Sheryl and Watson sat on one of the couches across from Brett as Marlowe poured two glasses of scotch. One for himself and one for Brett, the other two didn't want any. Marlowe walked over to the smaller couch that was at one of the short ends of the coffee table. He placed Brett's scotch on the coffee table. He then sat down on the couch and took a sip of scotch from his own glass.
Brett grabbed the glass and took a long sip of his own. When he was done, he let out a long and tired sigh. Then he muttered, “Virginia...”
“When I last saw Virginia,” said Marlowe, “I handed to her the evidence that I had collected of your... activities. She said to me that she hoped that she wouldn't have to use it. She said that she'd try to convince you to turn yourself in, so that your family would have a happy ending. So tell us, Brett, what happened?”
Brett stared at his scotch for a little bit. Then he drank all of it in one gulp and put the glass down onto the coffee table. He stared at the melting ice for a moment before saying, “I killed Virginia.”
Watson started to get up, but Sheryl pulled him back down, stopping him from interrupting Brett's confession. Marlowe, on the other hand, seemed to have an angry expression on his face after confirmation that the killer of his client was sitting on his couch.
Brett continued, “Last night, after Marlowe and I talked in the bar, I followed him. I saw him talk with Virginia, and then when he left...”
Brett paused for a moment, remembering what he did, “I shot her.”
Marlowe was outright angry now, and he was about to get up, but Sheryl stopped him, “Brett... I know you still care for her, why did you kill her?”
“I didn't want to! She was going to turn me over to the cops! The woman that I loved was going to betray me, so I...” Brett was breathing hard now after that outburst.
Watson got up and took out a pair of handcuffs. “Alright, Mr. Summers, you're under arrest, anyth-”
“Hold on, Watson,” interrupted Sheryl.
“What is it now, Sheryl?!”
Sheryl looked at the murder suspect in front of them and ask him, “Where is your son, Brett?”
There was a pause as Brett looked up, shocked. He stuttered, “He- he- I dropped him off at my mother's.”
“That's impossible, Brett, your mother is in Paris,” said Sheryl as she recalled the postcard in the Summers residence with the Eiffel Tower on it.
“I- I-” Brett tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't.
Suddenly, Marlowe got up and punched Brett in the face, surprising Sheryl and Watson enough to make them spring off the couch.
Watson yelled, “What are you doing, Marlowe?!”
Ignoring the policeman, Marlowe punched Brett again, and this time Brett fell onto the floor. Standing over the his client's husband, Marlowe said, “My client... Your wife! Your wife is dead! All your wife wanted to do was protect you and your son. If your son is in danger, then you need to tell us, right now! Tell us the truth so that the police can help. There is no guarantee that your son will be safe even if you take the fall! So tell us the truth!”
The three detectives waited as Brett picked himself up. He looked at them, and started to tell them the truth.