Chapter 2: Under the Spotlight

Just then, another cop came in and leaned in to whisper something to Ellery. His face went dark. He slammed his fist on the table. "Cuff him and take him to the interrogation room!"

"Wait! What’s going on?" Cold steel snapped onto my wrists. I was too stunned to even struggle.

In the interrogation room, the fluorescent light buzzed and stabbed at my eyes, making them water.

The walls were painted that institutional beige that makes every place feel like a hospital waiting room. The chair was bolted to the floor, the metal cold against my legs. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, squirming with nowhere to hide.

"We’ve asked you again and again: where were you between eleven and noon? Why keep dodging the question?"

My voice cracked as I tried to explain. "I was delivering food. I had a drop-off at Silver Hollow Elementary."

"Look." Ellery held up my phone. "Your DoorDash records show you accepted that order, but the customer canceled it themselves less than three minutes later. That means you never actually did the delivery. So where did this job come from?"

My mouth went dry as sand. I swallowed, searching for words. "When I accepted the order, I was already nearby. The customer recognized me, told me to cancel it in the app and said they’d pay me cash."

"And then? Tell me everything."

"Not much to say. I waited at the pickup spot for about twenty minutes, but nobody showed. I tried calling, but the number was dead. So I took the bag and went on to my next job. I can’t just stand around all day, right?"

"But there’s no record, so you can’t prove you were there, can you?" Ellery’s eyes narrowed, voice clipped.

I felt like I was sinking, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. "I was standing at the Silver Hollow Elementary gate. You can call the customer."

"We tried. The number’s been disconnected—it was a burner phone. Right now, it looks like you staged the whole thing."

"What? You—" It was like a jolt of electricity. My whole body went ice cold.

"Look at this." Ellery pulled out a Ziploc bag and held it up. "Ever seen this before?"

Inside was a plain wooden-handled paring knife, maybe five inches long.

It looked like any cheap kitchen knife you’d find buried in a junk drawer. I squinted at it, heart slamming against my ribs. "Looks familiar, maybe..."

"Just familiar? It’s covered in your prints, and when officers arrived, this knife was still stuck in your dad’s chest!" Ellery slammed the table. "Sam Whitaker, let’s be real: don’t insult our intelligence. We’re not here to railroad anyone, but we’re not letting a killer walk either. You need to understand where you stand—confession is your only way out."

Under that harsh light, my ears started ringing. My vision tunneled, the edges blurring, and then—everything went black.

I don’t know how long I was out before I came to, groggy and disoriented. I was alone in a holding cell.

The walls seemed to close in, painted a sickly, institutional gray. A fluorescent bulb flickered overhead, buzzing. My head pounded. I pressed my palms to my temples, trying to force the chaos in my mind into some kind of order.

How could they think I did it? And that knife—if I didn’t recognize it, why were my prints on it?

I was raking my fingers through my hair, nearly clawing at my scalp, when the door rattled. I stumbled to the bars and shouted, "I need to talk to Detective Ellery—now!"

My voice echoed down the empty corridor. For a second, I thought nobody would come. Then footsteps, slow and heavy, drew closer.

"You don’t have to look for me, I was coming anyway." His voice sounded tired, worn down.

He held up a sheet of paper. "If it weren’t for one sharp-eyed tech, I might’ve bought your story."