How They Got Away With Murder | Book Three

Chapter Eleven-Part One

      He remembered Wes's bold expression on the very day he withered to a lifeless form. In Frank's own car, bragging that Annalise cared about him more than Frank. It didn't bother him as Wes must have hoped, but if he were alive he would sure be laughing about where Frank was at the moment.

      He'd already crafted the perfect story. Karmen told him everything, including her fight with Wes. He simply decided that he would take care of her problem. And so, he told the detectives,

      "I picked him up in my car, told him Annalise wanted to see him. I could tell he was nervous, but he got in. I took him to the house. When he saw she wasn't there he got scared, tried to leave, so I knocked him out. Chloroform."

      He thought about the small photo in his wallet. Whenever he felt nervous or frustrated he'd slip it out, admiring the huge grin on her face. She was his reminder of the good in life. She was also his reminder of all the bad he was about to cause.

      "I cut the gas line and left the burner on the stove going on. Gave me time to get out before it all went up."

      "Why?" The male detective asked the question he'd been waiting to hear. But, he played it dumb.

      "What?"

      The man leaned onto the table. "Let's say we do believe you. Why kill him?"

      Frank dropped his stare onto the table, picturing Karmen's face—her luminous eyes always analyzing, her rose-colored lips curled into an amused smirk on a casual day, or her brows knitting together out of befuddlement. She was perfect in ways he could have never imagined before, and he didn't mean just her physical appearance. She chose to trust him, to care for him. He would never know why, but still, he loved that about her.

      Which was why he had to do this.

      "Karmen. Her and Wes used to be friends, and I was a bit jealous of it. Then, he betrayed her. She would tell me about all the things he did and how they fought, and it just made me so angry. I tried to ignore those feelings but seeing how it affected her I just couldn't."

      There. That should have done it. He may not have been an actor but that sounded convincing enough.

      The female cop cocked her head to the side. "So did you want to hurt Karmen, too?"

      "No." He said quickly.

      "She was in the house when it exploded—"

      "She wasn't supposed to be there!" He snapped, his head cursing him with images of Karmen trapped in the burning house.

      "That's why I'm here," he added. "I can't take that I hurt her."

      "And she never asked you to do this?"

      He clenched his jaw. "Of course not. She didn't like the guy, but she would never hurt him. I did it because of my own anger."

      A few minutes later the detectives were gone. Frank blew out a breath. He instinctively reached for his wallet, pulling out the photo. He brushed his thumb against Karmen's pixelated face, her smile seeming to haunt him. It never did that before.

      Maybe what he was doing was wrong. It would only hurt her. 

      No. It would help her. The police would stop looking into her, and it would all be worth it. That was what he repeated in his mind for what had to have been an hour before the door opened. He quickly pocketed the picture as the two detectives re-entered the room.