Chapter 584

‘I didn’t poison her Elspeth’s denial was as futile as a turkey claiming it wasn’t Thanksgiving.

Amold ignored her protests, his voice a low and chitting timbre. “At the time, you panicked and fled the scene of the crime, but you forgot to take this vial with you. The victim’s death was ruled a suicide, which made you complacent, and you never returned to check the scene. The Abernathys, superstitious after a death in the room, sealed it off, inadvertently preserving the crime scene for the police. This vial, it replaced the antidepressants on her nightstand. And the residue inside, upon testing, wasn’t Fentanyl, but cyanide.

Cyanide?

The room erupted in shock, that was the king of poisons! Ingesting or even touching it could be fatal!

This woman was sheer malevolence!

Elspeth’s mind was in shambles!

As someone accused of murder, she knew the feeling of being wronged all too well and began to hysterically defend herself, “I didn’t! I didn’t poison Cynthia with that stuff! You’re framing me!”

“Framing you? Then explain why your fingerprints are on the vial?”

Arnold’s gaze was as sharp as a blade, closing in, “Let’s reconstruct the events. You entered the room, concocted a story, and tricked Cynthia into taking the poison, leading to her demise. Fearing exposure, you threw her body off the balcony, crafting a suicide farce!”

Elspeth shook her head in frenzied denial, on the verge of collapse, “No, it wasn’t like that!”

Arnold’s expression shifted, and he stood abruptly, “Elspeth, let me tell you, Cynthia’s body is buried in the East End Cemetery. If her family consents, we can exhume the body for autopsy! Even if all that’s left is a skeleton, modern forensics can still detect whether she died from a fall or was poisoned!”

didn’t

the iron cage, “We got into a scuffle! I accidentally pushed her

spilled

relentless pursuit was a tactic.

were innocent, no amount of deceit should have made her confess to acts she never

as her blood ran cold,

it was too

word she had uttered was heard

was sepulchral.

pierced Elspeth, as if to flay

as a ghost, clenched his trembling fists, feeling every vein freeze,

“My mother never sought release in death. It was Elspeth.”

who had pushed Cynthia to her

the love of his life,

death, but wasn’t he

hard, his gaze filled with hatred as Cynthia’s image haunted him

wept at Cynthia’s funeral. Now, he felt the urge to cry for her.

was worthless. And belated

backward in utter shock, his

He finally understood-

non–existent; his “crime scene reconstruction” was a farce, a pressure tactic

set from his first word, cornering Elspeth into a

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