CHAPTER 17 :

“His soul is so enfettered to her love, That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as her appetite shall play the god With his weak function.” — Othello (Act II, Scene III)

Klein was held in custody against his will, and once he asked what did he have to do about the murder, the senior officer Tom told him that there were several witnesses in the café, who saw the violent fight. Now, he was a suspect of murder, and he didn’t do it, he knew that.

“You should let me make a fucking phone call, Tom!” He shouted with agony and irritation about why he was being held here. The officer looked at him with unspoken contempt.

“No, you are not allowed to make a phone call, Jase. You killed your wife, admit it already.” He replied, tapping his pen on the wooden desk.

“What? No! I didn’t kill her. Why would I? Having a verbal fight with someone doesn’t mean that you're plotting their murder! I was at home around the reported time of murder.” He huffed at the baseless accusation, moving a hand through his black hair. He was done with this department.

“Do you have someone who can present himself or herself as the witness and say that you were at your house at that time?” He leaned against his high rise chair, sinking in it. Jase loudly sighed. There was no one.

“No.” He admitted, utterly tired and restless due to this constant harassment, they called interrogation.

“Then prepare yourself to be presented to the court tomorrow. You do have a right to assign a lawyer, by the way, Jase. Make proper use of it.” He declared, before walking out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Could this day get any worse? He didn’t even step on in Elena's house ever since the divorce was issued against him. And officers say that the murder was committed with a knife. That means, it wasn’t the guy who killed Amanda Rogers and June Winter. It was someone else's deed. And turns out, he was suffering for it.

He audibly let out a sigh, placing his head on the desk, yawning. He was awfully tired. He closed his eyes, burying his face in the desk, surrounding himself with his hands. He dozed off to a nap soon after.

Flashback :

“What are these, Elena?” He muttered, utterly dismayed at the papers mercilessly flung at him by his wife.

“These are divorce papers. Sign them. I can’t wait to get rid of you.” She sneered, pressing her mouth in a hard line.

“For fuck's sake, Elena! My left leg was operated on yesterday and my shoulder is displaced. How could you do this while I'm still at the hospital!?” He cried, glancing at the white sterile walls that surrounded him. 

“I don’t care how you feel or what your health condition is at the moment. I want you to sign these papers.” She replied non chalantly, moving a hand through the air.

“Elena…was I that bad a husband?” His voice was trembling, vulnerable, and his moist eyes glanced at the woman standing infront of him, clicking her heels on the tiled floor.

She didn’t reply, instead handed a pen to him and the papers. His world was a haze through his teary eyes, but he wouldn’t cry. He took the papers with his trembling hands, and signed them without having the urge to read what was written.

She snatched away the papers from him, saying, “Yes”, as she turned her back at him, walking away.

Flashback ends.

He was awake with a jolt after dreaming about that uncanny memory for the thousandth time. Those were terrifying days for him. He was rubbing the sweat off his forehead, when Tom came in.

“You are free to go.” He said, in quite an angry tone, implying that he was ready to torture the fuck out of the young cop.

“Why? I mean, what changed?” He questioned, perking up, as Tom glowered at him with angry flecks in his eyes.

“Xavier Winter was here in the office.” He blatantly stated, while Jase's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“And?” He urged the senior officer to say more. This was strange. Why was Winter in the office? And even if he was, what did that have to do with letting Klein go?

“He said that you were with him at the time of the murder. In your house.”

(A/N : Uh huh, damsel in distress was finally saved, then. Murder with a knife? How chivalrous. How's quarantine going for you all?

I hope you all are safe. And, if any of my readers are Russian, let me know. I'll love to talk to Russians. And be safe!

Your Dominant, GREY.)