My Husband Framed Me For His Mother’s Murder Chapter 06

My Husband Framed Me For His Mother’s Murder Chapter 06

The ME nodded. “Once we run them through the database, we’ll know who they belong to.”

The moment those words were spoken, I saw a faint, smug smile cross Michael’s lips.

A chill shot from my feet to my head, making every nerve tense up again.

I knew him too well. That look meant he had something up his sleeve.

The officer turned to Michael and me and said seriously, “Both of you, come to the station with us. We’ll take your fingerprints and match them right away.”

Michael immediately wiped the smile off his face and put on a grief-stricken look again, dabbing at his dry eyes.

He choked out, “Officer, I’ll cooperate fully. I just want you to find out the truth and get justice for my mother.”

As he said this, his eyes shifted toward me.

I didn’t speak. I just clenched my jaw.

The ME carefully packed the fingerprint evidence.

An assistant called for the coroner’s office, and Patricia, covered with a white sheet, was placed on a stretcher and slowly taken away.

Michael walked beside the stretcher, sobbing and muttering, “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll make sure the killer pays.”

To anyone who didn’t know the truth, he looked like a grieving son.

Watching his fake grief made me sick to my stomach.

Michael and I were taken into a police car, which slowly left the community and headed to the station.

About ten minutes later, the car stopped at the station entrance.

We were led into different rooms; I was taken to a collection room. An officer asked me to hold out my hands and took my fingerprints with a digital scanner.

Fifteen minutes later, an officer walked into the waiting room and looked at me with a serious expression. “Emily Carter, please come with me. The fingerprint results are in.”

Hearing that, my heart jumped into my throat.

I took a deep breath and followed him.

The interrogation room was lit with harsh white light.

Michael sat on a chair across from me, the grief was gone from his face, replaced by a confident smirk.

When he saw me walk in, he raised an eyebrow slightly.

The officer sat behind a desk in the middle, holding a report.

He looked at me seriously, paused for a moment, and then slowly said, “Ma’am, the results are in. The fingerprints lifted from the victim’s wrist and the balcony windowsill match yours perfectly. No discrepancy.”

Those words hit me like a thunderclap.

My body went weak. I couldn’t believe my ears. “No. That’s impossible. Officer, there has to be a mistake. I never touched her. I never went near the balcony. How could my fingerprints be there?”

“We ran the comparison three times. All results were the same. No mistake.”

I tried to stay calm. “I drove straight from my business trip to the hospital. I never even went home. How could my fingerprints be there?”

Michael slammed his hand on the table and stood up, shouting, “Stop lying. The fingerprints don’t lie. Officer, arrest her already.”

My eyes turned red as I looked at him.

My pent-up anger and frustration exploded inside me.

But I still didn’t know how they had gotten my fingerprints.

I could only watch helplessly as he twisted the truth and trapped me.

Just then, the interrogation room door opened.

Jessica walked in quickly, holding her phone, and approached the officer. “Officer, I’m Jessica Blake. I’m Emily’s best friend. I want to testify. I have proof that Emily had a motive to kill Patricia.”

Hearing her voice, I whipped my head around toward her.

Jessica was the friend I had trusted completely. We had grown up together. I told her everything.

I never imagined she would get together with Michael and try to destroy me.

“You have proof? What kind of proof?” the officer asked, looking at her seriously.

Jessica opened her phone, pulled up a text conversation, and handed it to the officer. “Officer, look. These are my and Emily’s iMessage chats. Over the last few months, she kept complaining about Patricia having Alzheimer’s.”

“She said things like ‘I wish that old woman would just die already so we could have some peace.’ ‘I’ve had enough.’ ‘Why won’t she just die already.'”

The officer took the phone and scrolled through the messages.

I looked over and froze.

The tone, the wording, all of it sounded exactly like me. There were even small details that only Jessica and I knew.

But I never said those things. I never sent those messages. They were faked.

“Those aren’t mine. Officer, those are fake,” I shouted.

Jessica looked up at me with disappointment in her eyes. “Emily, please. How much longer are you going to lie?”

“You sent me those messages. I tried to talk you out of it, but you wouldn’t listen. Now that someone is dead, I can’t cover for you anymore.”

I was shaking with rage.

Just as the officer was about to announce that I would be detained, an idea flashed through my mind.