Houser made noise all the way to the police station. It was amazing that the policen who escorted him retained their stoic faces at his barrage.
"I plead the fifth! Call my lawyer!" were his only words, obviously aware of these things, which just made him more suspicious. Sad for him, though the evidence wasn’t enough to imprison him outright, it was enough to bring him in for questioning.
"Where’s my lawyer?" He yelled when he arrived at the station under the eyes of many. "If he doesn’t get here within 10 minutes, I’ll sue you all! Don’t you know who I am?!"
The police ignored him, dragging him straight to the interrogation room where he’d repeat the words like a parrot.
Luke looked at him, knowing that if he was this stubborn, they might not be able to get much until his lawyer—who was probably very well paid—arrived.
They were glad that they gathered so evidence, like a detailed tracking of his movent, otherwise, just the victim saying his na was not enough to put this guy in a holding facility while they completed the investigation.
Knowing n of power like these, they would likely post bail. Luke hoped to get a confession, more evidence, or a slip-up at least.
At this, Luke took out a folder and threw it at the table in front of him. It was open, and Houser saw the A4-sized photos of the cri scene. Houser’s eyes widened in shock and terror.
"This is the victim."
"Wha—"
Houser gasped at the brutality and bloodiness of the sight. Why are they showing this to him?!
"This man’s na is Anghit. Your DNA is in the house, and the last transactions and contact are all you. Most of all: He called the ergency hotline before he was killed. He says it was you who killed him."
Houser’s pupils contracted, all blood on his face draining, realizing that the situation was really, really against him!
What kind of dirt fell on him!?
...
Houser’s ears were ringing as he gaped at the photos. It felt like ti stretched, and he entered a daze.
What happened? How did this happen?!
That slly old man had so much dirt on him, and he himself beca dirt on him. If he could pull souls from hell, he wanted to kill that ugly old man over and over!
"The case against you isn’t limited to his murder either."
Teeth tittering in anger, humiliation, and fear, Houser couldn’t utter anything else. He just raised his eyes and stared at the detective.
At this, a few more pieces of paper were displayed in front of him. This included various screenshots of CCTV footage of him.
And so of them had his damnable eldest daughter in the fra.
"There are multiple accounts and videos of you in the area, heading to the scene of the cri, at the ti of the cri. We also gathered evidence that you gave your daughter to him."
As he enurated these cris, Luke found himself gritting his teeth. However, he still maintained his professional stance.
"No court will find you innocent of either cri. Why don’t we make a deal now, and we can, perhaps, reduce your sentence?"
Houser gritted his teeth, eyes reddening as he glared at the officer. "It’s not !"
"It is clearly you, Mr. Cerra," Luke said, face deadpan. "How can you deny it? Especially when the victim himself nad you?"
"I didn’t kill him! I REALLY DIDN’T!" Houser scread.
"Soone who could sell his own daughter for a property can certainly be capable of murder."
"I sold her, yes, but I didn’t murder him! I swear!"
A lot of blood was on his hands, but, regrettably, this old bastard was not one of them! If he wanted him dead, which he did, he would not leave so much evidence against himself!
At this, Houser’s red eyes sharpened a bit, though his mind was still a bit dulled by panic. "I’m being frad! I’m being frad!"
Luke’s eyebrows rose. His intuition told him that this bastard...was actually telling the truth.
Puzzled, Luke zoned in on the cri. At the very least, one cri—selling his daughter—Houser had already admitted to.
Everything was naturally recorded, and at least one cri was already a sure-win. This could guarantee they could detain him, even if it wasn’t yet for the murder. Now he needed more details. After studying Houser’s profile, he knew what to do.
"Why would you sell your own flesh and blood to a man with such infamy attached to his na? Are you trying to get rid of the traces of you living off your forr wife by getting rid of her daughter?
"Or are you struggling financially?"
The terms ’poor’ and ’dependent’ were the greatest insult to the vain man.
"I, HOUSER CERRA, AM NOT POOR! I EARNED THE MONEY I HAVE ON MY OWN, WITHOUT A WOMAN!" Houser retorted. "I needed sothing and he wanted one of my daughters! I just gave him one!"
He’d rather admit his cris than admit he was poor. He was so shaless about it, too. It grated on Luke’s nerves.
Unfortunately, it was here that the door opened, with his colleague leading a lawyer inside. In the span of a minute, Houser learned to shut up, and he followed his lawyer like a quail.
Luke’s expression was solemn. His sculpted fingers tapped on the table as he pondered. Rich n like these had connections, and he was afraid the traces would be erased or buried sowhere if they delayed the investigations. Perhaps he could even plead insanity, changing the narrative of his selling his daughter.
Luke wouldn’t let that happen, as he had the habit of gathering solid evidence before he made a move. However, he never dared underestimate the power of money.
If they let him out, he would harm others and even harm those who spoke against him.
Luke’s eyes sharpened. At the very least, he had to get the word out, so fast and wide that it would no longer be possible to bury.
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