The Messenger

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

I watched Kenny through the two-way surveillance mirror, he had his hair tightly between his fingers as he sat bouncing his foot against the checkered blue and white tile floor. Ever since we pulled away from his house, he's been a fidgeting mess. Rachel put him in the interrogation room approximately a hour ago, and in that time he's nervously paced the floor about a dozen times, while mumbling incoherent words to himself. A wicked smile danced across my lips, causing the corners of my eyes toe crease. I have never felt so satisfied with life. Well, besides watching Annabelle gargling and choke on her own blood until she she finally croaked over and died.

I can tell that the guilt is eating him alive. Not from killing his wife, no I'll take full credit for that but he must know that the evidence we have isn't looking to well for him. Even if we don't close the case against him - which I am almost one hundred percent sure will happen-, this isn't the type of case you would want pending over your head. It'll ruin his reputation tarnishing his name. Thus ruining any chances of him ever getting a job in this line of work again. And for as long as I can remember, his reputation means everything to him. He cares to much of what people think of him, if I'd say. Growing up he always had to have whatever was "hot" back then, just so he would be known as one of the very few kids to have whatever it happened to be.

"Hey, Liam," Rachel said joining me at the mirror. "I think it's time to question him, he looks like he's ready to crack." She smirked. I returned the gesture and proceeded hold the door open for her.

"After you, Special Agent," I said with a hint of playfulness. She smiled and gently shook her head. Before walking in I inhaled a calming breath and masked my face, showing no signs of my previous emotions.

Kenny scoffed, turning to us. "About damn time you guys decide to come. Hurry up and ask your stupid questions so I can get the hell out of this place." Rachel pulled up a chair to the table he was seated at and plopped down in her seat.

"Well, Mr Miller. You have the right to-"

"The name is Kenny and I know my rights," Kenny interrupts, "I am a detective myself, Agent."

"Then you should know reading your rights to you and making sure you know them is part of the procedure. Now, do you understand these rights?"

"Yes, agent, I do," he sarcastically remarked. Rachel pressed her lips together as he calmly sat back in his chair and awaited the questions. From the corner of the room I silently studied his body language. A little tense, on edge maybe. This should be interesting, I thought.

"Where were you between twelve and two in the morning?" Rachel asked. He tore his eyes away from her hard stare, while stealing a glance at me from the corner of his eye.

"I was at my home."

"Anyone to confirm this story?"

"Yes, my mother can."

"I assume that was the elderly woman in your home?" He slowly nods, she jots this down on her yellow notepad. "What exactly were you doing?" His tongue slowly slithered out of his mouth wetting his pale pink lips. A technique suspects used to stall and buy enough time to think of a lie.

"Sleeping of course. It was reaching the early hours of the morning, I was tired."

"Without your wife? Correct me if I am wrong, but most husbands go to bed with their wives." His jaw clenched slightly.

"Yes. I went to bed without my wife."

"Men only do that when they are experiencing martial problems. Tell me Kenny, were you and Annabelle having any problems?"