Captain Robert Johnson stared at me.
“Someone just died at the Riverside Aquatic Center.”
“So now this proves I’m not the killer, right?” I asked.
“Come with me.”
Captain Johnson unlocked the holding cell and rushed me out.
On the drive to the scene, I asked,
“Captain Johnson, did the victim tie up his own hands and feet before jumping into the pool to drown himself?”
Screeech!
The car jerked to a halt. Captain Johnson grabbed me by the collar and hissed,
“All I said was someone died at the pool. I never told you how. Yet what you just described matches the security footage exactly. And you still want me to believe you’re not the killer?”
“That’s because it was in my novel. I wrote that scene. The murderer is following my story. Isn’t it natural that I’d know the details?”
I paused, then added sharply,
“Besides, at the time of this murder, you and I were both inside the holding cell. How the hell could I have done it?”
Captain Johnson said nothing. He only squinted at me, then finally released my shirt and drove on.
When we arrived at the scene, I saw the body being pulled from the water.
And I saw the surveillance footage.
Just like in my novel.
The victim walked to the poolside carrying a rope, his face blank. He calmly tied up his own hands and feet, then leapt straight into the pool.
He struggled only for a few seconds before going still.
“Captain, is this guy insane?” one officer muttered.
“Who binds themselves hand and foot just to jump into a pool?”
“This is way too bizarre.”
None of them could make sense of it.
“Send the body to the medical examiner,” Captain Johnson ordered.
“Check if there are any traces of drugs inside him.”
He suspected it wasn’t suicide at all, but murder—though the footage made it look like suicide.
Afterward, Captain Johnson shoved me back into the car.
“Where are we going now?” I asked.
He gave only two words:
“Your home.”
“What for?”
He didn’t answer.
Ten minutes later, the car pulled up in front of my house.
Inside, my mother Linda Miller and my wife Emily Parker were waiting, along with a few relatives.
Linda’s eyes were swollen from crying. She lit up with relief when she saw me walk in.
The relatives looked stunned.
But Emily’s reaction was explosive.
She shot to her feet, pointing at me with wide eyes.
“You—you were arrested as a murderer! How are you back here? Did you escape from prison, David?”
Her face was twisted with fear and disbelief, as if she couldn’t accept I had returned so soon.
“What’s wrong, Emily? You gonna call the cops on me again?” I sneered.
I wouldn’t hold it against anyone for suspecting me.
If I weren’t the author myself, I’d think the same—who else but the writer could come up with such methods?
Even if someone tried to imitate them, at most they’d resemble my plots. But never be identical.
What I hadn’t expected… was that the person who reported me—
was the woman lying beside me every night.
“I did it out of justice!” Emily shouted, her voice trembling but fierce. “So what if we’re married? If you killed someone, then you’re a murderer—and you deserve to be punished by the law!”
