Chapter 238


    The owner of the restaurant was brought back for questioning.


    They shoved him into the interrogation room.


    J went in to talk to him first.


    The owner sat stiffly behind the table. There was a mixed expression of anger and panic on his


    face.


    “What is this all about!” he cried furiously, “I told you everything already! Why did you bring me in


    here? I didn’t do anything wrong!”


    J sat down across the table, “You haven’t given me the whole picture.


    “That is the whole picture. What else do you want…”


    “We believe that Mr. Keavy was poisoned, and you have something to do with it, said J icily.


    The owner’s jaw dropped. He started sweating.


    “W–What? That is ridiculous! Mr. Keavy died of an allergy. Everybody knew that.


    You can’t dump that shit on my head…. It has been 5 years already…”


    “You won’t be falsely charged with anything if you are innocent!” J snapped, “So tell me what


    really happened that night!”


    The owner shifted uneasily in his chair as though he were sitting on a thrones.


    “I told you everything already…” he shook his head hastily, “Mr. Keavy died out of allergy…I have


    nothing to do with it…”


    They were talking in circles.


    But J could tell by the look on his face that he was hiding something.


    The only question was was he hiding his own crime?


    Or was he covering for somebody else?


    She leaned her upper body forward, staring at the owner across the table, and asked,


    “Do you


    know Lady Agnes?”


    There was a ck look on the owner’s face, “Lady Agnes? Who is that?”


    His facial expression looked sincere.


    He really didn’t know who Agnes was.


    J sat back in her chair, pondering.


    Did she get this wrong?


    But all the evidence showed that Agnes poisoned Elder Randy and Elder Randy and Keavy shared


    the same symptom.


    So which part did she miss?


    Just then, the door to the interrogation room flung open and Clemente came striding


    into the room with a file in their hand.


    He mmed the file on the table in front of the owner and snapped, “Look what we just found! Are


    you still going to deny what you did?”


    With a trembling hand, the owner turned the cover and opened the file.


    The first page listed his online shopping records for the past 6 months: duck tapes, ropes, sleeping


    pills, and detergent…


    Everything a serial killer needed for the work.


    The second page was a photo captured by a surveince camera. It documented a car


    ident that happened on the same night that Keavy died.


    The owner sunk, weak–kneed, into his chair.


    “You and your wife aren’t exactly the perfect couple, are you?” Clemente looked down at the owner


    coldly, “Waiters from your restaurant told us that you threatened to kill her. And your online


    shopping record proved that inclination.” The owner gulped, nervously, “What I like to buy with my


    own money is my own business… And that waiter who spoke with you is a lying piece of shit-”


    “You are still lying!”


    Clemente banged the table with his hand, “Do you want us to bring in your wife as well? And see


    what she has to say about this evidence?!”


    The owner shivered, “No…No don’t get her in here…Please…


    “Then just spit it already!”


    The owner mopped his forehead with the back of his hand, looking even more tensed


    1. up.


    “…Fine! Alright?” he snarled abruptly, “My wife is a skanky old cunt! I did think about it…once or


    twice…of killing her…”


    J looked at the man with disgust.


    It was like what they said–It was always the husband.


    “BUT!” the owner roared, “That was just a thought! I never put it into action! My wife is still alive, and


    you just saw her earlier today. You can’t punish a man for having evil thoughts!”


    “Are you sure that you never put it to action?” Clemente asked in an intimidating voice, “Then


    exin this car ident. It was your car. And it happened 5 years ago, on the same night that


    Keavy died, at 6:45, which was the exact time that you left the restaurant and were heading to


    Keavy’s house. Why did you exclude it from your


    testimony!”


    The owner shook like a leaf in the strong wind, “I…I didn’t think it was relevant…


    “LIE!”


    Clemente roared as he braced his hands on the table, leaning forward, and stared at the owner with


    ice–cold eyes.


    “We have a theory already,” Clemente said through gritting teeth. “And we are going to do more


    digging. Sooner orter, the evidence we find will convict you. The only question is are you going to


    tell us the truth now and plead for mercy or are you going to keep on lying and be sentenced to


    death eventually? YOUR CHOICE!”


    His roar echoed in the interrogation room.


    The owner’s face was paled with frigid.


    After a long pause, he suddenly burst into tears.


    “Don’t…Don’t kill me! PLEASE!” he wailed, “I have a career! A daughter! A whole family to support!


    And I didn’t mean it…It was an ident…”


    “What ident! What happened!” Clemente growled.


    “I…I poisoned the food…5 years ago…” the owner sobbed.


    J’s heart shot upwards into her throat.


    He admitted it!


    “You poisoned Keavy?!” Clemente cried in rage, “WHY! My brother never wronged you in his entire


    life-”


    “NO! Not Mr. Keavy! I…I was actually meaning to kill my wife!” the owner choked. “That night…I left


    the restaurant with two bags of food…One was for Mr. Keavy and that one was clean… And the


    other was for my wife, poisoned…”


    “Then how did the poisoned one end up in Keavy’s hand?” J couldn’t help but


    ask.


    The owner gave a shudder, “It was raining heavily that night…I–I hit someone on the way to Mr.


    Keavy’s house. I got out of the car too hastily to check the person being hit… Maybe….Maybe the


    two bags of food got swapped during that process…” “You didn’tbel the poisoned one?!”


    “I did!” the owner cried desperately, “The poisoned one had a red little sticker on the bag! I even


    double–checked to make sure that the food I gave to Mr. Keavy was the one without the red


    sticker…But still…When I saw that my wife was still breathing after dinner, I knew instantly that I got


    it wrong…I–I fucked up…”


    He melted down and cried.


    J let out a shaky breath.


    So it was clear now.


    The owner meant to kill his wife on that night.


    But because of a car ident, the food got mixed up and he identally gave the poisoned one to


    Keavy.


    Clemente’s brother died because of a stupid mistake.


    So…was this the whole truth?


    “I–I am not going to be sentenced to death, am I?” the owner cried urgently, “It was an ident! A


    mistake! You can’t punish someone for making a mistake!!”


    Clemente straightened his back and stormed out of the interrogation room.


    J ran after him, “Clemente!”


    He strode down the hallway and then suddenly halted to a sharp stop. Content property of N?velDra/ma.Org.


    J almost bumped into his back.


    Clemente wheeled around and held her in his arms, tightly.


    “…Thank you,” he murmured in a broken voice.


    “Clemente…


    “If it weren’t for you, I would still be in the dark right now,” he choked. “You pushed


    me to investigate. You unveiled the truth. I owe you for a lifetime…J…


    J patted his back, “Don’t say that. You did most of the work. Keavy would be very d.”


    But deep down in her heart, she was still confused.


    Nothing about Agnes came up.


    Was Agnes really clean?


    Or did she miss something down the road?