"So, Steve," Detective Samuel said, his voice calm but heavy with hidden weight, "the case is officially closed. You are free to go."
Steve, standing across the room, gave a faint nod, his expression unreadable. He turned to leave, but Samuel called out again.
"Wait... before you go, can I ask you one last question?"
Steve paused, letting a small, almost amused smile cross his face.
"After so much rigorous interrogation, you're asking permission to ask a question? That sounds dramatic, detective. But no problem—you can ask."
Samuel folded his arms, studying him for a moment longer than necessary.
"What do you really think about your dead wife?"
For the first time, something flickered across Steve's face—not grief, not sadness... something much more complicated.
"I don't know how to answer that," Steve said slowly, almost thoughtfully. "It feels like just a moment ago, we were holding hands. And now... that hand is gone. People say I lost her. But it's not that simple."
He paused, voice growing quieter, almost a whisper.
"I am the one who is lost. Lost in a world without her… or even her memory. If she had just talked to me... just once... just once more..."
His voice trailed off, sinking into the heavy silence of the room.
Samuel nodded grimly.
"You can leave now. I've got my answer."
Steve turned and walked away without another word, his footsteps echoing on the cold floor.
Outside the interrogation room, Richard leaned closer to Samuel, speaking under his breath.
"First he loses his child, now his wife. Sometimes God is cruel, isn't He? Poor soul."
Samuel let out a sharp, humourless laugh.
"Poor soul, my ass."
Richard frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Samuel's eyes stayed locked on the door Steve had exited through, his expression hard.
"That man… he's not innocent. Maybe not legally, maybe not in a way we can prove yet, but in his heart, he's guilty. Directly or indirectly, he's involved in her death."
Richard blinked, confused.
"But why do you think that? We didn't find any evidence. Not a single thing that ties him to her death."
Samuel ran a hand through his hair, exhausted but certain.
"During the interrogation... every time I asked him something, his eyes didn't move. Not left. Not right. Just dead still."
Richard still looked puzzled.
"When we lie, our creative brain activates, causing our eyes to reflexively glance to the left. And when we recall the truth, our eyes move slightly to the right. That's basic psychology," Samuel explained. "But Steve… he just stared straight at me. Every single time. No movement. No hesitation."
Samuel's fists clenched unconsciously.
"And every answer he gave us—it was perfect. Too perfect. Like a student who got a look at the exam paper before the test. Even today, when I asked about his wife… the answer came too quickly. Too practiced. Like he was waiting for someone to ask that exact question." And not to mention the timing of her suicide, she could have done at any time she has a whole day but she chooses the time when Steve returns home, come on that's ridiculous.
Richard followed Samuel's gaze toward the window, where they could still catch a glimpse of Steve's silhouette disappearing down the hallway.
"I don't know how many questions he anticipated. How many lies he practiced. But one thing's clear," Samuel said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No matter how many crimes that man commits in the future, we might never be able to catch him and that is most fucking reason I want to catch him next time because is no big kick than catching someone who cannot be taken down. But for now without a single ounce of evidence. We have no choice but to let him go."
There was a heavy pause.
"But," Samuel added, his eyes dark and unyielding, "I believe this is not the end. This is just the beginning."
As Steve's figure finally disappeared from sight, Samuel muttered to himself,
"That look in his eyes… I'll never forget it."