Chapter Nineteen: The One With The Interrogation

"I'm Christyl Jane Digal of the Tagbilaran City Police Department, and you, Giselle Dela Cruz, are under arrest for the murder of Camille Leslie Lobrigas and your son, Samuel Taylor Dela Cruz. Anything you say can and will be held against you. You have every right to remain silent."

I can remember every detail clearly, and I don't think I'll forget it until the day I die. One moment I was filling in the officer with everything I remembered and have noticed myself and the next-

The barging open of the hospital doors, the power and courage in the officer's voice, how the badge in her hand reflected the long rectangular light on the lobby's ceiling in certain angles, and the look on the woman's and the people nearby's faces when Giselle was handcuffed and forced out of the building. My expression was probably just like theirs. It's not like you see this go down every single day, and I felt better that I didn't get to see my face in a mirror. I don't think I want to know my look in the moment that happened so fast.

Now, I was staring into a one-way window, where that same woman sat alone in a dimly lit room, attached by the same cuffs to the table she was sitting at without a choice. I could hear when she'd whimper, and I could hear when she got ahold of herself. I could see when she'd tremble, and I could see when her body went still like a statue. Through either or, she couldn't hide how she felt. Her nerves, her anxiousness, her guilt. I don't think she had to say a word. She didn't have to confess to the investigators. They knew, I knew, and she knew the truth, but that was no reason to avoid standard procedure.

A man, also dressed in uniform, made his way into the room, letting the weight of the door shut itself. It closed loudly. She flinched, but this was his job that he was used to, and it didn't get any reaction out of him. His footsteps were slow, but patterned, as he came to sit across from her. "How about we make this simple, you hear?" He began, his fingertips placed at the edge of the table. "Do you confess to the murder of Camille Lobrigas and Samuel Dela Cruz?"

"I don't." Giselle answered, her voice not hesitant, but cracking as if she cried. Seeing her in a condition like this was unsettling, because she's also the one who's cared for Camille, for my father, and at times for me in medical circumstances, yet in a scenario like this, none of that mattered. Heat in my chest was rising. I could barely bare to watch. I'm surprised that they let me, even if Christyl was to my right at all times.

"Okay. Let me change the question then." The man shrugged, sitting into his chair more comfortably. It was supposed to be the proof that he'd sit there and wait for hours, days, or as long as it took until they got what they wanted out of her, or that her claims matched up the the evidence that was accumulated. "Do you confess to the murder of Camille Lobrigas? End of question."

She awkwardly adjusted her position, standing up as far as the chain on her wrist would allow her, before sitting down again. "I do." She admitted, and again, heat in my chest was still rising. No matter what she said, she'd always have that affect on me. That's all she's proving. "But I-."

"Hold on." The man cut in, not allowing her to defend herself or say what she wanted to. "Let's work with what you said right now. You can add what you want after you answer all the questions first, deal?" His fingers tapped against the top surface, and though I wasn't the one in there, I felt eery just watching, but I didn't mind. She deserved that much, and really it wasn't anything compared to what she's done. She was the one going through it first hand, not me, and I'd call that fine. "I want you to explain step by step how you went through with the murder. It was staged as a suicide according to records, so say exactly how you did it."

"I don't remember."

"Really? Are you sure about that?"

"Yes. It was two years ago. I don't remember."

"It was a murder, you agreed to that, but it looked like a suicide, meaning there was serious thought into how it was going to be done. None of that stuck with you, at all?" The officer said. He stood up again, walking around to the back of her seat. She'd turn to look back at him, but would struggle when he'd switch from side to side, and gave up, looking straight ahead. "I find that highly unlikely, Mrs. Dela Cruz, and you're aware you're making this a whole lot harder on yourself. The faster you tell us, the faster we can stop questioning you."

I didn't find threat in his approach, but it must've worked for her, because her lip was wobbling. She tried biting down on it, but when that didn't help, she had pressed them into a thin line. "First," she began, her eyes squeezed shut, as if she could disappear if she did it for long enough, or as if she could pretend the confession wasn't coming out of her own body. "I threatened her. Her sister and her parents usually weren't home on Wednesdays, I noticed, because her sister would restock on the store's items, and her parents would assist her or go out someplace else. I knew she'd be alone, and I went in with a gun. Told her I would shoot her."

"Told her you would shoot her if what-? What was the catch? What did you make her do?"

"I led her to the locked medicine cabinet in their bathroom with a gun to her head, and told her that if she wouldn't write out her suicide note and finish a whole two or three bottles of painkillers, I'd kill her and her family. If she complied, then she'd be the only one that'd pass away, no harm done to anyone else. She swallowed one by one, gagging at each. She couldn't do any more than one at a time, in between begging that I leave her family alone."

It was my turn for my lip to wobble. The picture in my head shattered my heart, and I felt inhumane that I wasn't around to do something about it. I was off on normal routine that I did every week, but just because the schedule was normal doesn't mean everything went according to plan, and I've suffered for two years already because I couldn't figure that out before.

"What's the difference in outcome if she obeyed or she didn't obey?"

"Not necessarily any." Giselle said, staring up at the ceiling so intently you'd think a tile would fall from above her. The tone of her voice changed the longer she talked about it, from being ashamed to being proud, at least in my perspective, and I didn't know what to make of it. If I could, I'd fight through this glass and give her a piece of my mind, though I'm not sure what kind of word that would be. I just knew it wouldn't be good. "Because she listened, she passed away peacefully. Nothing traumatic. She did do it to herself, technically and that was easier for both of us. If she fought back or argued, I would've had to shoot her."

"Would her family have been injured or victim if she didn't choose to do this?"

"No. It was a threat. I was only after Camille."

"Alright, and what did you mean by 'you would've had to shoot her'? Were you doing this alone or was there someone else involved?"

Giselle scoffed at the detective's question. "This is what I was trying to say from the beginning." She claimed, looking eye to eye at the man who had returned to his seat. Since her gaze was straight ahead back when the man was walking around the enclosed space, you'd think that it'd shock her or at least get something out of her when he sat back down, but she didn't move the slightest. "I didn't do this because I wanted to. I mean, I hated that kid. She ruined my life, but I've never murdered anyone. I was paid to do this."

"She ruined your life?" I yelled, but based on her stance and the man's inside the room, neither of them could hear me. I had gotten up and leaned into the window when I heard it, and Officer Christyl had her hands on my hips to yank me back into my seat. Evidently though, the detective has asked her the same question.

"That girl was a murderer." Giselle said without reluctance. I furrowed my eyebrows at such. Someone would have to be insane to even try to use that kind of an excuse. People have different views on Mew, but there's certain things that could be ruled out, and that was one of them. "She might not have done anything with her own hands, but she had her ways to get stuff done. She deserved to get a taste of her own medicine, literally, and metaphorically. My oldest son Salvador, died because of her."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Dela Cruz. I'm not understanding." The man had leaped from a small distance, closer to the table, after he'd gotten up, probably pissed from her defiance, or at least I would be, and he smacked it hard that a loud sound echoed throughout the room. "Why would someone pay you to do this if you had your own motive that could lead you in that direction on your own will? And what do you mean that your son died to her hand?"

"My son was poisoned, and I know it was because he ate food from her store. She did that on purpose. She probably hated him and wanted him dead. There's my motive to kill her, but if you call that a motive, the person that paid me had much more of a motive than I'd have. She had to basically hang around her every single day of that idiot prissy chick's life."

"Okay. Suppose we find out that that's true with solid evidence. What was greater about the payer's motive in comparison to yours?"

"She lived with Camille's attitude, and they couldn't get along. She didn't lose anyone, but her presence was just impossible to put up with and she was a pure bully. Terrible girl." Everything she said now I wanted to argue with. Camille has been the one to put up with other people's attitudes, but it hasn't been the other way around, because that's what she's blessed with. She's likable, even if you don't want to like her.

"Does your payer claim this?"

"She does."

"Who was your payer?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you that. Actually, I can't tell you that."

"Because?"

"Because let's just say if you think I'm bad and want me in prison, you'd want her in jail much more urgently than you'd want me to be. She created this murder and did another one on her own. The other one you're accusing me for, of my own child" I hated listening to her, but the way she talked somehow made you have to. She was this big magnet that drew in only part of the truth, and that left you to beg for the rest. In my opinion it seemed she wanted to drag this other person down with her now that she was caught, but casually, so she could still say that she tried hard to defend whoever this breaker of the law is. "She deserves to be turned in doesn't she, keeping that in mind? After what she's done to me, I'm keeping secrets for her. I'm pretty sweet."

I wanted to puke at such a logic. In my book, no, that's not pretty sweet. That's pretty crazy, and I'd hope that the world's population thinks like I do. Not like she does. Otherwise I'd feel a lot more unsafe than I already do.

"Either you tell us, or at least be aware that we can go through your texts, calls, letters, emails, your home and have physical evidence, which may be better than verbal - that process can take a whole lot longer, but we will definitely get it done. I promise." The detective was getting fed up with her at this point. He himself probably doesn't see disgusting creatures like her very often, even when he's surrounded by a world of crime. "What do you think her preference would be, if you want to serve her so much?"

Giselle rolled her eyes a tad, and accepted his rant like she'd walked right up to a dead end. That didn't mean that anything would prepare me for what she would say.

"My niece killed her own cousin. Her name is Rachel. Rachel Grace Omosura, but she will deny it if you bring her in, so I don't know how much use she'll be to you if you don't have any proof."