The Wrong Man

Detective Emily Carter watched as Logan Tate paced inside the interrogation room. His wrists were cuffed to the table, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. Sweat glistened on his brow.

“I didn’t kill her,” he said, voice tight. “You have the wrong guy.”

Carter crossed her arms. “Logan, we found your fingerprints on the murder weapon. The knife was in your kitchen drawer. And your neighbor saw you arguing with Lisa hours before she was stabbed.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “I argued with her, yeah. But I didn’t kill her.”

Carter slid a photograph across the table. Lisa Harper—twenty-nine, brunette, a deep stab wound in her chest.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Carter asked.

Logan’s throat bobbed. “I did.”

“But she was leaving you,” Carter continued. “That’s what the argument was about, wasn’t it?”

Logan let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, she was leaving. For another man. But I didn’t kill her.”

Carter sat down, eyes sharp. “Then explain the blood on your jacket.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “I found her.”

Carter’s gaze didn’t waver. “Go on.”

Logan rubbed his temples. “I went to her place to talk. The door was open. I walked in and—” His voice broke. “She was on the floor. There was so much blood.”

Carter tapped a pen against the table. “So you just happened to find her after she was stabbed?”

“Yes!” Logan’s voice cracked. “I held her, I—” He closed his eyes. “She was still alive. Barely.”

Carter leaned forward. “Did she say anything?”

Logan swallowed hard. “She whispered one word.”

“What word?”

Logan’s voice was barely above a whisper. “James.”

Carter stilled. “James who?”

Logan shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Carter frowned. The case had seemed open-and-shut—until now.

She stood and left the room, heading to her desk. With a few quick keystrokes, she pulled up Lisa’s records. A name caught her eye.

James Holloway—Lisa’s coworker.

Carter grabbed her coat. She had a new lead.

---

An hour later, Carter knocked on James Holloway’s door. He answered, eyes wide.

“Detective?” he said, voice uneasy.

Carter studied him. “Mind if I come in?”

James hesitated, then stepped aside.

Carter walked in, scanning the apartment. A jacket lay draped over the couch. A small dark stain clung to the sleeve.

Her pulse quickened. “That’s a nice jacket.”

James glanced at it. “Yeah.”

Carter stepped closer. “That’s blood, isn’t it?”

James stammered. “I—it’s mine.”

Carter’s gut twisted. He’s lying.

She pulled out her cuffs. “James Holloway, you’re under arrest for the murder of Lisa Harper.”

James bolted, but Carter tackled him to the floor.

As she clicked the cuffs around his wrists, she exhaled.

Logan Tate was innocent.

They had the wrong man.

Until now.