Chapter 2 - The Evidence Chain
The emergency operators answered on the second ring.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"My name is Claire Vance," I spoke clearly, stepping near the shattered wineglass while maintaining a safe distance from Daniel and Vanessa. "I am reporting an attempted poisoning and assault at 104 Willow Creek Lane. The suspect, Vanessa Cole, surreptitiously slipped a chemical agent into my beverage. A small portion was ingested during a physical struggle. We require police presence and an emergency medical response immediately."
"Claire, hang up!" Daniel screamed, rushing toward me again.
I didn't flinch. "The male subject on the premises, Daniel Vance, is currently attempting to interfere with the scene. I am preserving the physical evidence, including the chemical packaging and the residual spill."
"Officers are en route, ma'am," the dispatcher said. "Stay on the line."
Vanessa was now weeping openly on the dining room rug, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "Daniel, do something! My stomach is burning! What did we put in there? What was in that packet?!"
I looked down at her with cold detachment. "You mean you don't even know what you tried to give me?"
Daniel dropped to his knees beside Vanessa, his trembling hands clutching her shoulders. "It was just a strong sedative! Liquid GHB and a concentrated tranquilizer! Vanessa bought it online! We just wanted you to pass out so we could take your phone and copy your banking tokens!"
A dark, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Banking tokens? You tried to drug me for money?"
"You locked me out of the joint accounts last week!" Daniel shouted, tears of frustration streaming down his face. "You shifted the property deeds into your maiden name! You were destroying my promotion, Claire! I worked for five years at Sterling Financial, and you were going to ruin me!"
"You ruined yourself the moment you thought you could rob the woman who paid for your degree, your car, and your executive clothes," I said.
Outside, the distant wail of police sirens began to echo through the quiet suburban neighborhood.
Vanessa panicked. She scrambled to her feet, her silk dress stained with red wine, and made a desperate dash toward the front door.
She didn't make it two steps.
I stepped into her path, holding a heavy bronze candle holder I had grabbed from the entryway console.
"Don't," I warned softly. "Chain of custody requires the suspect to remain on site."
May you like
Vanessa stopped, staring at the heavy metal object in my hands, then looked at the front door as red and blue lights began flashing through the frosted glass panels.
The police had arrived.
