this later Steve." he turned to walk out. "Have fun looking over that file. It's incriminating in every way. You're as good as in the chair pal." The door slammed behind him and I thumped the ground in anger. After a few minutes my rage abated and I picked up the file to look at it properly.
I read through the description of how the body was found and things found nearby but nothing made any sense to me. Then I started to flick through the pictures until I came to one of the dead woman and my mouth went dry. I traced a finger across the page and checked the victim details in the file in the desperate hope that I was imagining things and that the face would change but it didn't.
"Marissa..." I whispered.