Gone to the Dogs

Trigger Warning: Mentions of suicide, gore

“I – I don’t understand”, Emilia gasped, her hand clutching the thick chain of pearls that decorated her neck.

“It’s exactly as I’ve stated it, your husband’s going to jail for murder.” The policeman barely spared her a glance, instead focusing on the parade of officers that had barricaded Henry James’ house.

“Henry couldn’t have done such a thing. He’s a sweetheart.” Emilia’s eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. She felt light-headed, black spots swimming through her vision. Fat tears rolled down her red cheeks, and she grasped the policeman's arms, her whole body trembling as she surrendered all her strength to his hold. The policeman held onto her awkwardly, as her tears stained his clothes. The sound of sirens encased Emilia like an unwanted embrace as more police cars arrived, and she fell to her knees, her eyes zeroed onto the ground. All the commotion alerted her neighbours, and they swarmed to her house, watching in tandem as Henry emerged from the house, yelling obscenities into the night.

How could this have happened to her? Her marriage to Henry was crumbling apart before her eyes. She had not expected this of him. Had not expected her marriage to have crumbled so quickly. But how could she ever survive knowing her husband, the love of her life, had killed someone in cold blood? Emilia turned her head to the house and could only watch in despair as the officers took her husband in handcuffs, taking her dignity away with him.

***

“No, you don’t understand”, Henry started, banging his hands against the desk. “Emilia killed him. She chopped his body up into pieces and fed it to our dogs. She’s framing me!”

Detective Oswald groaned and pushed his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Mr. Thomas, we’ve been over this. All the evidence points towards you. You were the last person seen with Mr. Hensley, you were the last person who had a disagreement with him, and you have the biggest motive.”

“Motive? What motive? Don’t you get it? She was sleeping with the idiot!”

Chuckling, Oswald moved his chair and sat closer to Henry, close enough to grasp him. “We know that, Henry. We know that contrary to what your wife says, your marriage had broken down a long time ago. And we know you killed Hensley out of revenge for him sleeping with your wife.”

“I did no such thing. Would you listen to me?”

“Fine. Tell your story.”

Henry adjusted his cuffs nervously. “She called him over like she does every Tuesday. But I was coming home from work early that night. I wanted to talk to her, wanted to fix our marriage. As soon as I sat at our table, willing myself to talk, she offered me a glass of water.”

“How is that unusual?”

“Emilia doesn’t do those things. She expects you to get your own water, your own food. She believes in independence, and not becoming a slave by bowing down to your other half.”

Oswald removed his glasses and began cleaning the lenses, more out of habit than necessity. With one hand, he gestured to Henry to continue with his narrative.

“Anyways, so she offers me a glass of water. And I drink it. Next thing I know, I’m lying on the couch and wake up to her bawling her eyes out. There’s blood all over the floor, and our dogs, Timmy and Joey, have disappeared.”

“Alright, Henry. Say I accept this. That Emilia is the murderer. But what’s the motive? Why would she kill her lover?”

“Because he was trying to steal from her.”

“What more could he possibly want from her?”

“Her money, her riches, everything she owned.”

“And he decided to take his chance the one night you’re home early?”

Henry shrugged, finally relaxing. The detective might believe him, after all. He could get out of this mess. “I don’t think he cared. It’s not like I was awake when he came through.”

“So, what’s your theory?”

“My theory? She gave him the same drug she gave me and then chopped his limbs off piece by piece. Then she put his remains through the grinder and minced it.” Henry kept his eyes on the desk, choosing to ignore Detective Oswald’s relentless stare. “And then, she – she fed it to the dogs once she’d cooked it.” Unable to control his disgust, Henry’s lips curled.

“How do you know?”

“What – what do you mean?”

Oswald sighed, clenching his fists. He glanced through the glass, hoping those on the other side could understand his frustration. This case seemed to have too many loopholes. Every action he investigated raised more questions. It was messing with his head. “You said you were knocked out, unconscious as it were. So how do you know this? And where’s your proof?”

“She told me this. She told me her plan before she enacted it. Emilia said that you wouldn’t believe me. And you’re right. I don’t have proof. But you need to interrogate her. I couldn’t have done this. What evidence do you have on me?”

“Fingerprints from the clothes you foolishly left on the bedroom floor. And we have statements from the neighbours. Emilia left long before her lover came into the house. It was only the two of you in the house until she came back to find you unconscious on the couch.”

“What?”

“Yes, Mr. Thomas. It was Emilia who phoned us, crying hysterically. She learned from the neighbours as she returned that her lover was in your house with you and had not left. When she found his clothes on the floor of her bedroom, she knew something was wrong. We searched the house thoroughly for the body but couldn’t find it. Not until we realized that you could have chopped his body up.”

“Why, because I own a butcher shop?”

“Precisely.” Detective Oswald left his seat, pacing around the room as he fidgeted with his rings. “So, we took the dogs in and tested their stool. Guess what we found? Human DNA.”

“Yes, but you need to listen to me. There’s no way I could have done this. I was drugged!” Frantic, Henry tried to remove his hands from the table, but the handcuffs wouldn’t budge. “Have you done a blood test?”

“Yes, we did. Your blood was clean, unfortunately for you.” Knocking on the glass, Detective Oswald waited for the door to open “You’ve got no evidence to prove Emilia killed Hensley. Focus on your case. If I were you, I’d call my lawyer immediately. You’re going in for a long time.”

***

Emilia sighed as the last mourner had left the church. She stood in front of Henry’s casket, wiping away the tears that had sprung in her eyes because of her biting her cheek.

Henry chose to take his life instead of taking the blame for Hensley’s death. She had to give him credit, he remained so sure in his testament of the night of the murder. She wasn’t sure if she would have been able to maintain the same composure. Killing Hensley had proven to be too easy. He was unable to hide his true intentions, the little rat. She knew, from the moment he had started sniffing about her past, that he wanted more than just time from her.

She moved towards the confessional and perched herself onto the stool, aware that no one was there to listen to her confession.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I committed adultery to escape my unhappy marriage with my husband. I hated him. He was such a loser, Lord, you must understand. He just couldn’t do anything by himself; his business was in the water, our marriage in shambles, and he had racked up such a debt.”

Emilia’s tears had dried, and she continued, picking at the black polish on her nails. “And Hensley was no better. I didn’t even have to think twice about killing them.”

“It must have been like killing two birds with one stone; a feat too easy for you, I suppose.”, stated a voice from the other end of the confessional.

Startled, Emilia raised herself off the stool and exited the confessional. And in front of her stood Detective Oswald, his shirt untucked and his gun in his hand.

“So Mr. Thomas was telling the truth. You drugged him and then killed Mr. Henley. But what drug did you use? And how did you get back into the house without the neighbours noticing?”

“Why? So, you can arrest me?”

“I have no plans of doing that. The man who needed justice is dead. I’m merely curious.”

Emilia extracted a wipe from her ill-fitted purse and dabbed at the smears of mascara that stained her cheeks. “Devil’s Breath. It’s one of the few drugs out there that knocks a man out instantly and only shows up on a toxicology screening.”

Oswald lifted his eyebrow, and his jaw went slack in shock. “Of course. It wouldn’t show up in a regular blood test.”

“And about me being able to move in and out of the house without the neighbours noticing…the previous owner of the house had built a tunnel underground that led to the forest surrounding our community. As you know, the houses were created during the time of war. Therefore, those tunnels were escape routes. Very few houses had them installed, though. Fortunately for me, one of those houses were mine.” Emilia smiled, her eyes crinkling in the corner. “You should thank me, Detective. This case gave you more recognition than you deserved.”

Pursing his lips, he kept his gun back in his pocket. “I don’t need to do that. I’m retiring. Who the culprit was doesn’t matter now.”

Emilia extracted a wipe from her ill-fitted purse and dabbed at the smears of mascara that stained her cheeks. “Then I’ll take your leave. I have my mother-in-law to comfort.”

As she turned to leave, Detective Oswald called out, “What if I decide to re-open the case and come after you?”

She laughed. “I’d kill you too. And I would get away with it.”