"Couldn't allow justice?" I pressed.
"Justice?" Larson sneered. "I made sure justice was done! Until you ruined it all. Will killed his wife, and I knew it. But the evidence… it was never enough. I had to ensure it."
"By telling a witness to tell a lie? By killing Carol because she wanted to tell the truth? By framing an innocent man?" My voice cracked like a whip.
"Will is not innocent!" His roar filled the room, but the nearing sirens swallowed his protest.
"Then why tamper with evidence, Larson? Why frame me?"
"Because you were close, too damn close. You always are." Desperation laced his words. “I needed to silence Carol and you and was hoping to get you to go down for her murder. You were ruining my case against Will. He was going to go free. And he did, damn it. Because of you!”
"Then, you confess?" I needed him to say it. “You murdered Carol Rudolph?”
"Confess?" He laughed again, hollow. "Sure, I confess. I got rid of her before she could tell anyone. Just like I’ll get rid of you. Happy now?"
"Ecstatic," I muttered, the sirens a crescendo outside.
My thumb hovered over the record button on my phone, my breath suspended. Shock grappled with instinct as Larson's confession twisted in the charged air. I pressed down, a silent click anchoring his words to memory—digital proof of his monstrous betrayal.
The wail of sirens surged, their urgency slicing through the tension. Blue and red lights danced across the walls, an eerie prelude to the reckoning that awaited. Larson's eyes flicked toward the window, then back at me, cornered prey in a trap of his own making.
"Damn you!" His voice was a thunderclap as officers burst through the door.
"Police! Hands up!" they barked in unison.
Larson raised his hands but hurled his fury at me. "This is your fault, Eva Rae!"
"Turn around!" An officer stepped forward, cuffing him with a cold click of finality.
"You ruined me!" He thrashed against the grip of law, spit flying. "If you hadn’t stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, we’d have him behind bars by now. You think you're so clean? You're a meddler, a?—"
"Save it for your statement," I shot back, heart hammering yet steady.
"I’m taking you down with me—" His threat cut short as he stumbled, forced out by the officers.
"Watch your head," one said dryly, shoving Larson into the car outside.
I stood there, the echo of chaos fading, replaced with a deep silence that hummed with victory and loss. The detective’s downfall was recorded on my phone, his curses lingering like ghosts.
The car door slammed shut, echoing down the quiet street. My hand was steady as I extended the phone to the officer still standing in the doorway.
"Here," I said, voice devoid of tremor. "Everything's on there. His confession."
He took it, nodding once, and turned away to listen. The screen's glow illuminated his face—a somber mask as the recorded venom spilled into the night.
"Good work, Agent Thomas," he muttered without looking up.
A shiver darted through me, not from the night air but from what lay within that device—the truth in digital form. My gaze fixed on Larson, now caged in the back seat of a squad car, his silhouette thrumming with silent rage.
"Thomas?" Another officer approached, notebook in hand. "We'll need your full statement."
"Of course." The words were mechanical, a reflex in the aftermath. I felt my neck and the bruises he was bound to have left.
"Take your time. We've got him." He gestured toward the car, where Larson's muffled shouts were barely discernible behind reinforced glass.
"Thank you," I whispered, my gratitude genuine but fatigued.
As they drove the car away, red lights painting the night, my legs buckled slightly, catching myself against the window frame. Relief surged like an adrenaline comedown, leaving my muscles weak and my mind frayed at the edges.
