Chapter 2 - The Interrogation Room
The fluorescent bulbs inside Cumberland County Sheriff’s Department hummed with an irritating, low-frequency buzz that grated against my temples. I sat on a bolted metal chair, both wrists still handcuffed to an iron loop anchored in the center of the wooden table.
Detective Marcus Vance flipped open a thick manila folder and dropped it across from me. Inside were three typed statements, signed with familiar, looping signatures.
"Your father, Arthur Callahan. Your mother, Brenda. Your sister, Kelsey," Vance said, tapping each document with a nicotine-stained finger. "They showed up at the station together at seven o'clock this morning. Your mother was in tears. She gave our intake officer a detailed account of how you pulled that 9mm out of the couch cushions, leveled it at your sister, and told them you had learned how to make bodies disappear in the desert."
"I work in logistics, Detective," I said evenly. "I manage heavy equipment transports, supply manifests, and fuel distribution. I don't execute assassinations in the desert."
"Humor doesn't play well with judges, Sergeant," Vance warned, leaning forward. "Here’s what I have: a broken doorframe consistent with an altercation, three corroborating witness statements from your immediate family, and a loaded, unregistered firearm pulled from your living room sofa with a round chambered. The serial number on that weapon has been scratched off."
That detail struck me hard. An obliterated serial number wasn't just a domestic charge; it was a federal felony. Dad hadn't simply tried to scare me into coughing up money. He had gone to the criminal underworld to buy an untraceable gun, intending to send me to a federal penitentiary.
"Did you run prints on the weapon?" I asked.
"Forensics has the gun right now," Vance replied. "They'll process the grips, the magazine, and the frame. If your prints are on it, you're going to spend the next ten to fifteen years in a federal facility."
"My prints will not be on that weapon," I said. "Because I never touched it. What you will find, if your forensics unit does their job properly, are the epithelial cells or partial prints of my father or my sister."
Vance let out a dry, cynical laugh. "Why would a retired postal worker and a twenty-three-year-old college dropout buy an illegal burner piece, break into their daughter's house, and hide it in her sofa?"
"Because for five years, I gave them over sixty thousand dollars," I answered, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I paid their mortgage. I paid their car notes. I paid off Kelsey's credit cards. Two weeks ago, my mother accidentally forwarded me an amendment to their estate trust. My father removed my name completely. They left everything to Kelsey, explicitly stating that because I had an Army salary, I didn't need inheritance. So I cut them off. The first missed mortgage payment hit their bank on Monday."
Vance paused, his pen hovering above his yellow legal pad. For the first time, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. "Family drama is ugly, Sergeant. But people don't plant untraceable handguns just because a debit card gets declined."
"You don't know Arthur Callahan," I said quietly. "To my father, loss of control is worse than death. When I was sixteen, he smashed my bedroom door off its hinges with a crowbar because I took an after-school shift at a diner without asking his permission. He doesn't see me as a daughter. He sees me as an asset he owns."
Before Vance could respond, the heavy steel door clicked open. Captain Torres stepped into the room, flanked by Captain David Ruiz from the base Staff Judge Advocate office.
"Detective," Captain Ruiz said, displaying his credentials. "I am Captain Ruiz, trial defense counsel from Fort Bragg. I represent Staff Sergeant Callahan. Any further questioning of my client without my presence will constitute a violation of her Article 31 rights and Sixth Amendment protections."
Vance exhaled slowly, closing the folder. "She’s facing state felony charges, Captain. The civilian jurisdiction supersedes your military tribunal right now."
"We understand that," Ruiz said calmly, pulling out a chair and sitting beside me. "We're here to facilitate the transition of evidence. Because the alleged domestic altercation involved an active-duty military workstation and government property, the United States Army Criminal Investigation Division has initiated a concurrent inquiry."
Torres stepped toward the table, her eyes softer now. "Callahan, are you injured?"
May you like
"Minor bruising on my left shoulder and cheek, ma'am," I said. "I'm functional."
"Good," Torres said, leaning down slightly so only Ruiz and I could hear. "Because your father didn't stop with the sheriff's office. He just delivered a written complaint to the base commanding general. He’s demanding your immediate dishonorable discharge before sunset."
