Page 61 of The Arbiter
I know better than to fight him. I couldn't even if I wanted to. Across the table, Miller is already seated, his eyes narrowed, analyzing every micro-shift in my body language. He’s looking for a crack. I just have to make sure he doesn't find one.
He places a thick manila folder on the table between us. He doesn't open it immediately. He just stares at me, his eyes sharp and observant, like a vulture circling a fresh kill. The silence in the room is heavy, designed to make people babble just to fill the void.
DEIMOS:“Don't look at the folder. Look him in the eyes. Lean back slightly. Show him you’re comfortable in this room. You’ve been in rooms with dead men; this one is not special.”
I follow his lead, leaning back and meeting Miller’s gaze. I even let a small, impatient sigh escape my lips.
“Detective, I have three autopsies waiting for me back at the lab,” I say, my voice steady despite the hammer of my heart.
“Can we skip the intimidation tactics and get to why I’m here?”
Miller’s lips twitch, not quite a smile, more like a snarl of appreciation.
He opens the folder. Inside are photos of my ex-boyfriend. Not the handsome, charming version he showed the world, but the broken, bloodied mess that was found close to my mortuary.
“We received an anonymous tip this morning, Dr. Emerson. Someone suggested that your relationship with the victim didn't end as cleanly as you claimed in your initial statement. They suggested you had a... motive.”
DEIMOS:“Laugh. Just a small, dry sound. Then tell him: ‘Detective, if everyone with a motive for wanting their abusive ex-boyfriend gone was a murderer, we’d need to turn the whole city into a prison.’”
I let out a short, hollow laugh, exactly as Deimos dictated. “Detective, if everyone with a motive for wanting their abusive ex gone was a murderer, we’d need to turn the whole city into a prison. My history with him isn't a secret. It’s a matter of public record. Why is this suddenly a news?”
Miller doesn't look impressed by my professional demeanor. He reaches into the folder and pulls out a small, high-resolution photo of Jake’s personal belongings found at the scene. Specifically, his watch, a heavy, expensive silver piece I bought him for our anniversary when we were together.
“We found this on the victim. It’s a nice watch, Madeline. Still ticking. But forensics found something caught inside the clasp. Something that shouldn't be there.”
He slides a macro-photograph toward me. It shows a tiny, crushed fragment of a blue lily petal. My heart skips a beat. I have those exact flowers in a vase on my desk in the mortuary. Lucy brought them to me two days ago to "brighten up the place."
“Blue lilies aren't native to that ravine, Doctor. In fact, they aren't native to this part of the state at all. But I noticed a fresh bouquet of them on your desk when I stopped by the mortuary earlier. What are the odds that a petal from your private office ended up inside the watch of a murdered man?”
I feel the ice creeping up my spine. The anonymous tipster must have stolen a petal from my desk and tucked it into the watch clasp at the crime scene. It’s a perfect bridge between my office and the body.
DEIMOS:“Steady, Mali. It’s a clever trick, but it’s flawed,” his voice is like a cold blade in my ear, cutting through my panic.
DEIMOS:“Look at the edges of the petal in the photo. They’re dry. Brittle. If that petal had been at the crime scene in the rain all night, it would be damp or decayed. That petal was placed there after the body was found. Someone in the precinct is working for the tipster.”
I take a slow breath, forcing my eyes to stay focused on Miller, not the photo.
“It’s a beautiful flower, Detective. But if you’re trying to tell me that a delicate, organic petal survived a night of rain in a damp ravine and stayed perfectly dry and vibrant inside a watch clasp... then you’re not just a bad detective, you’re a bad storyteller.”
Miller’s eyes narrow. He looks at the photo, then back at me.
“That petal is pristine. If it had been there during the murder, it would be a shriveled mess. Someone tucked that in there after the body was recovered. Probably while it was sitting in the evidence locker. You might want to check which of your officers had access to the bag this morning.”
DEIMOS:“Perfect. You just turned his own precinct against him. He’s starting to realize he has a leak. Now, watch him get desperate. He’s going to go for the throat.”
Miller slams the folder shut, leaning so close I can smell the stale coffee on his breath.
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You and your 'shadow.' The tipster said you’ve been talking to someone, Madeline. Not just Lucy. Someone you think no one can see. We have the audio from the mortuary. It’s muffled, but there’s a man’s voice. A deep, distorted voice.”
DEIMOS:“He’s bluffing about the audio. I swept your floor for evidence myself. There is no recording. He’s trying to scare you into admitting I exist. Tell him: ‘If you have a recording, play it. Otherwise, I’m done being entertained by your imagination.’”
Now, here comes a moment where I need to think fast to avoid peaking his suspicion. My mind is a frantic mess of calculations.
Should I trust Deimos? Did he actually sweep the place as thoroughly as he claims, or is his arrogance blinding him? There’s always a possibility they got some audio, a hidden bug he missed, a directional mic, a witness with a phone.
In this cold, white room, Deimos isn't just testing my loyalty to him. He’s testing the one thing I have left to give: my trust. And the truth is, I have none. Not for the police, not for the justice system I used to believe in, and certainly not for the man whispering in my ear. But I’m trapped. If I falter now, we both go down. I have to bet my life on him. Because the alternative is letting the man across the table destroy me.
I stare into Miller’s eyes, searching for a flicker of a lie, but his face is a mask of seasoned authority. My mind is screaming.
