Passion's Pitfalls

Chapter 22

Tristan's eyes widened as the police officers entered his apartment, brandishing a warrant for his arrest. He was completely taken aback, his mind racing to make sense of what was happening.
"What is this about?" he demanded, his voice shaking with fear. "You are arrested for the murder of Mr. Gorge Preston," one of the officers replied, his voice cool and calm. "You'll have to come with us."

Tristan's heart dropped.

"Murder?" He gasped, his knees buckling beneath him. "But I didn't kill anyone! This must be some kind of mistake!" The officer merely raised an eyebrow, as it he'd heard this a million times before. "You'll have your chance to plead your case in court," he said, motioning for Tristan to stand up. "In the meantime, you're coming with us."

Tristan felt numb as the police led him away, his mother rushed forward, tears streaming down her face. "No!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "My son is innocent! He didn't do anything!"
The officers ignored her, their faces stony and impassive. They had a job to do, and they weren't going to be swayed by the pleas of a distraught mother.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," one of the officers said, his voice cold. "But we have to take him in."

The other officer approached him, handcuffs in hand. He could feel his mother's eyes on him, pleading with him to do something, anything, to prove his innocence. But he didn't know what to do. He was at the mercy of the police, and he could feel his life slipping away. The officer grabbed his wrists and cuffed them behind his back, the metal cold and harsh against his skin. Tristan looked at his mother one last time, their eyes locking for a brief moment, before he was led away.

He felt so confused and disoriented as he was led outside. His eyes darted around, taking in the chaos of the scene. His father's car was surrounded by police, the yellow tape making it feel like a crime scene. His thoughts were racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. Why was his father's car here? What was going on?

As the officers opened the door to the police car, he heard his name being called. He turned, and saw his mother, her face white with fear. Emilia and Sarah also followed. They rushed towards him, but were held back by the officers.

The interrogation room was small and dingy, the walls a drab gray and the lights flickering overhead. Tristan sat at a table, his hands cuffed in front of him. Across from him sat two detectives, their faces hard and impassive.

"Do you understand your rights, Mr. Tristan?" one of the detectives asked, his voice cold.

Tristan swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "Yes, I understand my rights," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "But I didn't do anything. I don't know what's going on here." The detective raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "You're telling us that you had nothing to do with your father's death?" Trishan's heart sank. They thought he had killed his own father. It was ridiculous, impossible. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "I didn't do it," he said, trying to sound convincing. "I'd never do that."

"If you didn't do it, then who did?" the detective asked, his voice skeptical. "We have evidence that points to you as the killer. We know you had a motive since you didn't like your father and the opportunity to commit the crime came fonth." Tristan's stomach turned as he listened to the detective's words. What kind of evidence did they have? And how could they think he would ever want to hurt his own father? "I don't know what evidence you're talking about," he said, his voice trembling.

"We found your fingerprints on the murder weapon, Mr.Tristan," the detective said, his voice like ice. "They were a match, 100%. We also found your fingerprints on the door to your father's home office, where the murder took place. How do you explain that?" Tristan felt like he was going to be sick. How could his fingerprints be on the murder weapon? He had never touched it, never even seen it before. "I don't know," he said, his voice weak. "I can't explain it. But I'm telling you, I didn't do it."

"After You've murdered him, you didn't know how to deal with the corpse so you shoved him into his car so it would look like a natural death right?

Trishan's jaw dropped. The detective's words were so preposterous, so unbelievable, that he couldn't even process them. "No!" he exclaimed, his voice shaking with indignation. "I didn't murder my father! I would never do something like that. And I certainly wouldn't dispose of his body like that."

The detective leaned forward, his eyes boring into Tristan's.

"Take him back to the cell," the other inspector said, his voice curt. "You'll be brought before a judge soon," the inspector added, his tone businesslike.