𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝙾𝚝𝚒𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 | ONC 2024

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎

“Whatever you need to know,” he said to the pair of officers. “Just ask.”

Marlowe dipped his head in thanks and took a small notepad from the breast pocket of his uniform. “How would you describe your marriage with Mrs. Otis?” he asked. “Did you two get along? Ever argue? Fight, maybe?”

Weston let out a little huff of impatience. Such base questioning. Did these two just graduate from the police academy? “All married couples argue, Officer Marlowe,” he answered, his tone flirting with condescension. “Argue, disagree, shout, go to bed in separate rooms? Of course. But I never imagined Camilla had kept such secrets from me. Or that she had the temperament to shoot a man. These past two days have made me wonder if I ever really knew my wife.”

Marlowe scribbled down notes as he listened to Weston's response.

Spade, on the other hand, fixed Weston with a penetrating stare, as if trying to spot hidden cracks beneath the veneer of an expensive cabinet. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and deliberate as he asked, “Do you have any idea why your wife might have gotten involved with Mario Castellano, Mr. Otis? Why she felt the need to seek extramarital affection? Any suspicions or hints as to her motives?”

Weston hesitated for a moment, weighing his potential answers carefully. Now that he thought about it, Camilla had been growing increasingly distant in recent months. Perhaps he hadn't noticed before because his own attention lay elsewhere.

“I can't say for certain,” Weston began slowly, choosing his words with vigilance. “But Camilla...she has always been insatiable. She's much younger than me, as I'm sure you know. But our marriage was always a civil one. Happy, even. Or so I thought. The news that she was having an affair is still shocking to me. She's an outspoken woman. I figured if she was ever unsatisfied or unhappy, she wouldn't hesitate to tell me.”

“So, you're angry about her secrecy, huh?” Spade asked as he continued to scrutinize Weston's face. “That why you're leaving her to rot in a cell instead of paying her bail?”

Weston fixed Spade with a look that could wilt roses. “Officers, did she, or did she not, shoot a man in cold blood?”

“She did,” Spade confirmed, unmoved.

“Right. Therefore, she's a murderer,” Weston summed up.

“She is,” Marlowe concurred.

“Right,” Weston repeated. “And it has always been my understanding that murderers belong behind bars.”

“That's fair,” Spade said with a shrug. “Cold, but fair.”

“Exactly my point,” Weston said. He'd never claimed to be a warm man. Camilla had accused him countless times of withholding affection simply to vex her. But these officers needed to know nothing of that. “Camilla got herself into this mess. I don't see why I should get her out of it. Or,” he gave the officers a pointed glare, “be made to stand trial in my own home.”

“You're not on trial, Mr. Otis. Not yet. And this isn't about fairness,” Marlowe interjected, his tone soft yet firm. “It's about justice. And sometimes, justice requires us to look below the surface and delve into the depths of a person's motives, their fears, their desires. Their plans.”

“Are you suggesting there's more to this than what appears?” Weston asked, his eyes darting between Marlowe and Spade. “She killed a man. Now she's in jail. On paper, it all seems quite straightforward.”

Marlowe leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him as he observed Weston. “On paper, sure. But we've seen our fair share of cases that turn out to be much more complex than they initially seem. People are not straightforward or one-dimensional, Mr. Otis. People are a million shades of gray. There's always more to the story.”