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He Chose Me to Defend His Crime / Chapter 6: The Woman Between Them
He Chose Me to Defend His Crime

He Chose Me to Defend His Crime

Author: Christopher Bradshaw


Chapter 6: The Woman Between Them

The next stack of statements came from Marcus’s neighbors and ex-girlfriend.

The neighbor next door had been out of town during the murder, but when she got back, she was shocked and started helping police. Did she know Marcus had a brother? No idea—she always thought he was an only child.

Chris, the student, hadn’t known about Derek either. After Derek’s release, he’d barely interacted with Marcus. The only link was those occasional money transfers.

Why did the neighbor just find out about Derek? Because he’d only recently moved in with Marcus—around New Year’s, for about six months, then moved out last month. During that time, he didn’t work, just lived off Marcus.

How did the brothers get along? Fine, according to the neighbor, but Derek and Marcus’s girlfriend were always tense.

At the mention of "girlfriend," I sat up. Chris had called her Marcus’s fiancée, but now she was an ex. Something wasn’t right.

Did the three of them live together? Yes, but only during those six months. Before that, it was just Marcus and his girlfriend.

What kind of person was she? The neighbor said she was educated, reasonable, had a good temper, valued relationships. She liked her a lot.

Then the neighbor got into why things were tense. It was a soap opera, honestly.

After Derek moved in, he became obsessed with Marcus’s girlfriend. He started harassing her—making gross comments, brushing up against her on purpose, even trying the bathroom door when she was inside. Lillian eventually called the police, and the whole building gossiped about it. The cops showed up, but just shrugged it off as a family squabble—told us to work it out ourselves. Classic Maple Heights.

For months, Marcus didn’t fix things. He got along with Derek, but kept fighting with Lillian, thinking she was blowing things out of proportion.

Finally, Lillian couldn’t take it and moved out. Derek left, too.

The neighbor said Derek gave her the creeps—someone like that hanging around was bound to cause trouble.

I paused. I’d only met Derek once, and he’d seemed steady and polite. Maybe the neighbor just saw Derek through her own bias, or maybe I was too eager to see the good in my own client.

To check, I read Lillian’s statement.

Lillian Grant, consultant, dated Marcus for three years. Marcus was always under pressure—work, his sick dad, his startup. Lillian tried to be supportive, and they planned to marry. But Derek’s arrival ruined everything.

Marcus never told her about his brother until right before Derek moved in. He admitted Derek had a criminal record, but downplayed it as fighting. Lillian was uneasy, but let it go—for now.

Derek moved in with no warning. The first time they met, he stared at her, making her skin crawl.

She told Marcus it was too soon, that it was their home, but Marcus brushed it off—"he’s family, not an outsider."

Marcus was always at work, so Lillian and Derek spent a lot of time alone. At first, it was awkward. Then Derek started showing his true colors.

He’d make gross comments, brush up against me on purpose, even try the bathroom door when I was inside. He followed me to work, watched me, made me feel like prey.

I complained to Marcus again and again. He always dismissed it—said Derek was just joking, that I was overreacting.

I loved Marcus, but his blind loyalty to his brother hurt. Eventually, I called the police. Derek played innocent, called it "protecting my sister-in-law." The cops treated it like a joke, just more family drama, and the whole building knew. Marcus was embarrassed, and we fought again.

Finally, I snapped. I confronted Derek in front of Marcus. Derek just looked at me and said, "I’ve been in prison for fifteen years and never had a good life. Now I’m finally out. My brother is successful, so of course I want to follow him. Whatever my brother has, I want to try."

Even reading it, my blood ran cold. Lillian was terrified. Marcus did nothing. She left him.

A month later, Marcus was dead. Lillian mourned, but she was also scared out of her mind.

Lillian’s story matched the neighbor’s. Derek wasn’t just bad news—he was dangerous. I caught myself wanting to believe he was better than the file said—because it’s easier to fight for someone you don’t despise. But the evidence didn’t care what I wanted.

Police asked if Derek had bothered Lillian after she moved out. She said no. It seemed Derek didn’t really care about her—he just wanted what his brother had. If he couldn’t have it, he’d ruin it.

So now, another motive: jealousy. Marcus was everything Derek wasn’t—successful, respected, loved. Derek had nothing. Maybe he thought taking Marcus’s girlfriend would even the score. When that didn’t work, maybe killing Marcus was the only way to erase the difference.

It was a dark, ugly motive. I found myself starting to hate my own client. But even the worst deserve a defense. I sipped my coffee, bitter and cold, and kept reading.

Other neighbors confirmed the timeline. Some didn’t know much, but three old men playing chess saw Derek enter the building around 3 or 4 p.m. He looked out of it, hand jammed in his pocket, staring at nothing. When they asked if he was okay, he waved them off and went inside. Whatever he was holding was likely the murder weapon.

The murder weapon—a cloth belt—was never found. Police thought Derek had destroyed it. The smoke shop owner saw Derek leave, looking wild and disheveled. Surveillance footage backed it all up. He had no alibi.

Forensics sealed the deal: Derek’s DNA under Marcus’s fingernails, his hair on the bed, scratch marks on his body. Police even found deleted searches on his computer: "how long does it take to strangle an adult male," "how to get rid of a body." He’d started searching a month before. It was premeditated.

The facts were clear. The motive—whether inheritance, jealousy, or both—was ugly but logical.

But as I stared at the stack of evidence, one thing kept gnawing at me—cases this open-and-shut don’t keep you up at night. This one did.

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