Fire - Betrayal (15 page)

After eating,
I went to the bag of opal seeds, and secured them in a secret place.  I had to protect them.  I wanted to return them to Une Autre Terre – where they belonged.

Then
I returned to the ruins of Cate’s house.  I needed to be there.  It was where I had to say goodbye to her, where her earthly body had perished. The only comfort that I had was that, I knew that her soul had been freed from this cruel physical realm of the Earth.

My beautiful, beautiful Cate
….

Hatred entered my heart, hatred for the people that had done this to my beautiful, beautiful Cate.

I
fell to my knees and wept violently again, holding the agonising pain in my heart.

Cate…Cate
…….

And then, I felt the heavy hand of a man on my shoulder.  I looked up. It was a police officer.

“Ben
jamin Adams.  We are arresting you for the suspected murder of Cate Boswell.  Anything that you do or say ……”

I
was handcuffed and carried to a police car, and driven to the holding cells, awaiting interrogation.  I was seething, and rage flowed through my veins exiting the pores of my skin.

Interrogation

The cell was small and white
. There was no window, and the door was solid, except for the small square of bars above head height.  There was one single bed, one toilet and one hand basin.  The bed was unmade, its mattress blue and white striped, with bed sheets, a pillow and blankets resting at the end.  It was there that I sat, elbows on my knees, resting my chin on my hands, in deep thought.

I
sat there for hours on end.  There was no sound, and no visual stimulation, and no communication with another human being.

Occasionally, the angry voice of another man held against his will in a cell could be heard.  It was always ignored.  His efforts to gain attention where useless, and probably went against him.  It was better to be held with good behavior, to help the situation to end in a more favourable resolution
, if that were possible at all.

The night came, and then the day again.  Food was left for
me, slid under the door.  It was unappealing and unappetizing.  But I still ate it to keep up my strength.  I was going to need it to get through this concocted episode, prefabricated to take me out of the picture because of what I knew, and what I had seen.

The night came and then another day. 
I knew what they were doing.  It was a strategy used to weaken the mind of a man.  No sound or visual stimulation, no human contact.  But they had truly underestimated me.  They would not win.  The truth will be spoken, even if they didn’t like it.

The night came, and with it, the interrogation session that
I had been waiting for, preparing for, anticipating the challenges of the questioning strategies that they would use.

I
was handcuffed and led to another room.  It was sound proof, and brilliant white, so bright that it hurt my eyes when I first walked inside the interrogation room.

I
sat down at a white wooden table.  Opposite me was another white wooden chair, empty.

There was a large mirror on the wall. 
I knew that it was a one way mirror, and that a team of detectives would be sitting and watching my every move while I was being questioned, analyzing my words, my expressions, my body language.

I
looked forward to the show.

As
I had expected, I was left sitting in the brilliant white room for some time by myself, again, another strategy to weaken the mind of the suspect.

I
sat, peacefully, with my eyes closed, and my hands at my forehead so that I was very comfortable. I could play the waiting game better than them.

Finally, a detective entered the room, offering
me a cigarette, and a glass of water.  “No thank-you,” I said politely, looking the detective in the eye.

The detective did not sit, but paced the room, looking at
me occasionally, waiting for me to become impatient and make the first move.

But, I
could play this game better than him.

Then t
he detective became impatient, and started to speak.

“So, you are Benjamin Adams, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I replied politely.  It was my strategy to remain polite and calm throughout the entire questioning session, answering in the truth so that they would not trick me into confessing something that I did not do.

“And this is your address?” The detective placed a piece of paper down in front of
me, displaying the address of my parent’s house.

“Yes.  That is my parent’s home, and I still live with them, when I am not away with my work.”

“Mmm, let’s see, your life story.  Please pick me up if I get any information incorrect.  I have done my research on you thoroughly, but I want to check that I have the right information. You were adopted into the Adam’s family at the age of four, when you were found wondering around on a freezing winter’s night.  You had a note in your pocket saying that your mum and dad were too poor to look after you anymore, and that they wanted a richer family to look after you.  You were taken to a hospital, where they took pity upon you and chose the Adam’s as your adoptive parents right?”

“Not quite sir.  I was found wondering the streets on a freezing winter’s night and taken to the hospital where they checked me over and then found the note in my pocket that said my name, age, birth date, and that my parents were too ill to look after me anymore, and offered me up for adoption.”

I was expecting him to retell my life with flaws in the story, testing my honesty.

The truth, and nothing but the truth must be told from the very beginning.

“You were the first child in the Adam’s family right, and then your parents, your adopted parents were able to have their own children.  So now, technically you have brothers and sisters, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You went to school, passing every grade, then off to high school and finally to  University, where you majored in Earth Environmentalism and Conservation, graduating with the highest honours, correct?“

“Not quite.  I studied Earth Engineering and Conservation,”
I corrected. He made notes on his piece of paper.

“Now, you chose your employee, instead of the other way around, and you have stayed with the same employer ever since.”

“Yes.”

“Now
Cate, Benjamin, tell me how you met her.” And then the detective sat on the white wooden chair opposite me, trying to intimidate me by his physical proximity.

“I first saw her at the
University Beach Competition, a PR exercise between universities.  But I didn’t actually meet her until the Masquerade Ball to benefit children.  We danced together and felt a connection.  Then we started dating, and have… or should I now say, had, been together ever since.”

I
swallowed hard at the memory of my beautiful Cate.

My beautiful, beautiful Cate
….

“Perfect.  It is so perfect Ben isn’t it? Smart boy grows up and finds a beautiful woman.  Were you infatuated with her Ben? Did you stalk her?  Was she trying to break up with you and so you killed her?” the detectives face was nose to nose with mine, and he was speaking aggressively towards me.

“Of course I was infatuated with her.  I loved her deeply.  I asked her to marry me and we were to be married last Saturday.”
I breathed in deeply, but unnoticeably to the detective.  I wanted to explode at him, and slam him into the wall. But I kept cool and remained calm.

But then
, I was overcome with emotion.  I could not hold it in anymore.  I put my head on the wooden white table and cried in deep pain at Cate’s death.

My beautiful, beautiful Cate
…

“So Ben, you did kill her. You decided to shower her house with homemade bombs and explode it to smithereens killing Cate and burning the house down in the process.” The detective was relentless.

I
started shaking my head.

“NO! I didn’t kill
Cate!  I loved her and we were going to be married to live the rest of our long lives together.  Cate was the one woman whom I adored. She was the love of my life, and now she has been taken away from me. I wasn’t even her lover.  We had made a vow of celibacy until we were married.”

I
placed my hands over my face, pained with emotion.

Then the detective changed his tact.

“Ben, tell me about the fruit that she used to give to the down-and-outers.  Where did she get if from? And why did she give it away for free.  I’m sure that she could have sold it for a big sum of money. We had it analysed, and know that there is no other fruiting tree like it in the world.  I know that you know all about it Benjamin Adams.”

“
Cate inherited her house from her Grandy.  That fruit tree was in the back yard for as long as Cate could remember.  There was too much fruit on the tree for Cate to eat, so, instead of wasting it, she would leave it out for people to help themselves to.  She was a very compassionate woman detective, she would help anyone she could, no matter what they looked like, sounded like, smelled like.  She was a woman of integrity and of substance.  She was a rare kind in this world today,” I stated forcefully.

“And what do you know about the tree?  You and
Cate went out for some time before you asked her to marry you didn’t you.  You know more about the tree than you are letting on Mr Adams.” The detective slammed his hand down on the wooden table and yelled, “Tell me what you know!”

I was expecting some physical violence from the detective to intimidate me into a murder confession.  I drew in a deep breath, refusing to let the detective make me feel inferior. I was a Terrean.  Little did he know what I was capable of….

“Well, it is an enormous tree. It bears seven different kinds of fruit, of which there is no seed in the middle.  We would have to twist the fruit off the branches.  If we pulled them off, they would wither straight away.  The seeds of the tree are not produced very often, but when they are, they are an opal colour, and oval like a chicken’s egg.  We tried to grow on once, but it just rotted in the ground.”

The detective walked around the room, pacing back and forth.  Then he settled back on the chair, and sat and stared into
my eyes.

I
used this opportunity to scan the detective’s brain and read his mind.  I was amused to find that the detective could not think of anymore questions to ask me.

I
had the upper hand on him, but I looked away first to fool the detective into thinking that his questioning style was working on me.

The detective left the room.

And I sat there alone, for two hours, according to the clock on the wall.

Then a different detective entered the room.  This one had photographs.

He spread them out upside down covering the white wooden table, and then got comfortable in the white wooden chair opposite me.  The detective flipped them over one by one asking very quick questions about each one, trying to trap me into confessing something that I didn’t do.

“This is you.”

“Yes.”

“This is
Cate.”

“Yes.”

“This is Cate’s house.”

“Yes.”

“This is the fruit tree.”

“No
.”

The detective was taken back, and put off his questioning.

“No?”

“No.  It always had a swing on a limb here.  This particular tree has no limb there, and there is no swing.”

Then the detective continued.

“This is
Cate’s car.”

“Yes, she had one like it.”

“This is Cate’s family.”

“Yes.”

“This is Katie’s Gate.”

“Yes.”

“And, this is Cate.”  The detective had turned over the charred corpse of a human, wearing the locket that Cate always wore.

I
gagged.  The photo was so graphic that it made my stomach turn.

“No. That is not
Cate,” I stated, placing my hand over my mouth and looking away, trying not to throw up.

“Yes, but it is Ben.  She is wearing the locket! Look at the locket” the detective said in a raised forceful voice.

“With all due respect detective, I was there when the fire officers found the locket.  There was no body.  They believed her to be…to be……..incinerated…..”  I breathed in deeply, trying to control my emotions.  I swallowed hard.  “And besides, the locket is too clean and shiny for having been in a fire.  And see that tuft of hair that is left on the body of this victim – it is straight and the wrong colour for Cate.  This picture that you are presenting to me is not of Cate!” I said, sticking to the visual evidence, not involving emotive words.