Hushed Confessions | ✔

{23} Questioning Crime

Sajdaa Taha

Sitting in Malik's office, I admired the paintings on the wall. He had an artistic appeal to him, picking up every artwork that seemed to represent his passionate aura. The paintings were bright lush gardens in Syria, flowers blooming in different colors, buildings soaring. On his desk,  my eyes landed on his family's photo. 

Unconsciously, I traced the image, my fingers running over the elation that used to exist in Malik's eyes. His brown curls looked just as perfect as they did today. I smiled. 

"Okay," said a deep voice behind me, "let's go over the files of those who died. We have to track this guy down."

Malik came in front of me with Hamza following close behind. 

"You would think it'd be easier to get this man, considering technology these days," muttered Hamza as he sat down beside me. "I mean it's been quite some time since we got anything."

"That's a lie. I made Cole analyze the security footage," commented Malik, sitting behind his desk. 

I glanced at the photo one last time. I wish I could help him, I thought before tearing my eyes away. Dwelling on the past wouldn't help me now. It never did. 

Malik's phone buzzed repeatedly, breaking me from my thoughts. Digging into his pockets, Malik took out his phone. His hazel eyes scanned the name on the screen, before sighing. 

"Yes, Cole?" he answered, tiredly. 

I couldn't blame him for being so tired. This was a long and tedious investigation that led us nowhere most of the time. I wondered if Malik faced any discrimination from his fellow officers for being Syrian, maybe that was why they didn't take him seriously. A killer was on the loose, and those police officers were treating it as a joke. 

That was the fault in our society. We allowed people to judge others based on race or ethnicity. We allowed crime to happen to those of a different skin tone. We allowed misfortune to ravage dangerous neighborhoods. We allowed injustice in the world because we refused to fix it. 

We were a society that loved to argue. Days, weeks, months, even years of arguments that lead to no path, no hope. It was countless debates over which side was superior or which side was wealthier, but all that lead to nothing. It lead to a disheveled society where depression rates shot up, where family life became a fragment, where mass shootings were normal. None of that should ever be considered normal. 

Yet, every argument, every life that was lost, every teenager that suffered from a mental illness, all became a hushed confession to society, where no side wanted to take responsibility and bring the people a solution. And that was what the killer thrived off. 

"You what?" shouted Malik as he stood up, once again breaking me from my thoughts. "Slow down, I can't understand what you're saying."

Hamza and I exchanged glances at each other. 

"Okay, just bring him in. I'll meet you in the interrogation room," he sighed and then hung up. 

"What's going on?" I asked. 

"Turns out that Cole tracked down the car from the security footage and found the driver. Nathan arrested him a while ago, and they should be headed to the interrogation room."

Hamza's eyes lit up. "Does this mean we get to interrogate this guy till he spills the beans?"

"Technically, yes."

"I want to come!" exclaimed Hamza, jumping up from his seat. "This is going to be just like all those mystery books I've read."

"I wouldn't get your-"