Mercy

Metamorphosis

Remember you can be a caterpillar one minute and then a butterfly the next- Louie Shwartzberg

Metamorphosis: change in physical form, structure and appearance.

Chapter 10

After clearing the crime scene, I stood at a crossroads. Should I head to the hospital to check on Alessandra or interrogate the two criminals who had been caught red-handed? The choice wasn’t difficult—justice had to come first. I needed answers, and they deserved what was coming to them.

I arrived at headquarters, where Beatrice and Alex were being held. Deciding to start with Beatrice, I entered the interrogation room. She sat across from me, her demeanor a mix of discomfort and defiance. I didn’t bother hiding the anger simmering within me; it was clear she sensed it as she shifted uneasily in her chair.

"I'm going to ask you some questions," I began, my voice cold and deliberate. "If you’re smart, you’ll start talking... honestly."

She gave a small nod, her eyes darting to the table. I leaned forward, my tone sharp. "Did you kidnap Alessandra Conti with the intent to kill her?"

“Yes, we did,” she admitted, emphasizing the “we” with deliberate venom.

Disappointment swelled in my chest. “Why? And whose idea was it?”

She hesitated, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "It was Alex’s idea. He killed Leonard. I... I helped him, but I was blinded by his lies."

My jaw tightened as I tapped my foot impatiently. “What lies?”

“He said Alessandra was snooping for evidence. She was getting too close to uncovering the truth.”

“What evidence?” I pressed, my instincts telling me there was more to this than she was letting on.

“The murder weapon,” she muttered.

My brows furrowed. We had never recovered the weapon. “Where is it?”

Her lips trembled. “I wasn’t there during the murder. Alex never told me where he hid it.”

Frustration bubbled inside me. “Anything else?”

Beatrice’s gaze darkened, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. “Detective, I know what we did was wrong, but don’t you think Alessandra’s a little suspicious too? The night of their argument, she had no reason to leave the house. And truth be told, I never heard her car...”

I slammed my fist on the table, cutting her off. “You killed a man and tried to kill his wife. Your opinions or suspicions mean nothing to me. You’re not just a killer—you’re a monster.”

Without another glance, I stormed out, leaving her alone with her guilt.

---

Detective Joe had already finished his interview with Alex by the time I returned. Strangely, both Alex and Beatrice had accused each other of killing Leonard. Alex claimed Beatrice was the mastermind, while Beatrice insisted it was Alex.

Though their conflicting accounts annoyed me, part of me was relieved to be done with them for now. My thoughts wandered to a certain blonde waiting for me at the hospital.

When I arrived, Alessandra was asleep, her face serene despite the bandages covering her wounds. My eyes traced the scars on her arms and legs, old and faded, yet telling a silent story of pain and survival. How had I not noticed them before?

Her eyes fluttered open, and a weak smile curved her lips. “How’s our Sherlock doing?”

I smirked. “Sherlock? I thought I was more of an Albert.”

She chuckled softly. “I’ll allow it.”

“How are you holding up?” I asked, sitting beside her.

“Even the toughest soldier wouldn’t compare to my tolerance for pain.” Her lighthearted response drew a smile from me.

Glancing at the table, I noticed a bouquet of flowers. “Mike dropped these?” I asked casually.

She shook her head. “Oh, no, they’re not from him.”

“Then who?” The question slipped out before I could stop myself, a pang of jealousy in my tone.

“They’re not mine,” she replied quickly, brushing off the question.

I let it go for now. “Well, I don’t have flowers, but I do have good news.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ooooh, spill!”

“The trial is set for next week,” I announced.

She groaned dramatically. “Why not tomorrow?” Though her tone was joking, I sensed a hint of seriousness.

We spent a little more time talking before I decided to leave and change into fresh clothes. As I exited the room, I overheard the nurse speaking to Alessandra.

“Ma’am, the guest who brought the flowers said you should rest well.”

Her reply, though muffled, carried a hint of annoyance. “Gosh, I’m not a kid.”

---

Matteo’s POV

Back at home, I stepped into the shower, letting the water wash away the tension from the day. But my mind wouldn’t rest. Alessandra had lied about the flowers. Why? Who had brought them? And what else wasn’t she telling me?

Beatrice’s words replayed in my head, mingling with the memory of Alessandra’s scars—scars I hadn’t seen before. Something didn’t add up.

I grabbed my laptop and pulled up the CCTV footage from Alessandra’s alibi the night of the murder. There she was, stepping into the bar in a short-sleeved gown that exposed her arms and legs.

Nothing seemed wrong, aside from the fact the woman in the footage had no scars.

My heart raced as I stared at the screen. How was that possible?

Authors note:
Oh???