“Please, I don’t know what’s going on. Why am I here?”

“Shut up, boy!”

I will always remember this day. The worst day of my life. I will remember every word, and how it was said, and by whom. I was convicted before I was told what it is that I’m charged with, and I had no idea why. With each passing moment, my fear and confusion worked with the investigator against me, and I was successfully broken.

As I was taken into custody, I was still reeling from the effects of excessive drinking the night prior. It was not until I found myself in the interrogation room that I regained full awareness. Prior to that moment, I had mistakenly assumed that the woman with whom I had spent the night had departed before I woke up, likely to attend work or some other engagement. Furthermore, I had believed that my arrest was somehow related to something else entirely.

I was seated by them, and they assured me that they would return shortly to provide me with an explanation. However, after several minutes had elapsed, I grew increasingly bewildered and called out for assistance. Despite my repeated pleas, an hour passed without any response. I continued to call out in distress, as I believed that they had forgotten about me. They never acknowledged my existence.

I lost track of time after several hours had passed, due to my severe headache caused by the hangover and dehydration. While in this state, an officer abruptly opened the door and sat down in front of me, interrupting my thoughts. “Why did you kill her, you bastard?”

“Killed whom, sir? I didn’t kill anyone.” I was terrified.

“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play the fool, boy.”

“I swear, I don’t know anything about any killing.”

The officer stood up and hit the table with both hands “Stop Lying! You met the poor girl yesterday, took her to her place, and killed her, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t, I swear.”

“Yes, you did. Is it because she wanted you to leave? She didn’t like you anymore, once she got sober? Did you want to sell her some drugs, and she refused? Oh It doesn’t matter why, you did it and we got you now, boy.”

The officer stormed out of the interrogation room and slammed the door shut behind him. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. What was that? Do they really think I killed her? Do I need a lawyer? I don’t even remember what happened! Why can’t I remember? Did I drink that much?

Another hour passed before the officer returned “Are you ready to confess? You know, this is just a formality. We already have all the evidence we need to indict you.”

“How can I confess to something I didn’t do? I don’t even know what actually happened.” I started to sob.

“Stop with the crocodile tears, boy. We have her blood in the apartment, where you spent the night. We have the murder weapon, with your fingerprints on it. We have eye witnesses, testifying to seeing her leaving the bar with you, and others who saw her entering her apartment with you. We have everything. The only thing I want from you is to tell us where you threw away the body, so we can give your victim a proper burial. But you? we already got you, boy.”

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it” I was now fully crying.

Once again, the police officer left the room, and returned after another hour. This time, he was a lot calmer and seemed sympathetic. “Son, I want to help you. All the evidence is against you. If you keep denying, you will get a life sentence. That means never seeing the light of day again. Do you really want that? If you talk to us, we’ll get you a reduced sentence. You will be charged with manslaughter instead of murder and you will only serve a couple of years. Let me help you, son.”

I was unable to respond to anything, overwhelmed with tears, and feeling confused and helpless. This situation started when I met a girl at a bar and we hit it off. We ended up going back to her place and things were going smoothly, but suddenly my mind went blank. I began to question if she had tried to stop me, if I had acted violently towards her, or even if I had caused her harm. If I ended her life.

The officer pushed a sheet of paper in front of me. “You know what, you don’t even have to lead us to the body. I know it must be hard for you to see her, after what you did to her. Just sign this confession. We’ll take everything into consideration. You’re young. You were drunk. You cooperated with us. You’ll go to an easy prison, and you’ll be out in two years. Just sign!”

I had been there for nine consecutive hours, and by that point, I was completely unsure if the officer's advice was trustworthy. My nerves were a wreck, and I was on the verge of a breakdown. The evidence presented to me made me doubt myself, and as a result, I ended up signing the confession.

Since I am now certain of my innocence, I realize that I shouldn't have signed the document. However, I take responsibility for my actions, as I am equally responsible for what happened to me. At the time, I was young and had no support system to rely on.

I was taken advantage of by an officer who prioritized closing a case over the truth. His actions had a devastating impact on my life. In my opinion, his behavior was so egregious that he deserves to face severe consequences, even to the point of death.

Why is this bus ride taking so long?

*******

For many detectives, one of the most challenging tasks is collecting information about a cold case. A case that was closed many years ago.

They’d have the file in their hands with tons of information that they couldn’t trust. How could they trust information from years or sometimes decades ago! All evidence was destroyed, some witnesses have moved far away, and those who didn’t can’t remember much. Nothing is reliable.

However, Jonathan wasn't a typical detective. He wasn't just trying to close a case; he was motivated by the excitement of the chase. Typically, he pursued murderers, but in this instance, he was searching for the victim. His curiosity and desire for truth were driving forces, and he had numerous unanswered questions that he couldn’t bear leaving them hanging.

That’s why he couldn’t sleep more than three hours, despite his fatigue. He woke up and within ten minutes, he was already on his way out. During the night, he had decided to talk to the original officer who investigated the case. The lead investigation officer is the only one who has an overall view of the case. He might not remember much, but he’s the best shot for getting any leads at all.

Before anything else, he felt the urge to understand Christofer Jacobs better. He desired to experience life through Christofer's perspective, and therefore decided to visit his mother's house where Christofer spent his childhood.

Her small apartment was located in a building in Harlem. Jonathan noticed the difficult living conditions as he climbed the stairs. The area could be considered a visual representation of poverty in the dictionary

He knocked on the door and waited until it was answered by an old lady, who only slightly opened “Yes?”

Jonathan smiled “Mrs. Jacobs I believe? I’m detective Milton from the NYPD. If you don’t mind, I need to ask a few questions about your son.”

“I have no desire to talk about him. He’s been dead to me for a long time." She proceeded to close the door.

“Wait, please.” Jonathan blocked the door with his foot. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but yesterday he escaped from prison.”

“Oh I’ve seen it on the news indeed. I still don’t care though. We haven’t been in contact for years and I don’t need him back in my life with his troubles.”

“Mrs. Jacobs. I know you’ve probably been hurt when Chris ran away from home and ended up in jail, but..”

“HAHAHA what are you talking about, detective? It was the happiest day of my life, when this loser ran away. I didn’t want this irresponsible, lazy, idiot in my home any longer than that. He took after his father, even though they never met. If he hadn’t run away, I would have murdered him and ended up in jail myself. Now, excuse me. I got laundry to do.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Mrs. Jacobs closed the door with a surprising amount of strength for her age, which caught Jonathan off guard. He gazed at the door for a moment before concluding that he had seen enough.

Based on what he just saw, it appears that Chris had a very difficult and traumatic childhood. His mother seemed to blame him for his father's absence and lack of involvement in his life, and it's possible that he was physically abused, given how strong his mother seemed to be. When he was finally old enough, he made the decision to leave and never come back, which was likely the best choice for him.

However, this visit helped Jonathan realize something. Why would Christofer waste his newly found freedom from his cruel mother by committing a murder? That doesn’t make sense. He was finally free from abuse, and had a whole new life waiting for him. Most likely, Chris didn’t kill that girl. Then, who was it? It’s time to visit officer Shirley, the man who arrested and interrogated Chris.

Jonathan made a quick phone call to the precinct and found out that Officer Shirley had already retired. However, he was able to get Officer Shirley's current address, which turned out to be in New York. Fortunately, Jonathan wouldn’t have to waste time traveling elsewhere.

He drove to his new destination and on the way, he called the lab to see if they got any results from scanning the prison cell. They couldn’t find much. No foreign fingerprints or DNA samples. No phone records of calls made by Christofer to the outside world that have meaningful information either. They had nothing for him.

Despite feeling discouraged, he didn't let it stop him. He hoped Officer Shirley could shed some light and provide some leads. He made his way to Officer Shirley's house which was a small two-story house with a small garage for the family car.

He exited the car and walked towards the front door when he heard a voice calling him “Can I help you?”

As he heard the voice, he turned towards its source. The speaker was a Caucasian man, aged around fifty-five, who had a head full of white hair and a cleanly shaven face. He had small blue eyes and a pointed chin. He was wearing blue jeans and a white shirt, which appeared to be soiled from working on his car in the garage he had just emerged from.

“My name is detective Jonathan Milton” Jonathan showed his badge “Are you officer Shirley?”

“Haha Shirley, yes. Not a police officer anymore though. I’m retired now.”

“Yes, I learned that after calling your old precinct. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about an old case you worked on? It’s over ten years old though.”

“Not at all, pal. I’d love to help out. Which old scumbag of mine are you after?”

“I’m after a fugitive who escaped prison. He left a note that he’ll commit murder, and I need to find him before it happens. The name is Christofer Jacobs. Do you remember him?” Jonathan showed Shirley a photo of Chris.

“Oh I think I do. I will never forget these bastards I encountered throughout the years. He killed a girl he picked up in a bar. He confessed, but didn’t want to lead us to the body. The bastard didn’t want to give her family the peace of burying her properly. When did he escape? Why did they let him? Prisons in this city are getting really soft.”

“He escaped yesterday, and nobody let him do anything. He was smart and laid out a successful plan. Have you considered that maybe he didn’t do it though? Maybe he was framed for murder?”

“Surely not. If he’s innocent, why did he confess? Also, all the evidence was against him. Her blood was in the apartment that he spent the night in. He was seen by her neighbors going into the apartment with her. I mean, we never got to her body, but he confessed goddammit. Why would we need a body when we have a confession?”

“Haven’t you forgotten one thing though?” Jonathan smiled.

“What do you mean, detective?” officer Shirley started getting defensive.

“A very important element of any murder. The murder weapon. What about the murder weapon?”

“We never found it. He must have gotten rid of it, where he threw the body. Again, that’s not important, when we have a confession. He told us he killed her.”

“He told you the words you put in his head. You told him you found the murder weapon with his fingerprints over it. You lied to him to get that confession.”

“Who told you that?”

“You did. I spent last night watching the whole interrogation video. It was hard to find in the archive, but I’m persistent. Almost ten hours recorded with less than an hour of actual inquiries. You didn’t care for the truth at all. You wanted to psychologically break him. You lied to him to get that confession, officer.”

“I got the killer to confess. That was my job and I did it well. The method doesn’t matter. He’s the killer.” Officer Shirley became more agitated.

“Oh how convincing. He goes home with a girl and kills her, he goes out to dump her body, and then returns to the murder scene to get some sleep. Do you really believe that? Do you actually believe you got the killer?”

“Again. We got his confession. He confessed. Why would an innocent man willingly confess to murder?”

“You psychologically tortured a literal kid to get him in a weak mental state, you fed him lies, you pretended to be on his side, and that he will get a reduced sentence, only if he signs that piece of paper. Is it so unbelievable that he’d sign, despite being innocent? You knew what you were doing. You set him up to rot in prison without real incriminating evidence.”

“I DO know that he’s the killer. I’ve been in this line of work since before you were born, kid. I knew exactly what happened, the moment I saw that bastard. He got drunk and let the animal inside him out on this poor girl. That’s what these people are like.”

“Oh And who exactly do you mean by these people? Young men? Black men? Could you clarify?”

The veteran officer stayed silent, trying to keep his anger at Jonathan from getting him in trouble.

“Well, we both know what you meant, even if you wouldn’t admit it.” Jonathan concluded.

“Anything else I can do for you so you can get off my property, detective?”

“Yes, who was the informant? Who tipped you about the murder?”

“We don’t know. It was anonymous. He called our precinct directly and not 911 so, we don’t have a recording of the call. Probably a neighbor.”

“Okay. One last thing. I know that you already found out about Chris’s escape before I told you. I can see the gun you have hidden underneath your shirt. I don’t think he’s after you, but I advise you to leave the house for a day or two until we catch him.”

Shirley growled like a hunting dawg “Let him come. I’m not going anywhere. I’m ready for that animal.”

“It’s up to you. I’ll arrange a stakeout unit for your house for two days. Although you don’t deserve it, I won’t let you ruin his life again. I’ll get to him first.”

Jonathan headed back to his car as officer Shirley watched him on, while touching his gun, in order to feel safer.

Jonathan quickly made a call to ensure that Shirley was safe. He couldn't find any helpful information except for reaching the conclusion that Chris was likely framed. Everything he had heard today made it hard to believe that Chris could be a killer. He was another victim in this murder. It seemed that an angry mother and a corrupt police officer had gotten him into this situation.

Since he’s been framed for the murder, then it makes sense that his target is whoever framed him. It makes sense that he somehow found out about it and decided to escape to get his revenge. But who was it? And how did Chris find out? He wasn’t receiving any visits, so how did he get information from the outside?

Suddenly, a light bulb lit up in Jonathan’s head. Nobody delivered any information to Chris from the outside. He got them himself from the inside. From the prison’s library.

He quickly searched his phone for the photos he took at Chris’s cell. He went through them until he found the photo of the magazine. An entertainment magazine issue from four months ago. The clue he needs must be in there.

He drove to the closest bookstore and found the magazine issue he needed. Then, he returned to the car and began going through it.

Something about the murder is in this magazine, and it made Chris so angry that he risked it all to escape. It had to be something that points out to the real killer, who framed Chris. He didn’t know what to look for, so he skimmed through the pages quickly to see what he could eliminate.

Some celebrities getting arrested, another getting released from jail, another getting married, and another getting divorced. An interview from a movie set. An article about the rise of internet celebrities and their cults. Hard to see how any of that fits into the murder.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be looking for words. Maybe I should be looking for faces.”

He began examining the magazine starting from the first page and went through every picture, unsure of what he was searching for but hoping he would recognize it when he saw it. He had already reviewed the entire case file and had even met some of the people mentioned in it. He kept looking through the magazine for any familiar faces or names, but unfortunately, he didn't find any.

He didn’t give up though, he started looking closer at the people in the background of each picture and “...WHAT? REBECCA!”

Jonathan’s jaws dropped as he saw the person he expected least to find in this magazine. It was the victim herself! The girl who is believed to be murdered that night! Rebecca Jackson.

She appeared in the background of one of the photos in the article from the movie set. The article was definitely about a recent movie. That means she’s alive. She looked like she worked on the set of the movie. But how? Her blood was found in the apartment. She completely disappeared afterwards.

Could it be someone who looks like her? She’s only in the background of a medium quality picture. Maybe the resemblance tricked Chris into thinking Rebecca was still alive. Is he after her? Does he think she framed him for her own murder? There is one way to find out.

Jonathan threw everything in the seat next to him, started the car, and pushed the gas pedal as hard as he could. In his head, one question kept presenting itself.

Will he get to her in time?

He was so consumed by that question, so much that he didn’t notice the car behind him. A car which has been following him for a while.