The Death Of Jackson Harris

Chapter 15

I watched from the kitchen table as the remote control fell from a sleeping Jessica's hand and onto the floor. The thud of the hit barely made her flinch, and instead, she cuddled more into her blanket. After our bath, we ate the food she prepared, which surprisingly didn't burn, and watched TV for a bit until I decided to try and work on the kitchen table while she enjoyed one of her favorite television shows. The perfect life I couldn't help but think bitterly. I tried to focus on my work so I wouldn't stop and think what the hell was wrong with me. It was barely working. With a heavy sigh, I focused my vision on the papers scattered across the table.

"Detective Kenneth, why was your blood there?" I mumbled to myself and viewed the profile that Grace sent me.

He was an outstanding Detective back then when he was more active in the field. He has received medals and was always spoken highly of by his peers. Solving cases was easy for him; he always solved the ones handed to me and assisted in many others. It didn't matter if a detective took months and found minimal evidence; as soon as Kenneth arrived, he would take, if not weeks, then a couple of days before solving them. Most detectives strived to be like him, took notes of him and his work ethic, and he just adored the attention and praise.

"What about the sister?"

I jumped in my seat and looked over at Jessica, who stood there with an amused smile. I didn't even hear her get up, she was asleep just a second ago. She giggled and gave my cheek a kiss, going into the kitchen and grabbing two mugs to fill up with coffee. Technically, she's not allowed to see these files, but at that moment, I didn't think about that. Something inside of me clicked. What about the sister?

"Here, drink it before it gets cold. I'm going to bed upstairs, okay? Don't take long," Jessica said, placing the mug on the table beside me.

I could only mumble my response as I desperately searched through my stacks of papers. I knew I had a profile of the sister somewhere. She was so distraught the day I visited that I felt she didn't do it. But something has been off. She hasn't contacted me once since that day, and I normally wouldn't find that weird or off, but what puts it off is that her husband has been the one contacting me, asking what's been going on in the investigation. I needed to talk to him, I needed to meet him in person with just us two.

The next morning went by in a blur. One moment, I was at home getting ready, and the next, I was already rushing inside my office. Grace had just entered as well, putting her things down right when I opened the door and slammed it shut, my eyes immediately landing on her. She gave me a cautious look, frowning at the crazy look I had in my eyes. I could barely sleep last night, barely getting about four or five hours of sleep because of all the thoughts that were running around in my head. I was excited, nervous, and a bit frightened. If I was correct in my hypothesis, I could solve this case, but not in the direction I needed or wanted.

"You know something," Grace stated, watching my every move.

"I need you to take another break from the files and come with me. As soon as I woke up, I set a meeting with Micah Romero, Esme's husband. He made time for us, but we have to leave right now."

"Her husband? Why? Right now?"

"Yes, and you'll see," I said and grabbed her arm, pulling her with me back to my car, ignoring the strange looks we were receiving. "Read this."

"What is it?" she asked, grabbing the file from my hand. "Esme was submitted into a psych ward? What does that mean?"

"In her doctor's notes, he wrote about concerns that she might be a literal psychopath. Read the notes."

Her eyebrows furrowed as she read along the lines of the doctor's notes, and she mumbled along, reading, "No signs of remorse? Remorse for what?"

"That's exactly what we are going to find out. He doesn't mention anything after that regarding this feeling of remorse."