"Here, use this."
Pyotr handed her a towel wrapped around a plastic bag filled with ice. Charlotte's eyes drifted off for a moment, vacant of any expression, before she hesitantly reached out and took the towel as if doing so unconsciously.
"Good… now place it gently on your cheek. Very gently, Charlotte."
"Hmm…"
Charlotte murmured faintly, then lifted the cold towel and softly pressed it against her left cheek, where swelling had begun to form from the slap.
Once Pyotr confirmed her compliance, he took a deep breath, then stepped back and sat beside Alia on the opposite couch.
"Alright, now that things have calmed down a bit, I'd like to ask a few questions."
He smiled faintly, trying to ease the tension.
"Let's start with something simple… What just happened out there in the hallway? A real fight, or just a passing argument?"
"That—"
Before Charlotte could answer, Alia interrupted with a sharper, more focused tone:
"And what's your relationship with that man?"
The image of that man gently wiping Charlotte's tears lingered in Alia's mind, refusing to fade.
Pyotr turned slowly to Alia, his brows raised in barely concealed surprise, clearly displeased with her intrusion.
Charlotte, meanwhile, pressed her lips together for a moment before speaking:
"As for what happened… it was just a passing argument. I won't press charges against anyone, and I don't want to get into the details."
She paused for a few seconds, then added in a quiet, honest tone:
"I have nothing more to say. Can you please… just leave?"
Despite the firmness in her words, there was a subtle vulnerability in her voice.
That broken calm unsettled Alia. She leaned forward, but Pyotr's arm gently stopped her.
Her tongue, however, did not rest:
"Charlotte Smith, we're not here to waste time. Your job is to answer!"
"Alia, please… calm down, be more gentle."
"More gentle? When she refuses to cooperate with us?"
"Tell me right now, what's your relationship with that man!"
Charlotte tightened her grip on the towel and bit her inner lip.
"We're not here to pry into her life. All we want are a few answers about the day of the incident. So why are you so intent on attacking her?"
Pyotr placed a hand on Alia's shoulder and turned her toward him with a stern look.
"You need to control your temper and structure your questions."
His tone was calm, but his green eyes carried a quiet warning.
Alia felt the pressure, exhaled deeply, and tried to collect herself.
"Understood."
Despite her effort to restrain her emotions, Charlotte's blank stare was enough to reignite the anger—but this time, Alia chose to let it go.
She gently pushed Pyotr's hand aside, rose from the couch, and walked to the window, taking deep breaths. Pyotr watched her back for a moment before turning to Charlotte.
Thankfully, Charlotte hadn't kicked them out—at least not yet. She was just… disturbingly calm, painfully polite. Even her request for them to leave had sounded more like a plea than a command.
Maybe he had misjudged her before, but now, he was beginning to understand her.
Pyotr narrowed his eyes, studying her features, trying to read the pain gnawing at her from within… but he couldn't ignore the opportunity.
He had to press her.
"Please, Charlotte Smith… cooperate with us. Not for us, but for yourself."
Her lips quivered slightly, and she lowered her hand with the towel onto her lap.
"I'm going to ask you now about the day the pet was killed… no more drifting into minor arguments, alright?"
He watched for her protest, but Charlotte showed none—though her unease was written all over her face.
After all, who feels comfortable speaking of such a painful day?
Pyotr nodded and continued:
"Good, then… do you have any suspicions about who broke into your apartment and killed your neighbor's puppy?"
He asked softly, watching the color slowly drain from her face.
"Was it someone you know?"
"No, I don't know him."
Her reply was quick, her voice clear and free of evasion.
"Alright… can you guess who the person might be?"
Charlotte didn't answer right away. She shut her eyes suddenly, as if to banish an image she didn't want to see.
That sadistic smile, those dead eyes that strangled her spirit… like the hand that once dared to choke her.
That day...
The memories flooded her mind: the garden, the fresh air, Hunter jumping across the grass… then the grocery store, his whispers, and his desire to see her break right until the very end.
If she hadn't gone there, would any of this have happened?
Who was to blame?
Oh God… how naive she had been.
Charlotte swallowed her turmoil, as if suppressing the urge to vomit, and tried to cling to the fragments of her crumbling composure.
Finally, she said:
"No…"
Then paused for a moment, before adding in the tone of someone bad at lying:
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
Pyotr studied her face, gauging her honesty with his eyes, then murmured:
"Alright… then can you tell me exactly what happened before the incident?"
"That day…?"
Charlotte was momentarily surprised by her own voice, then decided to recount what happened that day.
"It was a warm day. I had breakfast with my boyfriend, and we went out together to buy this necklace."
She brushed her fingers gently against the small pendant around her neck and continued:
"After that, we came back, and some things happened… I ended up throwing pillows at my boyfriend."
"I don't mean to pry, but why did you do that?"
Charlotte hesitated, wondering if it was better to ignore the question, but gave a short answer:
"We were having fun."
Pyotr nodded. He remembered Leonid's testimony perfectly, yet he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't heard the truth from her.
As if Leonid even knew what fun was.
Alya stood by the window, shooting Charlotte a fiery glare before turning her eyes outside.
At that moment, she spotted Leonid's car pulling up in front of the building. He stepped out holding grocery bags.
"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear..."
She muttered under her breath, suddenly realizing the weight of what she'd done.
"It's my fault…"
Charlotte whispered suddenly, barely audible.
"Your fault?"
Pyotr leaned in slightly, trying to catch the fragility in her voice.
Charlotte nodded faintly, but didn't speak right away. She remained silent, breathing slowly, then whispered again:
"That day… I was really excited to see the rain. It was a beautiful chance, since the clouds were full but without lightning.
I pulled my friend up to the rooftop in a hurry, and I didn't bother to lock the door behind me… and because of that, he managed to get in."
Pyotr paused at her words, then said in a calm, focused tone:
"Who are you talking about?"
Then he added with a hint of sarcasm:
"You know him, don't you?"
Charlotte's eyes widened, and in that moment, Pyotr felt he had finally grabbed the end of the thread.
There was a heaviness in her tone that told him there was a much deeper shadow than what first appeared.
Just as he suspected… the killer wasn't that homeless man.
After the interrogation room incident, nearly all the senior officers agreed: the vagrant was just a cover, a distraction from something deeper and far more dangerous.
How could an unstable homeless man break into a secured residential building and leave unnoticed?
No matter the so-called motives he gave during questioning, something had never added up from the start.
Charlotte was still staring in shock had she really said something that implied she knew that lunatic?
"Don't pretend to be surprised, Charlotte Smith. Now... tell me who he is."
"I... I don't know him."
Pyotr looked at her steadily.
"Don't try to dodge the question. Maybe you don't know his name, but you can recognize him, can't you?"
"No... no."
She shook her head slowly, no longer able to keep her composure.
"There's no need to be afraid, just tell me—"
"I said no!"
The words burst from Charlotte's mouth, her eyes locked onto Pyotr's, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Then she said in a low, deadly voice so different from a moment ago, as if someone else had possessed her:
"You need to stop."
Her dark eyes met Pyotr's calm ones, like a shadowed forest staring into a still lake.
Pyotr had been on the verge of getting the long-awaited confession from her, but it seemed realization had struck Charlotte like a blow.
He sighed softly and stood up, his voice calm but laced with hidden disappointment:
"Very well... thank you for your cooperation."
"No! We're not done!"
The voice came from behind. Charlotte slowly opened her eyes and turned toward Alia.
Alia had stepped forward, slamming her palm down on the table in front of Charlotte with a sharp thud that sliced through the silence like a slap to the face.
"What does he look like? Who is he?!"
She shouted passionately, her body leaning forward like someone chasing the truth.
"Tell me now... this is important!"
Charlotte's shoulders trembled, her lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears that had yet to fall.
Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell rang out through the tense air, but it didn't stop Alia.
She suddenly reached out and yanked Charlotte by the collar of her high-neck blouse, causing her neck to reveal slightly, and she saw something resembling the marks of an intimate struggle visible on it.
Charlotte was eerily quiet, still in shock as the tears began to trail slowly down her cheeks.
"Tell me now, who is he?"
Alia felt bitterness, but this was not the right time. She knew Leonid had finally arrived, but she wouldn't open the door. Not before Charlotte confessed... and ended this mess by revealing the identity of the killer.
"Alia, stop!"
Pyotr rushed forward, stepping between them and firmly grabbing Alia by the wrist.
"You're crossing the line!"
Pyotr snapped, but Alia pulled back from his grip, her eyes glowing with fury.
"Leave me alone! This is important someone like you wouldn't understand!"
"And why would you think that?"
Pyotr tightened his grip slightly, his tone dropping into something deeper, more serious.
"Because you're part of a secret investigation, aren't you?"
He paused, watching Alia's expression harden, then leaned in and whispered:
"Stay calm… this isn't an interrogation of a dangerous criminal. She's a vulnerable civilian. Understood?"
"How—!"
"Now's not the time for questions. What matters is that you back off. Now."
He cut her off firmly and waited. After a moment thick with defiance, Alia finally stepped back, reluctantly.
Pyotr stood there for a moment, regaining his composure. Then he turned to the tear-streaked Charlotte and walked toward the door with steady steps, hand reaching for the handle to open it.