Chapter 4 - The Interrogation Room
The interrogation room at the central police district smelled of stale coffee and industrial floor bleach.
Julian sat at the stainless-steel table, his tuxedo jacket folded neatly over the back of his chair, his posture still impeccably straight despite the handcuffs secured to the metal bolt on the desk.
His high-powered defense attorney, Arthur Vance, pacing the room with a legal pad, looked annoyed at having his evening disrupted.
"This is a baseless smear campaign instigated by an emotionally unstable woman experiencing prenatal psychosis," Vance declared to Detective Keller.
"My client has an unblemished record, donates thousands to the community, and has never received a single domestic disturbance call."
Detective Keller sat down opposite Julian without opening her binder.
She simply placed a portable tablet on the table and tapped the screen once.
The high-definition video from the bedroom monitor began to play, silent but horrifyingly clear.
On the screen, Julian’s digital counterpart calmly unhooked the leather strap, wrapped it around his knuckles, and began his methodical count.
One.
Two.
Ten.
Twenty.
Julian stared at the screen, his jaw muscles clenching so hard his temple pulsed, but his expression remained chillingly devoid of shame.
"That camera was installed for home security," Julian said coldly, his voice devoid of his usual gala charm.
"Clara consented to the monitoring system. Anything depicted is a private marital matter that has been taken entirely out of context."
Keller leaned forward, resting her forearms on the cold steel table.
"Forty blows with a weighted training strap to a pregnant woman's back is not a marital matter, Mr. Hartmann. It is a Class-A felony."
Vance reached out and tapped the tablet, stopping the video before the thirtieth strike.
"We will challenge the chain of custody of this digital file," Vance said smoothly. "Cloud storage can be altered, hacked, or manipulated by unauthorized third parties."
Keller smiled coldly, sliding Dr. Weber's certified medical report and thirty high-resolution photographs of Clara's injuries across the table.
"We have the physical strap with your epidermal cells on the leather," Keller said.
"We have the victim's bloodstains on the slate shower tiles, and we have thirty-two independent time-stamps verified by the server host."
Julian looked up from the photographs, his cold blue eyes locking onto Keller’s.
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"She has nowhere to go," Julian whispered softly. "She doesn't have a dollar in her own name that I don't control."
"She has her father," Keller replied, standing up and gathering her files. "And unlike you, Mr. Hartmann, he doesn't need a strap to prove he's a man."
