Hell's torturer: The Demon in Disguise

Part 7

Cornelia

There are 15 people in my uncle's house, standing in the living room. 6 men - my uncle; my father; my brother; my two young nephews and a man in his late thirties or early forties that I don't recognize. The rest of us are women - me; my mother; my aunt; my other aunt, 4 cousins I've only met on holidays, and 2 of Jamie's friends. All the women are sobbing, using their sleeves or a white napkin to wipe away their tears. The children keep silent looking around with their innocence-filled eyes, believing that their favorite auntie is now an angel watching them from the skies. I try to keep my composure however, I cannot let my emotions get in the way of gathering information even with the current circumstances. I'm not here to grieve. As soon as I heard the autopsy report, I knew there was something wrong with the whole picture. As much as I want to separate my work life from my personal life, I know there will come a day when the two will clash.

"Detective Decker?" Uncle Steve greets me jokingly, trying to keep a smile despite his pale and sorrowful face. I don't expect it to be otherwise for someone who has just lost their only child. "Or is it Harper now? I wasn't told if you changed it back to your maiden name or not."

"It's just Cornelia. I see no point in formalities." I say, keeping a steady voice. I can see he's giving it his all not to burst into tears again by the trembling of his lower lip, I try to keep our conversation short. "My condolences. I'm sorry for not calling more often."

"Where is Tammy? I thought you were coming with her."

"Tamara is at her father's. I didn't want to bring her along, it would be too much for her. I'm yet to find the courage to tell her that Aunt Jamie isn't with us." That's partly the truth. The bigger reason is that looking after a 3-year-old would hinder my investigation. I notice my uncle's eyes watering after I mention her name and hug him before things escalate. He pulls me in tightly, sobbing uncontrollably, his face resting on my shoulder. I suppress the urge to cry, focusing my attention instead on the man sitting next to the window.

He's wearing a light grey shirt underneath a knitted vest with a checkered pattern. Glasses with rectangular frames are resting upon his nose. He's fit, if it wasn't for the few grey locks in his hair I would guess that he's around my age. The dark circles under his eyes tell me that he works long hours, often night shifts. With the way he instinctively moves his hands to place them inside the pockets of a long coat that isn't there, I assume he's a doctor. None of our relatives works in the medical field, so it's perhaps one of Jamie's teachers. The only thing I'm still trying to figure out is why is he here.

"How could she do this?!" My uncle's cries break my chain of thought. "She was so young, her life was ahead of her. Why did she decide to throw it all away?"

She didn't kill herself. The angle from which the drug was administered, combined with the clear scars from self-harm suggest otherwise, but I know better. She never showed any signs of suicidal ideation, it couldn't have been premeditated. In the majority of the cases when someone decides to take their own life, the decision is made in the last 10 minutes before the act. I'm 99 percent certain that if it was suicide someone pushed her to do it and provided her with the means for the act.

I don't share these observations of mine with my grieving uncle, of course. It would be not only unkind to spill out theories right after someone's funeral but also unwise, considering the culprit might as well be one of the guests.

I let my uncle let out all of his emotions once more on my already damp from tears shoulder and waited for him to calm down. I then end our conversation with an ominous passage from the bible and head towards suspect number 1.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he steals the words from my mouth as I sit on the tabouret in front of him. "She was such a bright girl. The Lord took her too soon from us." As he speaks he fidgets with the wine glass in his hand. There was a spot a slightly lighter color than the rest of his bronze skin on his ring finger. Presumably because there usually rests a wedding ring, that he forgot to put on. I can see the outline of the jewelry resting in the pocket of his khakis. A prime example of a serial adulterer.