Day One
01 November 2005, 05:55

And it begins...

The result of 20 mintues work this morning:

"So, what you are telling me Madam, is that your husband, whom was never known to even partake of alcohol, smoked a large quantity of opium and decided to take his prize jumping stallion out in the middle of the night?" The stern investigator glared down at the seemingly meek, recently widowed Lady Lucy Smythe. He knew she was lying, that she had very likely poisoned her husband, or at least had a hand in the plotting of the deed. He had expected a murderess’ remorse. These gentle creatures were oft incapable of any sort of violence, but on occasion, one would break and do something horrible. Maybe her husband had refused her a holiday abroad that she’d had her heart set on. Or perhaps he had been caught with a housemaid. He nodded to himself, mentally agreeing that had often been the case. And when it had been, and these women had done something as horrible to take out their child-like rage on their husbands, they, just like children, had no idea at the time their actions might have consequence. This is when he came in. He would enter the investigation room. Sympathize. Find so much fault in the victims behavior that the woman would often break down, trying to defend her husband’s honor. At which point, she would realize what she had done and most times, filled with guilt and heartbreaking sorrow, confess. Yes, this is how it should be. His attention turned back to Lady Smythe. Now, this woman was completely different. She had been cool, cold even. Resentful that he was even in her presence, refusing at first to deign to speak with him. Perhaps it was her breeding. Her rank. Whatever it was, she was lying, and he knew it. And as she easily held his steely gaze, he faltered suddenly. Shock and disgust spread across his face, tinged with fear. There, in her eyes, was the truth, and he could read it as clearly as his own name. She killed her husband, had possibly killed before, would likely kill again, and knew that he knew the truth. And she did not care a whit. She didn’t care because she knew he would never find an eyewitness, or any sort of proof to tie her to the crime without enough doubt to break through her class and rank. And with that realization, he sat back on his chair and gasped.
"Yes. That is precisely what I have told you and will continue to tell you until you leave my home and allow me to see to the funeral arrangements of my poor husband." A touch of a smile softened the corner of her mouth as pure malice glittered hotly in her doe brown eyes.

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