The Interview (Unfinished)

The room was big and empty apart from a table and chairs, on the table was a tape recorder and a man was sitting on a chair staring at the floor; he was obviously trapped in an overwhelming wave of guilt. Another man entered the room carrying a folder in his hands and sat down on the chair opposite him.

'I'm Detective Vanderbrooks,' he introduced himself but the man continued staring at the floor. 'You said to the policeman at the desk you wanted to confess to a murder?' he asked softly but however, he was half expecting him to be a fake as he had encountered many fakes during his interrogations. The man broke his stare, 'Yes…' he answered, 'I… I killed my wife.'

The detective switched on the tape recorder, 'What's your name?'

'James… James Sunderland.'

'And what's your wife's name?'

'Mary.'

'Can I ask why?'

'Well…' James began, 'Mary was diagnosed with an incurable disease and the doctors who saw to her could only guess how long she had left…'

'And how long did she have?' Vanderbrooks asked trying his best not to sound insensitive. 'They guessed six months or three years,' he replied, 'but they couldn't be certain…'

He stood up and lent against the wall. 'Do you know how it feels to have a knife cut through your soul, detective?' he asked, 'to know that your one true love will no longer be beside you when you wake up in the morning?'

'No.'

'Well that's how I felt but I knew that I must stay strong… for Mary.'

'She must have been very important to you?'

'She was; she was my everything.'

'I could only imagine the heartbreak you went through,' Vanderbrooks said. James regarded it as a very typical comment from a person who hadn't suffered a great tragedy, 'Yes,' James responded as he sat back down and stared at Vanderbrooks… he gave the detective a fixed, glassy, emotionless stare.