Silva

Chapter Seventeen

• Irisa •

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"Thank you for meeting me again," Officer Norine utters as she puts down her bag.

She's not in her uniform again. Over the phone call, she told me the reason for this meeting. I don't want to call her stupid, but what she's doing isn't wise.

Unless it's reverse psychology.

Police these days need to outsmart criminals' craftiness, and it's a constant battle of who is the strongest.

I wouldn't put it past her to use me to get to Silva. If that man's face is plastered across the internet with no consequences, then it means the FBI doesn't have enough to convict Silva.

Nothing less than capital punishment could stop Silva, but they need irrefutable evidence. Life imprisonment will do the trick.

I've researched Silva, and it's a steep rabbit hole. Direct and indirectly, the number of deaths caused by him is astronomical.

I saw a website dedicated to him, like an obsessed fan documenting all the crimes that Silva did in chronological order.

Isn't it redundant?

Is it helping the police capture him or helping Silva get rid of incriminating evidence?

On the other hand, the obsessive 'fan' could be a vengeful person who had a loved one die because of Silva.

That site is popular; it's been compared to tributes to serial killers.

I didn't know what to think when I saw it, so I just called Silva. He knows about the site, but he's not concerned. Chances are, whatever the site owner knows, the government has a bigger file on it.

"Do you think Silva did this?" Officer Norine asks, straight to the point after she sits.

What is she getting at? My answer doesn't hold any weight to what she's pursuing, and it's likely a case that can bump her career.

"Pomegranate juice?" I suggest as I dodge her determined gaze to look at the menu board, "It's their Sunday Special."

Officer Norine clears her throat aggressively.

"No, I don't think it's him," I confess with definitive confidence.

Her eyes narrow with cynical suspicion while she reads between the words. She doesn't have to believe me; all I care about is Silva not being disappointed in me.

"Why?" she probes.

"Why what?" I counter, grimacing at the drink.

The taste of pomegranate juice sticks to my tongue with a layer of bitterness. This is not what they were advertised. It tastes like an unripe pomegranate blended with sugar.

"What makes you so sure it's not him?" she remarks hotly. "You know what kind of monster he is and what he's capable of."

That's one reason why I don't believe it's him. Silva doesn't like messiness.

He smacked my ass with a clean, swift, and painfully harsh slap when I suggested a convoluted solution to cook a meal that'll certainly destroy the kitchen.

My ass throbs knowingly.

"I can only trust my gut," I end up saying.

What does she want me to do, give her solid proof of murder? I wouldn't do that even if I didn't know Silva.

I don't want the mafia coming after me.

My life is just starting. I'm too young to die.

"Do you not care?" Officer Norine demands, her nostrils flaring. "Someone died because of you."