To My First Love, With Regret - 31

—Eve, it wasn’t me.

Ethan said, sitting beside her.

—It’s true. Your father is framing me to get revenge.

Eve squeezed his hand firmly.

—Ethan, you don’t need to say that to me.

Because I trust you.

Three hours later, the transport vehicle arrived in Cliffhaven. She felt suffocated, as if she had returned to prison. Given their predicament, where they might genuinely end up in jail, it wasn’t entirely a metaphor.

She had lived in Cliffhaven nearly all her life but had never once visited the police station that was now coming into view. As the car pulled into the rear parking lot, Eve held Ethan’s hand tightly, scanning the view through the window as if on guard.

Father might be here.

But perhaps the Duke’s stooges at the police station hadn’t been alerted yet, as she saw no familiar faces.

When the car stopped, the officers in the front seat pulled Ethan out. The hands that had been clinging to each other like lifelines for three hours were forcibly separated.

The person who opened the door for Eve was a middle-aged detective in a trench coat. He was staring at her with a cigarette in his mouth, but before the car even fully stopped, he ground the cigarette out and approached.

—Take him to the interrogation room.

He gave the instruction to take Ethan away, glaring at him as if he were a vicious criminal, but then…

—Lady.

He tipped his fedora to Eve in respect and extended his hand politely. She was in no mood to be treated courteously, but upsetting the likely head of the investigation would not benefit Ethan. Eve took the man’s hand and stepped out.

—I need to know what happened.

She demanded an explanation assertively. She needed to be polite, but that didn’t mean she should appear intimidated.

—What a stunning coincidence! You’re saying exactly what I was about to say.

The investigator bantered and sneered. Eve was seething at his rudeness.

—We were under the impression that the Duchess was kidnapped.

The target of her fury shifted. It was clearly her father’s doing. He had lied because admitting his daughter eloped with a commoner would ruin the family honor. Eve firmly refuted him.

—That is not true.

—Ah, so you went with him voluntarily…

—The subject is reversed. I was the one who suggested the vacation in Lavinia.

—Hmm…

He stroked his chin, gazing at Eve. His persistent, scrutinizing gaze was unpleasant.

—My apologies, I’ve committed the rudeness of keeping a Lady standing outside. Let’s discuss this in more detail inside.

She followed the investigator—a man who spoke of manners but whose actions were utterly rude—into the police station. Police and detectives kept brushing past her. Some seemed to recognize Eve and whispered gossip with keen eyes.

—Please, have a seat.

Their destination was the chief investigator’s private office. Eve, who was relieved it wasn’t an interrogation room, couldn’t suppress a bitter smile at what he said immediately after she sat down.

—If you do not wish to speak, you are free to exercise your right to remain silent. However, anything you do say may be recorded and used as evidence.

—Meaning you consider me an accomplice.

—As an investigator, I am simply keeping all possibilities open and investigating broadly.

—Look here. I don’t even know when or how Harry died.

—The incident shook the entire country; surely news must have spread even to Lavinia…

—I wouldn’t know. We left to forget the world, so there was no reason to keep up with newspapers or the radio.

—Well, in that case, I will kindly explain. Around the time the Lady arrived in Lavinia, Baron Langdon’s body was discovered in the fields of White Cliff. According to the testimony of the estate’s employees and the autopsy results, the estimated time of death was between 10 PM and 1 AM the previous night.

Eve had gone to Ethan’s room around 10 PM, and Ethan would have returned to his house after taking Eve home well past 11 PM.

—The cause of death was exsanguination due to severance of the carotid artery. To put it simply, he bled to death after being stabbed in the neck with something sharp.

—I already know that much.

—Quite. In any case, perhaps the killer was not a professional, as they failed to cut the carotid artery deeply. If it were fully severed, blood would spray like a fountain from the neck and the victim would die instantly.

Eve instinctively frowned at the cruel description.

—In any case, the victim’s blood loss wasn’t rapid. The problem is he was drunk.

According to the testimony of a maid from the estate, Harry had polished off a bottle of strong liquor that night. A patient who supposedly couldn’t even move after being beaten by Ethan had guzzled alcohol and staggered out on his own feet.

That detestable man.

—Having lost his judgment, the victim didn’t head home after the attack but ran away into the fields in the opposite direction and collapsed there. That’s how he died from excessive bleeding.

The investigator looked squarely at Eve, smiled curtly, and waved his hand.

—Well, don’t go calling it suicide, though.

Eve listened to the fast scratching of the stenographer’s pencil in the corner of the office and clearly countered:

—I never said that.

But it was true that she considered it a self-inflicted death.

—So why is Ethan the killer? Because the Fairchild residence is the closest to the scene?

—We followed the victim’s blood trail, and it led to the lighthouse keeper’s house. The police dog detected the smell of blood in the backyard, and bloodstains were found on and inside Ethan Fairchild’s room window.

Bloodstains?

It felt like she’d been struck in the back of the head; her vision swam. It was a situation where anyone would be forced to conclude Ethan was the killer. If Eve hadn’t been intimately involved, she would have been convinced he was the murderer too. Eve used reason to regain control of her momentarily wavering faith.

It’s only circumstantial evidence. It’s all based on suspicion.

The investigator said Harry had been stabbed in the neck with something sharp. He hadn’t specified a knife or an awl. That meant they didn’t know what the murder weapon was—meaning they hadn’t found it.

—You are accusing a sincere and promising young man of murder based only on circumstantial evidence and suspicion.

—Wow, circumstantial evidence! The young Lady knows quite a lot.

He kept looking down on her. Eve ground her teeth and glared, but here, the Duchess of Kentrell’s fury wasn’t going to protect her honor.

—Then, Mr. Experienced Investigator, think logically and answer this. If we truly killed Harry, why wouldn’t we take the time to destroy the evidence? If we committed murder and fled abroad, why on earth would we come back?

The middle-aged investigator rubbed his chin and let out a groan.

—I’m curious about that myself.

He admitted he found the situation unsettling. Eve saw a chance for persuasion.

—The answer is simple. Because we didn’t kill him. This is my father’s revenge.

—Ah, I did hear what happened on the afternoon the incident took place.

—You must have heard a fabricated story advantageous to my father.

—Nonetheless, that incident is undeniably a motive for Ethan Fairchild to kill Baron Langdon.

She felt suffocated. It was like a tight net was closing in on her throat.

—Go outside and grab anyone in Cliffhaven and ask them. One in three will have a motive to kill Harry. You’re the police; don’t you know what a scoundrel Harry was?

The investigator, who knew well that the incidents involving Baron Langdon that his station had covered up were countless, managed a bitter smile.

—The officers who once spearheaded Harry’s acquittal are now being mobilized to falsely accuse Ethan.

When she accused them of taking bribes and fabricating the blood evidence, the investigator shook his head vehemently.

—Lady, if I were a man bowing and scraping for the Duke’s favor, I wouldn’t dare interrogate you; I’d have politely sent you home.

The investigator turned around and opened a cabinet lined against the wall. He pulled out a file. It was quite thick.

—We investigated in Kingsbridge too, and it’s clear that Ethan Fairchild was harassed more often and more relentlessly than anyone else by the victim.

That was the record of the torment Ethan had suffered.

My God, the record is that thick. Ethan, what kind of hell did you go through?

The thickness that had seemed meaningless just moments ago now weighed heavily on her heart.

—We have witnesses who heard Ethan Fairchild muttering that he would kill Baron Langdon.

—The perpetrator can harass, but the victim shouldn’t get angry? Anyone says things like that when they’re furious.

—So, did you ever hear Ethan Fairchild say he wanted to kill your brother, Lady?