Chapter 5 - Interrogation Under Fluorescent Bullets
Down at the Hennepin County Central Detention Facility, the interrogation rooms smelled of stale coffee, bleach, and decades of human misery.
Detective Cole sat across the metal table from Gavin Miller.
Gavin didn’t look like the grieving father he had pretended to be on the porch. He wore a standard orange jumpsuit, his hair disheveled, his hands cuffed to a metal loop bolted to the center of the table. He was staring down at his knuckles, trying to project an air of arrogant detachment, though his leg bounced nervously beneath the table.
“You’re making a massive mistake, Cole,” Gavin muttered, refusing to look up. “My mother is an elderly woman having a hysterical episode. She dug up an open casket because she couldn't cope with her granddaughter passing away from a viral infection. It’s a tragedy, not a crime.”
Detective Cole tossed the thick manila folder onto the table, letting it slide right until it bumped against Gavin’s cuffed wrists.
“A viral infection doesn't leave injection marks on the back of a child’s knees, Gavin,” Cole said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “And a natural death doesn't require a six-hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance payout, a bribed doctor, and two padlocks securing a victim inside a custom-fitted cedar box.”
Gavin flinched. The arrogant facade cracked, revealing the desperate, cornered coward underneath.
“We were broke!” Gavin suddenly snapped, slamming his cuffed hands against the table with a metallic clatter. “You don't know what it’s like! The debt collectors were calling every day! We were going to lose everything! It wasn't supposed to be permanent—we were going to dose her just enough to fake the respiratory failure, collect the payout, stash her with a private facility out of state, and start over!”
Cole stared at him in utter disbelief. “You planned to fake your own daughter’s death, bury her alive in a box, and ship her away like cargo just to pay off your credit cards?”
“She’s my kid! I can do whatever I want with her!” Gavin screamed, lunging forward before the heavy bolt on the table jerked him back.
“Not anymore, you can't,” Cole said coldly. He stood up, buttoning his jacket. “Hope you enjoy your stay in maximum security, Gavin. Because between attempted first-degree murder, kidnapping, child endangerment, and insurance fraud, you’re never seeing the outside of a prison cell again.”
In the adjacent interrogation room, Priscilla was breaking down under a different kind of pressure.
Faced with the digital tablet evidence and Gavin’s immediate confession, Priscilla was sobbing hysterically, blaming her husband for every single detail.
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“He made me do it!” she wailed into her hands across the table. “Gavin said it was the only way! He bought the drugs! He ordered the custom coffin! I just... I just wanted to keep our house!”
“Greed is an ugly look, Mrs. Miller,” the female detective across from her said dryly, sliding a confession form across the table. “Sign your name at the bottom. It’s the only mercy you’re going to get.”
