Chicago Husband Uncovered His Wife’s Secret Affair With His 17 Y/o Nephew And It Led To Murder Crime
…
Now, 6 months later, he was sitting in front of him, almost a young man.
muscular arms, broad shoulders, a confident posture, and this new habit of looking down on everyone as if he knew some secret that was inaccessible to those around him.
“How’s training?” Leroy asked, trying to strike up a conversation.
“Fine,” Malcolm shrugged.
“The coach says I have a good chance of becoming captain this season.
That’s great.
Your mom would be proud of you.
” At the mention of his mother, Malcolm’s face darkened for a moment, but he quickly regained his usual expression of detached indifference.
“Yeah, I guess so.
” They sat in an awkward silence, interrupted only by the sounds of the television.
Leroy finished his sandwich and drank the last of his beer.
He was about to get up and go to his bedroom when the front door swung open and Chanel walked in.
She looked radiant.
Despite the fact that it was almost 10:00 at night after what must have been a hard day at work, Chanel Banks was glowing with energy.
A bright summer dress hugged her still slender figure.
Her hair was styled in an elaborate hairstyle and a slight smile played on her lips.
“Hi, boys.
” she sang, placing her purse on the nightstand in the hallway.
Leroy and Malcolm turned to her at the same time.
While Leroyy’s gaze was tired and weary, something flashed in his nephew’s eyes that made Leroyy’s stomach clench.
“Greed? Lust?” he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he definitely didn’t like it.
“Were you late?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Yes, dear.
” Chanel came over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
She smelled of perfume he didn’t recognize.
Angie’s sister was getting married on Saturday and she needed her hair done urgently.
I couldn’t say no.
On Monday evening, Leroy raised an eyebrow.
She works on weekends.
Chanel shrugged, avoiding his gaze.
I couldn’t come until today.
Leroy glanced at Malcolm, who was watching them with undisguised interest, as if watching an exciting show.
“Are you hungry?” Chanel asked, heading for the kitchen.
“I can heat up your dinner.
” I already ate, Leroy replied dryly.
A sandwich? Oh.
Something like guilt flashed across her face for a moment.
I’m sorry, dear.
I thought you’d be having dinner at work as usual.
I didn’t have time today.
Chanel nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Malcolm got up from the sofa, stretching like a well-fed cat.
I’m going to bed, he announced.
Early training tomorrow.
Passing Leroy, he paused for a moment and leaned over, whispering, “You know, Uncle Roy, sometimes women need more than just a sandwich for dinner.
Some men know how to make them truly happy.
” Before the stunned Leroy could respond, Malcolm grinned and left the room, quietly whistling a tune.
Leroy sat frozen in his chair, trying to make sense of what he had heard.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Sounds came from the kitchen.
Chanel was clattering dishes, humming to herself.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard her sing.
Feeling a heaviness in his chest, he slowly got up and headed for the bedroom.
Passing Malcolm’s room, it used to be their guest bedroom, he noticed that the door was a jar.
Muffled laughter came from inside.
Malcolm was writing to someone.
Leroy slowed his pace, listening.
A strange feeling came over him when he heard his nephew speaking quietly, clearly dictating a message.
You looked amazing today.
I can’t wait for tomorrow.
I love it when you wear that red lingerie.
Leroyy’s ears filled with noise as if someone had turned on white noise at full volume.
Red lingerie? Chanel had recently bought a set of red underwear.
It was on sale at the store, she had explained at the time.
He walked into the bedroom and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.
His thoughts were racing.
This couldn’t be true.
His Chanel and that boy, his nephew, this was madness.
But Malcolm’s words wouldn’t leave his head.
Some men know how to make them truly happy.
Leroy opened the bedside table drawer and took out an old whiskey flask.
Taking a large swig of the burning liquid, he tried to collect his thoughts.
Maybe he had misunderstood.
Maybe it was some kind of terrible coincidence.
But the more he thought about all the strange things that had happened over the last few months, the more he became convinced that he was being deceived in his own home.
Chanel entered the bedroom 10 minutes later, still humming.
She looked at the bottle of whiskey in his hands with surprise.
“Hard day?” she asked, starting to take off her earrings in front of the mirror.
“You could say that,” Leroy said, watching her closely.
“How’s the salon? Really busy?” “Yes, it’s wedding season.
Everyone wants to look perfect,” she replied without looking at him.
Tamika is barely coping.
“Really?” She said things were quiet at the moment.
I saw her in the store the other day.
Chanel froze for a moment but quickly regained her composure.
Well, she meant that there weren’t many new customers.
The regulars still come in.
Leroy nodded, taking another sip of whiskey.
Your phone rang while you were in the shower yesterday.
He lied, watching her reaction.
Chanel spun around, her eyes widening.
Really? Who was it? I didn’t answer, but it said Ma on the display.
Oh.
She exhaled with relief.
That must be Melissa, the new client.
I gave her my number.
Really? I thought it might be Malcolm.
Chanel pald but quickly regained her composure.
Why would he call me? He lives here.
I don’t know.
Leroy shrugged.
You tell me.
A tense silence hung in the air.
Chanel turned to the mirror and began removing her makeup, her hands trembling slightly.
You’re acting strange today, Leroy, she said.
Maybe you should stop drinking.
You have to work tomorrow.
He ignored her remark.
Where’s your phone? What? She turned around, her eyes narrowing.
Why do you want my phone? Just curious.
It’s in my purse.
What’s the matter? Nothing.
Leroy finished his whiskey and put the empty bottle on the nightstand.
I’m going to take a shower.
He left the bedroom, but instead of going to the bathroom, he headed for the living room.
The Chanel handbag was still on the nightstand in the hallway.
Looking back to make sure his wife wasn’t following him, he quickly opened it and took out the phone.
The screen was locked.
He used to know her password.
Their wedding day.
He typed in the four digits, but the phone didn’t unlock.
That meant she had changed her password.
That alone was suspicious.
Suddenly, the phone in his hand vibrated.
An incoming message.
The lock screen displayed, “M, I can’t stop thinking about you.
Tomorrow, as usual, Leroyy’s breath caught in his throat.
” He heard Chanel’s footsteps coming out of the bedroom and quickly put the phone back in her purse.
“Leroy,” she called.
“Aren’t you in the shower?” “I’m coming,” he replied, feeling everything inside him boil with anger and pain.
The next few days turned into hell for Leroy.
He watched his wife and nephew, noticing every glance, every gesture.
Things that had seemed innocent before now took on a sinister meaning, like when Malcolm accidentally touched Chanel’s hand as she handed him a plate at dinner.
How they exchanged glances thinking Leroy wasn’t looking.
How Chanel suddenly started cooking Malcolm’s favorite dishes and taking an interest in his workouts.
On Thursday, when he came home from work earlier than usual because the bus broke down, Leroy found the front door locked with a chain.
When he rang the bell, it was at least a minute before Chanel opened the door, out of breath and with her hair tousled.
“Leroy,” she exclaimed, clearly surprised by his early return.
“You’re home early.
” He walked past her, looking around the living room carefully.
“Where’s Malcolm?” in his room probably.
” She shrugged, fiddling with the collar of her blouse.
“I don’t watch him every minute.
” Leroy headed for his nephew’s room and opened the door without knocking.
Malcolm was sitting at the table with a textbook, looking too focused for someone who usually showed no interest in his studies.
“Hi, Uncle Roy,” he said without looking up from his book.
“You’re early today.
” “Yes, the bus broke down,” Leroy said, looking around the room carefully.
The bed was neatly made, which was not like Malcolm’s usual mess.
Getting ready for school.
Yeah, Malcolm finally looked up and Leroy could have sworn he saw a challenge in his eyes.
I want to be ready for the new school year.
Good for you, Leroy replied dryly, and left, closing the door behind him.
Chanel was waiting for him in the hallway, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Should it be?” he retorted.
No, of course not, she said, hurrying into the kitchen.
I’ll make dinner.
On Saturday morning, while looking through the phone bills, Leroy discovered that Chanel had sent dozens of messages to the same number, especially on days when she was supposedly late for work.
And that number belonged to none other than Malcolm’s phone, which they had bought for him when he moved in with them.
On the same day that Chanel said she was going to the store, Leroy followed her.
She did go to the mall, but she met Malcolm there, who was supposed to be at practice.
Leroy watched from behind a clothing rack as they argued fiercely in the men’s department.
You promised, he heard Malcolm say.
I can’t take that much from our account.
He’ll notice.
Chanel hissed in response.
I don’t care.
You know what will happen if I tell him about us.
Chanel looked around, clearly nervous, and Leroy hurried to hide behind a mannequin.
Not here.
She grabbed Malcolm by the arm.
Let’s talk somewhere else.
They left the store and Leroy followed at a safe distance.
Chanel and Malcolm got into her old Ford and drove away.
Leroy hailed a taxi and told the driver to follow them.
Chanel’s car stopped near an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of their neighborhood.
The place had a bad reputation.
It was often frequented by drug addicts and dealers.
Leroy watched as his wife and nephew entered the dilapidated building through a side door.
Wait for me here, he said to the taxi driver, handing him a 20.
I won’t be long.
Leroyy’s heart was pounding as he slowly approached the building.
The worst case scenarios ran through his head.
What would he do if his worst suspicions were confirmed? He didn’t know.
The front door creaked disgustingly as he pulled it open.
It was dark inside and smelled of damp, mold, and something else he couldn’t identify.
Muffled voices came from somewhere deep inside the building.
Leroy moved cautiously toward the sound, trying not to make any noise, making his way between old boxes and rubbish.
He finally saw them.
Chanel and Malcolm standing in the middle of the empty space, lit only by the light coming through the dirty windows under the ceiling.
They were arguing fiercely, Malcolm waving his arms and Chanel seemed to be begging him for something.
“You can’t do this to me,” Malcolm shouted.
“After everything we’ve been through, you have to understand.
I can’t just leave him.
Chanel’s voice trembled.
I need time.
Time? Malcolm laughed bitterly.
You’ve had 6 months.
Or do you think I’m going to keep our little secret forever.
Maybe Uncle Roy would be interested to know that his wife is sleeping with his nephew.
Leroy felt the ground slip away from under his feet.
It was one thing to suspect, but quite another to hear it so directly, so bluntly.
His ears rang and his vision blurred.
He grabbed the nearest box to keep from falling and it toppled over with a crash.
Chanel and Malcolm spun around.
“Who’s there?” Malcolm shouted.
Leroy knew he had to go out and confront them.
He had to demand an explanation, let out all the anger boiling inside him.
But he couldn’t move.
He couldn’t find the strength to face this betrayal.
So, he did what he would later bitterly regret.
He turned around and silently headed for the exit, leaving his wife and nephew unaware of his presence.
Once outside, he took a deep breath of the stale city air.
A single thought pulsed through his head.
He had to do something.
He had to make them pay for this humiliation, for this pain.
The taxi was still waiting for him.
“Take me back home,” he said to the driver as he climbed into the back seat.
On the way home, he began to formulate a plan.
He would wait for them at home.
He would confront them.
He would make them confess everything and then then he would decide what to do next.
Detective Andre Jackson got out of his patrol car, squinting in the bright morning sun.
Police officers were bustling around the abandoned warehouse, stretching yellow tape and shoeing away onlookers.
What do we have here? He asked officer Rodriguez.
The victim is a black male, approximately 17 years old.
Multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen.
The body was discovered by a homeless person around 5 this morning.
Jackson went inside the warehouse.
Dr Chen, the medical examiner, was working there.
Death occurred between 11 pm and 1:00 am, she reported.
At least 12 stab wounds.
The killer was enraged.
Robbery, Jackson suggested.
Unlikely.
His phone and wallet with $200 were found on him.
Detective, the victim’s relatives have arrived, one of the officers reported.
Outside, Jackson saw a patrol car.
A middle-aged woman in tears and a man with a stony face were getting out.
“I’m Detective Andre Jackson.
Are you related to Malcolm Washington?” “I’m his aunt, Chanel Banks.
This is my husband, Leroy,” the woman sobbed.
“Malcolm has been living with us since my sister-in-law died.
” “Tell me this is a mistake.
” “I’m very sorry,” Jackson said gently.
“We’ll need an official identification.
I want to see him now.
” While officer Perez escorted Chanel to the body, Jackson began questioning Leroy.
When was the last time you saw your nephew? Last night around 8.
He said he was going to see some friends.
Where were you last night? At home with my wife, Leroy said looking away.
I went to bed early.
I have to get up at 4:30 for work.
Chanel’s blood curdling scream interrupted their conversation.
She ran out of the warehouse, her face contorted with grief.
It’s him.
It’s our boy.
They killed our Malcolm.
Leroy hugged his wife, but his eyes remained dry.
Jackson noticed his jaw tense.
“When was the last time you saw Malcolm?” Jackson asked Chanel when she had calmed down a little.
“Yesterday around 7:00.
He hardly ate any dinner.
He said he was meeting some friends.
” “What friends?” He didn’t say.
Malcolm had been secretive lately.
Were you home all night? Yes, of course, with Leroy.
I called Malcolm around 11:00 and midnight, but he didn’t answer.
Were you worried? Jackson looked at Leroy.
He often didn’t come home until morning, he replied indifferently.
I thought he was with friends or a girl.
Chanel looked up sharply.
My god, Leroy, how can you say that now? Please come to the station this afternoon, Jackson said, handing them his card.
We need to ask you some more questions.
After the couple left, Jackson received a call from the lab.
We found a knife in a dumpster near the warehouse.
It has the victim’s blood and very clear fingerprints on it.
A few hours later, lab technician Martinez reported to the station.
The fingerprints belong to Leroy Banks.
He has a 30-year-old conviction for assault.
What about the victim? A minor.
No record.
According to his teachers, he was a star basketball player and a good student.
His coach says he had a chance at a sports scholarship.
He doesn’t sound like the troubled teenager Banks described, Jackson said thoughtfully.
When the couple arrived, Jackson decided to question them separately.
Mrs.
Banks, tell me about Malcolm.
What was your relationship like? He was like a son to me, Chanel sobbed.
He was withdrawn at first after his mother died, but then he settled in.
He helped around the house, did well in school.
And how was his relationship with your husband? Normal.
Leroy is a man of few words, as you may have noticed, especially since his back injury.
The pain makes him irritable.
Irritable? Has he ever been aggressive? No, he’s just distant.
A hard day at work, the pain, the drinking.
Does your husband drink a lot? More than usual lately.
Jackson made a note in his notebook.
Were you home all night? Yes.
We went to bed around 10:00.
We found a knife, Mrs.
Banks.
The murder weapon.
It has your husband’s fingerprints on it.
Chanel turned pale.
What? No, that’s impossible.
Leroy would never.
Do you recognize this knife? Jackson showed her a photograph.
That’s It looks like our kitchen knife from the set Leroy gave me last Christmas.
Her hands were shaking, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Anyone could have taken the knife from our house.
Leroyy’s interrogation didn’t clarify the situation either.
He insisted he had been home all night.
Your fingerprints are on the knife, Mr.
Banks.
And your nephew’s blood? That’s impossible.
A witness saw your car near the warehouse last night.
Jackson lied.
That’s a mistake.
My car was in the garage.
What if I told you that your nephew had an inappropriate relationship with your wife? Leroy flinched, his eyes widening for a moment.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, but his voice sounded unconvincing.
Mr.
Banks.
I’m going to have to arrest you on suspicion of murder.
As the officers cuffed him, Leroy turned to Jackson.
I didn’t kill him, but I know who did.
Who? Leroy shook his head.
It doesn’t matter.
You wouldn’t believe me anyway.
After Leroyy’s arrest, Jackson met with Chanel’s friend, Tamika Johnson.
Nelly was very attached to that boy, Tamika said.
And Leroy had become very withdrawn lately.
He and Malcolm often argued about what? About school money.
I told Nelly she needed to be careful.
Careful? What do you mean? Tamika shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Leroy is very old-fashioned.
He didn’t like that Malcolm was growing up so fast.
Can you be more specific? Listen, detective.
I’ve known Nelly for 20 years, but since that boy moved in with them, she’s changed.
She started dressing up more, wearing makeup.
Leroy suspected something.
Two weeks ago, he came to the salon looking for Nelly.
He was very agitated.
He was yelling that she was lying to him about being late for work.
And what did she say? She denied everything.
But then I saw her pass an envelope with money to Malcolm when she thought no one was looking.
Jackson returned to the evidence.
The knife with Leroyy’s fingerprints pointed to him.
But there were some oddities.
Why was Chanel so nervous when Malcolm mentioned the girl? Why did she give him money? And why did Leroy, usually so reserved, make such a scene at the salon? That evening, while looking through photos from the crime scene, Jackson noticed something in the trash can next to where the knife had been found.
He immediately called the lab.
Martinez, check the second trash can.
There’s something that looks like gloves.
An hour later, Martinez called back.
You were right.
We found a pair of latex gloves with the victim’s blood on them.
Too small for Leroy Banks hands.
Jackson froze.
A thin smile touched his lips.
Looks like our prime suspect was telling the truth.
He didn’t kill Malcolm, but he knows exactly who did.
Detective Andre Jackson sat at his desk covered with papers, massaging his temples.
The clock on the wall showed 3:00 in the morning, but sleep would not come.
Something about this case was bothering him.
The small gloves found in the trash can had turned the entire crime scene upside down.
Leroy Banks had spent 2 days in a holding cell, but he hadn’t asked for a lawyer once.
He just sat there staring into space like a man who had accepted his fate.
Or like a man who knows more than he’s saying.
“Can’t sleep, detective.
” Jackson looked up.
Captain Morrison was standing in the doorway, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.
“The Washington case, Jackson.
Something’s not right here, Captain.
You’ve got Banks’s fingerprints on the murder weapon.
Witnesses confirming tension between him and the guy, and a possible motive.
Jealousy over his wife.
What else do you need? Gloves, Captain.
The gloves are too small for Banks.
Then they’re not his.
Maybe the guy brought them himself for protection.
Jackson shook his head.
No, there’s something else here.
Banks said he knew who killed his nephew.
I think he’s covering for someone.
His wife.
Morrison raised an eyebrow.
You think she could have done it? I don’t know, but I want to find out.
Jackson gathered the papers into a folder.
I’m going to Tama Johnson’s.
She may have more information than she gave us yesterday.
Nighttime Chicago greeted him with empty streets and drizzling rain.
Occasional cars drove by splashing puddles.
The light from the street lamps reflected off the wet asphalt, giving the city a ghostly appearance.
Tama Johnson lived in a small apartment above an ice cream parlor three blocks from the Corona beauty salon.
When Jackson knocked on the door, she opened it almost immediately as if she hadn’t been asleep and had been waiting for him.
Detective.
Her voice sounded frightened.
Is something wrong? We need to talk, Miss Johnson.
Jackson showed her his badge.
Can we come in? The apartment smelled of cigarettes and cheap perfume.
Tama was in a bathrobe and without her bright makeup, she looked older and tired.
“I know you haven’t told me everything,” Jackson began without preamble about Chanel and Malcolm.
Tamika sank onto the couch, clutching a pack of cigarettes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
” “Listen, Leroy Banks is in jail for a murder he may not have committed.
If you know anything, now is the time to tell me.
” Tamika was silent for a long time, then took out a cigarette and lit it despite Jackson’s obvious disapproval.
I didn’t want to believe it, she finally said.
Nelly was my best friend.
We’ve known each other since we were kids, but in the last few months, she’s changed.
How exactly? At first, I thought it was because of her sister-in-law’s death.
Then I decided she was just happy to have a baby in the house.
She and Leroy could never have children, you know.
Tamika flicked the ashes into the cup on the coffee table.
But then I started noticing the way she looked at him.
Not like an aunt looks at her nephew.
You think they were having an affair? Tamika nodded without looking at the detective.
One day, I walked into the back room of the salon without knocking.
They were there together.
Malcolm had her pressed against the wall and they were kissing.
When they saw me, Nelly said it wasn’t what I thought, that she wasn’t feeling well and he was just holding her up.
And you believed her? I wanted to believe it.
Tamika smiled bitterly.
But then I started noticing other things.
How she would pri before he came home.
How they would exchange glances when they thought no one was looking.
How she always found an excuse to touch him.
Did you talk to her about it? Yes, I tried.
She denied everything.
She said I was crazy, that he was just a kid, only 17.
Tama took a deep drag.
But he didn’t look like a kid, detective, and he didn’t act like a kid.
What about the money? Did you see her give him money? It started about a month ago.
Malcolm became different, more aggressive, demanding.
I heard them arguing in the salon after closing time.
He was yelling that if she didn’t give him the money, he would tell everyone about their little secret.
He was blackmailing her.
Yes.
At first, it was small amounts.
Then his appetite grew.
Last Friday, she withdrew almost her entire paycheck, $2,000.
How did you find out? I was with her at the bank.
She said it was for roof repairs, but I saw her give Malcolm an envelope near his school that evening.
Jackson made a note in his notebook.
Anything else? Anything unusual in the days leading up to the murder? Tamika stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another one.
On Monday, the day before, Nelly came to work with bruises.
She said she fell down the stairs, but I’ve been working with women for 20 years, detective.
I know what finger marks on wrists look like.
Malcolm, I think so.
She was very scared all day.
She kept checking her phone and in the evening, she got a message and left immediately without even finishing her client’s hair.
She said it was urgent.
What time was that? Around 6:00.
I finished for her.
The client was unhappy.
Jackson nodded.
The time matched Chanel’s statement.
She said she saw Malcolm at 7:00 in the evening while she was making dinner.
Thank you for your honesty, Miss Johnson.
The detective stood up.
If you remember anything else, call us anytime.
Detective.
Tamika stopped him at the door.
Do you think Nelly could have? I don’t know, Jackson replied honestly.
But I’m going to find out.
The morning meeting at the station began with a discussion of new evidence.
Dr Chen brought the results of the additional autopsy.
The direction of the blows indicates that the attacker was shorter than the victim, she said, showing a diagram on her tablet.
Malcolm Washington was about 5’9.
Leroy Banks was about 5’11.
Chanel Banks is about 165 cm tall.
She could have reached his neck and chest while standing in front of him, Jackson said thoughtfully.
“Any signs of a struggle?” “Traces of skin and synthetic fiber were found under the victim’s fingernails,” Dr Chen said, flipping through the report.
“It looks like latex glove material.
There were also traces of lipstick on the shirt collar.
Red lipstick.
Chanel Banks was wearing red lipstick when I saw her at the crime scene.
” Jackson recalled.
And when she came in for questioning, “That doesn’t prove anything,” Captain Morrison remarked.
“Maybe they saw each other before he died.
” She said herself that she was cooking dinner for him.
“What about fingerprints?” Jackson asked, turning to Martinez.
“Only Leroy Banks’s fingerprints were found on the knife.
They’re very clear, as if the knife had been carefully wiped down and then picked up again,” the lab technician replied.
But microtraces of skin that don’t belong to either the victim or Banks were found on the gloves inside.
Can you compare them to samples from Chanel Banks? If you provide a sample, Jackson nodded.
I want to question Leroy Banks again and his wife separately.
Leroy looked even more exhausted than he had 2 days ago.
The stubble on his face had turned into a beard and his eyes were red from lack of sleep.
Mr.
Thanks,” Jackson began, sitting down across from him in the interrogation room.
“We found new evidence.
Gloves in the trash can too small for your hands.
” Leroy slowly looked up.
“So what? And that’s making me think you didn’t kill Malcolm.
” Leroy was silent, staring at his hands on the table.
“But you know who did it?” Jackson continued.
“You said so when you were arrested.
I know who did it.
I say a lot of things.
” Leroy replied evasively.
Mr.
Banks, if you’re innocent, why aren’t you defending yourself? Why don’t you demand a lawyer? Why are you just sitting here and accepting the charges? Leroy looked up.
And for the first time, Jackson saw not emptiness in his eyes, but deep, unbearable pain.
Because it’s my fault, he said quietly.
All of it.
I should have noticed sooner.
Noticed what, Mr.
Banks? The way she looked at him.
The way she changed when he walked into the room.
At first, I thought it was maternal feelings.
She always wanted a child.
Leroy shook his head.
But then I started noticing other things.
Her new clothes, her absences, her lies, and his arrogance.
The way he looked at me as if he knew something I didn’t.
When did you find out about them? Exactly.
A month ago, I saw messages on her phone.
She left it at home when she went to the salon.
I wanted to call her and tell her, but I accidentally saw a notification from M.
The message was unambiguous.
What did you do? Nothing.
I couldn’t believe it.
I didn’t want to believe it.
That my wife, who is 45 years old, was sleeping with a 17-year-old boy with my nephew.
With my late sister’s son, Leroyy’s voice faltered.
I started drinking more.
I began following them.
Once I followed her to an abandoned warehouse, I saw them arguing about what? Money.
He was demanding more and more.
He threatened to tell me if she didn’t pay him.
And then Leroy swallowed hard.
He threatened to report her to the police for seducing a minor.
She could have gotten a real sentence.
Exactly.
She begged him not to do it.
Said she loved him.
That she would leave me for him when he turned 18.
And him? He laughed in her face.
He said she was an old fool if she thought he’d stay with her.
That he had dozens like her.
Leroy clenched his fists.
I wanted to kill him right then and there.
I really did, but I didn’t.
What happened on the night of the murder? Leroy was silent for a long time, then sighed.
I really did go to bed early, around 10:00.
I woke up to the sound of the front door.
Chanel wasn’t in bed.
I looked at the clock.
It was midnight.
I thought maybe she’d gone to check if Malcolm was back, but she was gone for a long time.
I got up and looked around the house.
Malcolm wasn’t there.
Neither was Chanel.
Did you go look for them? No.
Leroy shook his head.
I went back to bed.
I figured they were together.
I drank almost half a bottle of whiskey and passed out.
I woke up in the morning to the doorbell ringing.
It was the police telling me Malcolm was dead.
What about Chanel? She was in the bathroom.
When she came out, her hair was wet and she was wearing fresh clothes.
Did she say anything? She asked who had come.
When I told her it was the police and that Malcolm was dead, she broke down.
She started screaming and crying.
But you know what’s strange, detective? Leroy looked up at Jackson.
There was no surprise in her scream.
Only fear.
Why didn’t you tell me all this before? Leroy shrugged.
What difference does it make? You have my fingerprints on the knife.
I don’t know how they got there, but they’re there.
I have a motive enough to put me away for life.
He paused.
Besides, if I tell the truth, Chanel will go to prison.
And despite everything, I still love her.
” Jackson looked at the man across from him, thinking about the strange form of love that makes someone take the blame for someone else.
“Mr.
Banks, I can’t promise that everything will be okay, but I promise I’ll find the truth.
” After talking to Leroy, Jackson called Chanel Banks in for another interview.
She arrived in a black dress with minimal makeup, looking like a grieving aunt.
But Jackson noticed that her hands were shaking and she was avoiding his gaze.
“Mrs.
Banks, thank you for coming,” he began.
“I have some new questions about the night of the murder.
” “I’ve already told you everything I know,” she replied tensely.
“Yes, but in light of new evidence,” Jackson placed a photograph of the gloves found in the trash can in front of her.
“Have you ever seen these gloves before?” Chanel glanced quickly at the photo and looked away.
No, never.
That’s strange.
They look very similar to the gloves used in your beauty salon.
Tamika recognized them.
Chanel tensed.
Maybe we use hundreds of those gloves every month.
You can buy them at any store.
That’s true, but these particular gloves were found near the scene of your nephew’s murder, and they have traces of his blood on them.
I don’t understand what this has to do with me.
Chanel crossed her arms over her chest.
My husband has already been arrested for the murder.
You have his fingerprints on the knife.
Yes, but we also have witness statements about your special relationship with Malcolm.
Chanel’s face froze.
What relationship? He was my nephew.
According to some witnesses, your relationship went beyond family ties.
Jackson watched her reaction.
Tamika saw you with Malcolm in the back room of the salon in a compromising situation.
Tama is lying, Chanel cried.
She’s always been jealous of me.
She’s always wanted to destroy my family.
What about the money? The $2,000 you withdrew from your account the day before the murder.
That’s That’s for roof repairs.
I already told you.
But the repairs never started, and the money is gone.
Jackson leaned forward.
Mrs.
Banks, we have witnesses who saw you handing the money to Malcolm.
He was blackmailing you, wasn’t he? Chanel clenched her fists, her breathing quickening.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
You know what else is interesting? Jackson continued, pretending to look through his notes.
When I first met you at the crime scene, you knew Malcolm had been stabbed, but I never told you how he was killed.
I I saw the blood.
You saw his body from a distance, accompanied by Officer Perez.
He confirms that you didn’t get close enough to see the wounds.
Chanel turned pale, her lips trembling.
I don’t understand what you’re getting at, detective.
One more detail, Jackson said, looking almost bored.
We found a surveillance camera recording near the warehouse.
The quality isn’t great, but you can make out a female figure entering the building shortly before the estimated time of the murder.
It was a lie.
There were no cameras near the abandoned warehouse.
But Chanel couldn’t know that.
“That’s impossible,” she whispered.
And Jackson realized his bluff had worked.
“Why is it impossible, Mrs.
Banks?” he asked gently.
“Because you were sure no one saw you,” Chanel suddenly jumped up, knocking over her chair.
“I want a lawyer.
I won’t say anything else without a lawyer.
” “Of course, that’s your right,” Jackson replied calmly.
“But before we finish, one more question.
Who put the knife with your husband’s fingerprints in the trash can? Chanel froze, her eyes wide with fear.
I didn’t.
You took the knife from the house knowing it had Leroyy’s fingerprints on it.
You put on gloves so you wouldn’t leave your own prince, but in your haste, you threw them away near the crime scene.
That was a mistake, Mrs.
Banks.
A big mistake.
Chanel covered her face with her hands and began to sob.
Through her tears, Jackson made out, “I didn’t want to.
He threatened me.
He said he would tell Leroy that he would take me to court, that he would ruin my life.
” Jackson silently turned on the tape recorder.
“Mrs.
Banks, I must read you your rights.
You have the right to remain silent.
” Chanel Banks interrogation lasted 3 hours.
In the presence of her lawyer, she admitted that she had been in an intimate relationship with Malcolm for 4 months.
At first, she said, she had succumbed to his persistent advances, feeling young and desired for the first time in many years.
But soon, the relationship changed.
He became different, she said, staring into space.
Cruel, demanding.
He started asking for money.
At first, it was a little, then more and more.
He said that if I didn’t pay, he would tell Leroy about us.
And then then he started threatening to go to the police.
He said he would say that I seduced him against his will, but you didn’t end the relationship.
I couldn’t.
He said he had photos, videos.
Chanel wiped away her tears.
I tried to explain that I didn’t have any more money, that Leroy would notice if more money disappeared from the account, but he didn’t care.
What happened on the night of the murder? He sent me a message.
He said that if I didn’t bring him another $2,000, he would show the video to Leroy.
I I panicked.
I didn’t have that kind of money.
I tried to talk to him when he got home, but he didn’t come.
Late at night, he sent me an address, a warehouse.
He said he would be waiting for me there at midnight.
And you went? Yes.
I took a knife just in case.
I thought maybe I could scare him, make him give me the phone with the video.
Chanel took a deep breath.
When I got there, he was already there, drunk, angry.
He said I was an old [ __ ] and that he had used me, that he liked seeing me humiliated.
How I became his his personal toy.
And you hit him.
He He grabbed me.
Said that if I didn’t give him the money, I could have worked it off right there.
I was scared.
I took out the knife.
I just wanted to scare him.
Her voice trembled.
But he laughed.
He said I wouldn’t dare, that I was too weak, and that even if I went to the police, no one would believe me.
An old woman claiming she was seduced by a teenager, that everyone would think I was that I was a pervert.
And then you hit him.
I don’t remember how it happened, Chanel whispered.
All I remember is his surprised face and the blood.
So much blood.
3 days later, Leroy Banks was released from custody.
All charges against him were dropped.
Chanel Banks was charged with seconddegree murder, intentional killing in a state of extreme emotional distress.
Jackson watched Leroy leave the station, hunched over, looking 10 years older than his age.
“Do you think he’ll ever recover?” “I don’t know,” Jackson replied honestly.
“He’s lost everything.
His sister, his nephew, his wife, and his faith in love after 22 years of marriage.
” “What drives people to do things like this?” Morrison said thoughtfully.
Chanel was a respected woman, a good worker, a model wife.
Fear of loneliness, Jackson said, watching Leroyy’s receding figure.
Fear of old age, a desire to feel young and desirable again.
And then fear of exposure, fear of losing everything, but was it worth it? They never think about that beforehand.
Jackson shook his head.
They think they can control the situation, that no one will find out, that it’s their little secret.
and the boy.
What kind of person blackmails his own aunt? 17 is a difficult age.
Hormones, the feeling of power over an adult woman.
Jackson shrugged.
Who knows? Maybe he just wanted to get back at the world for his mother’s death.
Sad story.
Morrison sighed.
All murders are sad, Captain.
Jackson turned and walked back to the station, especially the ones that could have been avoided.
In his office, Jackson took out the Washington case file and made some final notes before handing it over to the prosecutor.
The case was practically closed, but something bothered him.
A vague feeling that even Chanel’s full confession didn’t reveal the whole truth.
Her story was logical, coherent, and corroborated by evidence.
She was desperate, cornered, and acting impulsively.
A classic case for a secondderee murder charge, but 12 stab wounds.
That kind of rage suggested something more than just an impulsive act of self-defense.
The phone rang, pulling Jackson out of his thoughts.
“Detective Jackson,” he said wearily.
“Detective, this is Martinez from the lab.
We’ve finished the last tests on the Washington case.
We’ve got something interesting.
” “I’m listening.
” “Remember the red lipstick on the victim’s collar?” We compared it to the lipstick Chanel Banks wears.
It’s not a match.
Jackson sat up straight in his chair.
What? The lipstick on the victim is a different brand, a cheaper one.
Martinez paused.
And there’s more.
We found a piece of a fake fingernail in the wound on the neck.
According to the report, Chanel Banks doesn’t wear fake nails.
But Tamika does, Jackson whispered, remembering his friend Chanel’s bright long nails.
Excuse me.
Nothing.
Thanks for the information, Martinez.
Include that in the final report.
Hanging up the phone, Jackson leaned back in his chair, trying to make sense of the new information.
If Malcolm wasn’t wearing Chanel lipstick, and if a piece of artificial nail was found in his wound, then he was with another woman before he died.
A woman who wore red lipstick and artificial nails like Tama Johnson.
But if Malcolm was with Tamika before he died, why didn’t she mention it? Why did she insist that she saw Chanel give him money that they kissed in the back room? Jackson quickly flipped through his notes.
Tama was the first to mention the affair between Chanel and Malcolm.
She confirmed the blackmail story.
She was Chanel’s best friend.
She had a key to their house.
A sudden thought made him freeze.
What if the real affair wasn’t between Chanel and Malcolm, but between Tamika and Malcolm? What if Tamika was the one paying him? And what if Chanel found out and confronted them? The theory was wild, but it explained some of the oddities in the case.
For example, why Leroy, who kept a close eye on his wife and nephew, never caught them in a compromising situation.
Or why Chanel, always so careful, threw away her gloves near the crime scene.
Jackson reached for his phone to call the captain, but stopped.
There wasn’t enough evidence.
A fake fingernail and lipstick from the wrong brand were circumstantial evidence.
Chanel had confessed to the murder.
She had confessed to having an affair with Malcolm.
Her confession matched most of the evidence.
The district attorney was already preparing the indictment.
Was it worth reopening the case based on vague suspicions? Jackson slowly put down the phone.
Maybe Chanel really was guilty.
Maybe there was a simple explanation for the traces of lipstick and the nail fragment.
Malcolm had been with another girl before meeting Chanel.
A 17-year-old guy, attractive, athletic.
It wouldn’t be surprising.
Or maybe Tama was also involved in a strange love triangle.
Maybe she was at the warehouse that night, too.
Maybe it was her that Chanel was protecting with her confession.
Jackson shook his head.
Too many assumptions.
Too few facts.
In any case, the man who inflicted those 12 stab wounds would be punished.
Perhaps not for all his crimes, but for the most terrible one, definitely.
With a heavy sigh, the detective closed the Washington case file and signed it.
The system was flawed, and sometimes the truth remained buried under layers of lies, halftruths, and omissions.
But at least justice had been partially restored.
Leroy, the innocent man, was free.
Leaving the station late that evening, Jackson noticed a lone figure on a bench across the street.
Leroy Banks sat hunched over, staring into space.
Jackson approached and sat down silently beside him.
You said you would find the truth, Leroy said after a long silence.
Did you find it? Jackson looked at the haggarded face of the man who had lost everything.
I found enough to free you.
But not all of it, he said, not asking a question.
Perhaps not all of it, Jackson agreed.
Sometimes the whole truth is unattainable or so complex that no one can fully comprehend it.
She didn’t kill him, Leroy said quietly.
Chanel.
She’s not capable of that.
She confessed Mr.
Banks.
I know.
Leroy nodded weakly.
But I know my wife.
22 years together.
People don’t change that radically.
People are capable of unexpected acts when they’re cornered or when they’re protecting someone they love.
Leroy looked up at the detective.
I think she’s protecting Tamika.
Jackson’s breath caught.
Why do you think that? Because I saw them together.
Tamika and Malcolm, not Chanel and Malcolm.
Leroy smiled bitterly.
I was following the wrong people.
I was looking for infidelity where there wasn’t any, and I missed what was happening right under my nose.
Are you sure? I saw them in Tamika’s car.
I saw her kissing him, handing him money.
Leroy shook his head, but I thought she was just a middleman.
That the money was from Chanel.
Why didn’t you say so before? What’s the point? Leroy shrugged.
You have Chanel’s confession.
You have the knife with my fingerprints on it.
The case is closed.
But if you’re innocent, and Chanel is innocent, too.
Then someone else is guilty.
But what difference does it make? Leroy stood up.
Malcolm is dead.
Chanel is in prison.
My life is ruined.
What difference will one more name on a report make? Jackson watched Leroy slowly walk away down the deserted street and thought that in his own way he was right.
The whole truth rarely makes people happier.
Sometimes it only adds pain to already unbearable suffering.
Still, his professional pride wouldn’t let him drop a case with so many loose ends.
Tomorrow, he would request a search warrant for Tamika’s house.
Maybe he would find something that would confirm or disprove Leroyy’s theory.
Maybe he would find the real murder weapon or the real killer.
Or maybe he would learn that some secrets must remain buried for the sake of the few who were still able to live on after such a tragedy.
