Family Christmas Dinner Ended In Brutal M*rder Over Daughter-In-Law’s Lie

…

Chanel often came home exhausted, barely able to speak.

He chalked up her tension to fatigue and returned to the garlands.

By noon, the house had been transformed.

The Christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room sparkling with lights and hung with ornaments.

Garlands stretched along the walls and snowflakes cut out of paper by the children hung in the windows.

The smell of pine mixed with the aroma of cinnamon.

Chanel had put a pot of mulled wine on the stove which was slowly simmering over low heat.

Dwayne sat on the sofa.

The children settled down next to him.

Tracy was dozing, her head resting on his side.

Jamal was leafing through a comic book and Kira was reading a book.

Chanel stood at the stove stirring the mulled wine, her face impassive.

She turned around several times, looked at her husband and children with a long gaze, then turned back to the pot.

“Chanel, I thought I’d call my parents.

” Dwayne said carefully extricating himself from under the sleeping Tracy.

“To make arrangements for the kids.

You wanted us to spend Christmas together, right?” Chanel turned around, a strange look flashing in her eyes, determination mixed with pain.

“Yes, call them.

Have them pick them up tonight.

” Dwayne picked up the phone and dialed his father’s number.

Mike Curtis was a man of few words, a former longshoreman who had been living on a small pension with his wife, Gloria, for the past few years.

His parents lived on the other side of town in a house as modest as Dwayne’s.

The family relationship was smooth without much warmth, but also without conflict.

Dwayne had always respected his father even though he had never been particularly affectionate or attentive.

“Hi, Dad.

” Dwayne said when Mike’s hoarse voice came on the other end of the line.

“Listen, Chanel and I were thinking maybe you could take the kids for Christmas today.

We’d like to spend some time together, you know.

It’s been a long time since we’ve had time just for the two of us.

” There was a silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay.

” Mike replied briefly.

“What time should I come?” “Around 6:00 in the evening if possible.

They’ll get their presents in the morning, so they’ll just hang out with you and play.

” “Okay.

” “I’ll tell Gloria to make something for them.

” “Thanks, Dad.

” Dwayne hung up and looked at Chanel.

She was still standing at the stove, but now her hands were shaking as she poured mulled wine into a mug.

“It’s all settled.

Their parents will pick them up tonight.

Chanel, what’s wrong? You seem different.

” “I’m fine, Dwayne.

” she replied sharply turning away.

“I just want this holiday to go well, that’s why I’m nervous.

” He didn’t insist.

Over the years of their marriage, he had learned not to pry when his wife withdrew into herself.

Usually, it passed on its own.

After lunch, Chanel went into the kitchen and started preparing Christmas dinner.

Dwayne heard her open the oven, take out the baking sheets, and chop vegetables.

The smells of turkey, spices, and baked potatoes wafted through the house.

He went into the kitchen to offer his help, but Chanel shook her head.

“No need.

I can handle it myself.

Go to the kids.

” Her voice was even, almost mechanical.

Dwayne shrugged and returned to the living room where the children were watching a Christmas cartoon on TV.

He sat down next to them, but his thoughts were not on the cartoon.

Something was wrong with his wife.

He couldn’t figure out what it was, but the tension that had been emanating from her all day was almost palpable.

The clock on the wall showed half past five when Chanel came out of the kitchen drying her hands with a towel.

“Kids, get your things ready.

Grandma and Grandpa will be here soon.

” Kira obediently got up and went upstairs.

Jamal and Tracy whined.

They didn’t want to leave.

They wanted to stay and watch more cartoons.

Dwayne gave them a stern look.

“No arguments.

>> >> Go get ready.

It’ll be fun at Grandma’s.

She promised to bake cookies.

” The children reluctantly trudged upstairs.

Chanel stood in the kitchen doorway looking out the window.

Dwayne approached her.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” he asked quietly.

“You’ve been on edge all day.

” Chanel slowly turned her head and looked at him.

There was no warmth in her eyes.

“You’ll find out soon.

” she said flatly.

“Just be patient a little longer.

” Before he could reply, a car pulled up to the house.

Dwayne looked out the window and saw Mike’s old pickup truck.

His father got out of the car followed by his mother, Gloria.

Dwayne opened the door and let his parents into the house.

Mike was a tall, thin man with graying hair and deep wrinkles on his face.

Gloria was a plump woman with a tired look in her eyes who had worked in a laundry all her life.

They greeted their son and hugged him.

“Where are the grandchildren?” Gloria asked looking around.

“They’re getting ready upstairs.

” Dwayne replied.

“They’ll be down in a minute.

” Mike walked into the living room, looked at the decorated Christmas tree, and nodded approvingly.

Chanel came out of the kitchen drying her hands.

Mike looked at her and a strange exchange of glances passed between them, quick, almost imperceptible.

Dwayne frowned but said nothing.

The children came down with their backpacks and bags.

Kira was carrying her book, Jamal his toy cars, and Tracy was clutching her new doll to her chest.

Gloria kissed them all and took Tracy by the hand.

“Let’s go, kids.

I’ve got the dough ready at home and we’re going to make cookies.

” The children perked up.

Mike took their bags and headed for the door.

He turned to Dwayne and Chanel.

“Have a good time.

” he said briefly, but there was a heaviness in his voice.

Chanel nodded without answering.

Gloria hugged Dwayne goodbye.

“It’s been a long time since you two have been alone.

” she said softly.

“Get some rest.

The kids are in good hands with us.

” The door closed.

The sound of the pickup truck’s engine faded into the distance.

>> >> Dwayne and Chanel were left alone in the quiet house on the outskirts of Detroit where everything was ready for Christmas dinner, but a heavy, oppressive silence hung in the air.

December 25th began with silence.

Dwayne woke up early, even though he hadn’t set an alarm.

Chanel was already awake next to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window.

Outside, it was gray, the sky was overcast, and even the morning light seemed dim and lifeless.

“Merry Christmas,” Dwayne said, stretching.

Chanel turned around.

Her face was pale, her lips pressed together.

“Merry Christmas,” she echoed and got out of bed.

The house without children seemed empty.

Usually in the mornings, there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, shouting, laughter, and arguments over toys.

Now, there was only silence, broken by the creaking of the floorboards and the sound of water in the bathroom.

Dwayne went downstairs and turned on the coffee maker.

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen, but it did not bring the usual comfort.

Chanel came downstairs 10 minutes later, already dressed.

She poured herself some coffee, sat down at the table opposite her husband, and drank silently, staring into her cup.

Dwayne tried to strike up a conversation.

He asked how she slept, what she planned to do today.

Maybe they could watch a movie in the evening.

She answered in monosyllables, without looking up.

“Are you still nervous?” he finally asked, putting down his cup.

“Chanel, we’re alone.

The kids are with their parents.

We can relax.

Why are you winding yourself up like this?” She raised her head and looked at him with a long, searching gaze.

“Everything will be clear tonight,” she said quietly.

“For now, let’s just go about our day as usual.

” Dwayne frowned, but didn’t insist.

He knew that if Chanel had decided to remain silent, there was no getting a word out of her.

The day dragged on slowly.

Chanel spent most of her time in the kitchen cooking.

Dwayne could hear her opening and closing the oven, banging pots and pans, and cutting vegetables.

He turned on the TV, but couldn’t concentrate on the screen.

His thoughts kept returning to his wife and her strange behavior.

Something must have happened.

He could feel it in his gut.

By 6:00, the table was set.

A white tablecloth, candles, the best dishes that were usually kept in the cupboard, and only brought out on special occasions.

In the center of the table was a baked turkey, golden brown with a crispy crust.

Next to it was mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, salad, and a basket of bread.

Everything looked perfect, like a picture from a magazine.

“Sit down,” said Chanel, lighting the candles.

Dwayne sat down at the table.

She sat opposite him.

The candlelight cast soft shadows on her face, but her eyes remained cold and distant.

They ate in silence.

Dwayne cut the turkey, put it on his plate, chewed, but couldn’t taste anything.

Chanel ate slowly, mechanically, as if performing a duty.

From time to time, she looked up at her husband, long, intently, as if memorizing every feature of his face.

“The turkey turned out great,” Dwayne said, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’ve always been a good cook.

” “Thanks,” Chanel replied curtly.

Silence hung between them again.

Dwayne put down his fork and rubbed his face with his hands.

>> >> He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Chanel, enough.

Tell me what’s going on.

You’ve been acting all day like you’re going to a funeral, not a Christmas dinner with your husband.

If I did something wrong, if you’re mad at me, just say so.

Let’s talk like adults.

” She slowly put her fork down on her plate.

She looked at him, and there was something in her gaze that made Dwayne feel cold inside.

“Okay,” she said in an even voice.

“Let’s talk.

” She got up from the table and walked into the living room.

Dwayne heard her open a drawer and take something out.

She came back with a white envelope in her hands.

>> >> She placed it on the table in front of her husband, between the plates and candles.

“Open it,” she said, sitting back down.

Dwayne took the envelope.

It was sealed, with no writing on it.

He opened it and took out several sheets of paper.

They were official documents with seals, the logo of some laboratory, tables with numbers and percentages.

He began to read.

DNA analysis.

Samples taken from Dwayne Curtis, Kira Curtis, Jamal Curtis, Tracy Curtis.

Test results.

Comparison of genetic material.

Dwayne scanned the lines, not immediately understanding what he was seeing.

Then the words began to make sense, and that sense was like a punch to the solar plexus.

Paternity excluded.

Those two words were repeated three times.

For each child, for Kira, for Jamal, for Tracy.

Paternity excluded.

Paternity excluded.

Paternity excluded.

Dwayne reread the document again, slowly, pouring over every word, every number.

Probability of paternity, 0%.

Genetic match excluded.

Dwayne Curtis is not the biological father of any of the three children.

His hands trembled.

The paper fluttered in his fingers.

He looked up at his wife.

“What is this?” His voice sounded hoarse, unfamiliar.

“What the hell is this, Chanel?” She sat motionless, her hands folded in her lap, looking at him calmly, almost indifferently.

“What it says.

You’re not the father of our children, Dwayne.

Not any of them.

” He felt the world around him begin to sway, the floor slipping away from under his feet.

“It’s a mistake,” he managed to say.

“The lab made a mistake.

It happens, I’ve read about it.

Sometimes they mix up the samples.

” “There’s no mistake,” Chanel interrupted him.

“I checked twice.

First I did the test in one lab, then in another.

The results are the same.

” Dwayne jumped up from the table so abruptly that the chair tipped backward and fell to the floor with a crash.

The candles flickered, and shadows danced across the walls.

“Then who?” he shouted, his voice breaking and trembling.

“Who the hell is the father of my children? Who have you been sleeping with all these years?” Chanel didn’t flinch.

She continued to sit, staring at him with cold, empty eyes.

“Your father,” she said evenly, clearly.

“Mike.

I’ve been sleeping with Mike for all 15 years of our marriage.

And all three children are his.

” Silence.

>> >> Absolute, deafening silence.

Dwayne stood, unable to move, unable to breathe.

>> >> His wife’s words hung in the air like a sentence.

“You You’re lying,” he whispered.

“That’s impossible.

Dad would never He wouldn’t.

” “He did,” Chanel interrupted.

“He did it from the very beginning.

From the moment we got married.

Even before that.

” Dwayne grabbed the edge of the table to keep from falling.

His head was spinning, his ears were ringing.

“Why?” he managed to say.

“Why did you do it? Why him?” Chanel shrugged.

That gesture, that feigned indifference, was worse than any words.

“Because it happened that way,” she said.

“Because he wanted it, and I didn’t object.

Because it was more interesting with him than with you.

” Dwayne recoiled as if she had hit him.

“From the beginning?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“You slept with him from the beginning of our marriage?” “Yes,” Chanel nodded.

“And he knew.

He knew about every child.

When I got pregnant with Kira, I told him, >> >> and he was happy.

He wanted children that Gloria couldn’t give him after you.

” “Gloria?” Dwayne closed his eyes, trying to process what he had heard.

“Does Mom know?” “Of course not,” Chanel smiled.

“Gloria doesn’t know anything.

She thinks Mike is a model husband, and you’re a happy father of three.

All these years, she never suspected a thing.

” Dwayne sank back into his chair without picking up the fallen one.

He sat with his head in his hands, trying to digest the information that was destroying his entire life.

“15 years,” he whispered.

“You’ve been deceiving me for 15 years.

For 15 years, I’ve been raising other people’s children, thinking they were mine.

” “Not other people’s,” Chanel objected.

“Your father’s children.

Technically, your brothers and sisters.

” Those words were like a slap in the face.

Dwayne threw his head back and looked at her with hatred.

“How can you talk about this so calmly?” he shouted.

“How can you sit there and tell me all this as if you were discussing the weather?” Chanel tilted her head to one side, studying him.

“Because I’m tired of pretending,” she said.

“Tired of playing the role of the loving wife.

Tired of looking at you and pretending everything is fine.

I want you to know the truth.

I want you to understand that everything you believed was a lie.

” >> >> “But why now?” Dwayne gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

>> >> “Why did you decide to tell me now? Why on Christmas?” “Because I’m tired of waiting,” Chanel replied.

“Because I’m sick of it.

And because Mike said he doesn’t want to hide anymore.

He wants to leave Gloria and be with me openly.

He wants to acknowledge the children as his own.

” Duane swayed as if he had been hit again.

“He wants to be with you?” he whispered.

“Dad wants to leave Mom for you?” “Yes.

” Chanel nodded.

“We discussed it and I agree.

I’m filing for divorce.

Mike is, too.

We’re starting a new life together.

” “What about me?” Duane’s voice broke into a shout.

“What do you think I should have done? Just accept it? Just step aside and watch my father take my wife and my children?” “They’re not your children, Duane,” Chanel reminded him coldly.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’re nothing to them.

Just the guy who paid the bills and changed their diapers.

” Something inside Duane’s snapped.

All the anger, all the pain, all the despair that had been building up over the last few minutes burst out in a fit of rage.

He jumped up, knocking over his plate.

The turkey fell to the floor, sauce spilling across the tablecloth.

He didn’t notice.

All he saw was his wife sitting across from him with that calm, almost contemptuous expression on her face.

“You ruined my life!” he yelled.

“You and that bastard I called my father.

You both ruined everything.

” “We didn’t ruin anything,” Chanel replied calmly.

“We just lived the way we wanted to and you were too blind to notice.

” Duane turned away, clutching his head.

He needed to do something to vent the rage that was tearing him apart inside.

His gaze fell on the tall floor lamp in the corner of the living room.

An old lamp on a metal base that they had bought when they moved into this house.

He jumped up, ran to the lamp, and yanked it out of the socket.

The heavy metal base was cold to the touch.

Duane turned around and threw the lamp at the wall with all his might.

There was a deafening crash.

The lampshade shattered into pieces and the metal left a deep dent in the drywall.

Shards of the bulb scattered across the floor, clinking on the linoleum.

One of the candles on the table went out from the gust of air.

Duane stood there, breathing heavily.

His fists clenched so tightly they hurt.

Chanel didn’t even flinch.

She sat there calmly, looking at him.

“Are you done?” she asked evenly.

Those words, that icy tone, were the last straw.

On December 26th at half past 7:00 in the morning, Terrence Walker stood on the banks of the Detroit River in the city’s industrial zone with a fishing rod in his hands.

Terrence was a retired auto worker who had spent the last 10 years of his free time fishing.

This spot under the bridge was his favorite.

There were almost never any people here.

The water flowed calmly and the fish bit well, especially in winter.

He cast his line, settled into his folding chair, and took out his thermos of coffee.

The morning was cold and gray, the sky covered with low clouds.

The river looked gloomy.

Dark, almost black water slowly carried debris, branches, and pieces of foam.

Terrence took a sip of coffee, lit a cigarette, and stared at the float.

20 minutes later, he noticed something strange near the bridge support.

At first, it looked like a bag of trash or old clothes caught on a concrete ledge.

But then Terrence looked closer and saw that it wasn’t a bag.

It was something big and dark and it was swaying strangely on the water.

Terrence put down his fishing rod, stood up, and walked closer to the water.

The closer he got, the clearer the outline became.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized what it was.

A body.

A human body, face down, caught on the rebar sticking out of the concrete.

Terrence took out his phone with trembling hands and dialed 911.

“Police,” he said in a breaking voice.

“I need the police.

I found a body under the bridge on East Jefferson Avenue.

Please come quickly.

” 15 minutes later, two patrol cars arrived at the scene.

The police cordoned off the area with yellow tape and called in forensic experts and detectives from the homicide division.

Terrence sat in the patrol car, wrapped in a blanket, drinking hot coffee from a plastic cup.

His hands were still shaking.

Detective Ronald Ashby received a call at 8:30 in the morning.

He was just finishing breakfast at home when the number of the duty station lit up on his phone screen.

Ashby was an experienced investigator, 44 years old, 22 of which he had spent with the Detroit Police Department.

He had seen a lot.

Murders, suicides, accidents, corpses in all sorts of conditions and locations.

But each new case still caused a familiar feeling of heaviness in his stomach.

“Ashby here,” he said into the phone.

“Ron, we have a body in the river,” the sergeant on duty reported.

“Industrial area, under the bridge on East Jefferson.

Patrols are already on the scene, need a detective.

” “On my way,” Ashby replied curtly.

“Call Lamb.

” He called his partner on the way.

Victoria Lamb was a 39-year-old detective who had been working with Ashby for the past 6 years.

They worked well together.

Ashby was methodical, calm, and used to following protocol, while Lamb had keen intuition and an eye for details that others missed.

They met at the scene 40 minutes after the call.

The area had already been cordoned off and forensic technicians in white coveralls were photographing the scene and taking measurements.

Patrol officers kept onlookers at a distance, although there were few people in this industrial area on a Sunday morning.

Ashby and Lamb approached the water’s edge.

The body had already been removed from the river and placed on a tarp.

It was a woman, African-American, in her early 30s.

She was dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater with no outer clothing.

Her hair was wet and stuck to her face.

Her skin was pale with a bluish tinge.

Dark bruises were clearly visible on her neck.

“Finger marks.

Strangulation,” Lamb said, crouching down next to the body.

“With hands.

See the marks? Someone strangled her with great force.

” Ashby nodded, making notes in his notebook.

“How long has she been in the water?” The forensic scientist, who had been leaning over the body, looked up.

“No more than a day.

The body hasn’t had time to decompose.

The water temperature is about 3° right now, which slows down the process.

Preliminary estimate, death occurred approximately 24 to 36 hours ago.

” “The evening of the 25th,” Ashby muttered.

“Christmas.

” Lamb examined the victim’s clothes.

The pockets were empty.

“No ID, no phone, no wallet.

Either it was a robbery or the killer took everything to make identification difficult.

” “Check the missing persons database,” Ashby told one of the patrol officers.

“African-American woman, about 35 years old, approximately 165 cm tall.

If anyone has filed a report in the last 24 hours, notify us immediately.

” They waited about an hour while the forensic team finished their work at the scene.

The body was placed in a black bag and loaded into the medical examiner’s vehicle.

Ashby spoke with Terrence Walker and recorded his statement.

Although the fisherman had nothing useful to report, he had simply seen the body and called the police.

At 11:00, a message came in from the duty station.

“Yesterday evening, December 25th at 11:45 pm, a man named Duane Curtis called the police and reported that his wife, Chanel, had not returned home.

The officer on duty took the statement, but said that an adult could only be reported missing after 48 hours.

Duane left his address and phone number.

” “Chanel Curtis, 35 years old, nurse,” Lamb read from her tablet screen.

“Lives at 52 Oakland Street.

Husband’s name is Duane Curtis, 38 years old, mechanic.

Three children.

” Ashby and Lamb exchanged glances.

“Let’s go to his place,” Ashby said.

“We need to show him the photo so he can identify her.

If it’s her, we’ll get to work.

” They arrived at the Curtis’s house at half past 11:00.

The street was quiet.

The houses stood close together with small yards and old fences.

>> >> Ashby’s car stopped at number 52, a two-story building with peeling paint, decorated with Christmas garlands.

Ashby knocked on the door.

Footsteps could be heard inside and the door opened.

Standing on the threshold was a tall, thin man with red eyes and a haggard face.

He clearly hadn’t slept all night.

“Duane Curtis?” Ashby asked, showing his badge.

“Detective Ashby, this is Detective Lamb.

We’re from the homicide division.

>> >> Can we come in?” Duane turned pale.

He took a step back, letting the detectives into the house.

“Homicide?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“What happened? >> >> Did you find Chanel?” They went into the living room.

Duane sank down onto the sofa.

His hands were shaking, so he clasped them together to hide it.

“This morning, a woman’s body was found in the industrial park,” Ashby began.

“We need you to look at a photo and tell us if it’s your wife or not.

” “A body?” Dwayne’s voice broke.

“No.

No, it can’t be her.

She just she went to her mother’s and got delayed.

” Lamb took out her tablet and opened the photo taken at the scene.

She turned the screen toward Dwayne.

He looked at it and his face contorted.

He grabbed the edge of the sofa, bent over double, and let out a strangled sound.

“It’s her,” he managed to say.

“It’s Chanel.

” “God, it’s Chanel.

” He covered his face with his hands and cried hard, convulsively, with his whole body.

His shoulders shook and sobs escaped his throat.

Lamb sat down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Mr.

Curtis, I’m so sorry,” she said quietly.

“I understand this is difficult, but we need to ask you a few questions.

The sooner we get the information, the sooner we’ll find the person who did this.

” Dwayne nodded without lifting his head.

Ashby took out his notebook.

“When was the last time you saw your wife?” “Last night,” Dwayne replied hoarsely, wiping his eyes.

“Around 9:00.

We had dinner.

Then she said she was going to her mother’s to wish her a Merry Christmas.

I thought it was strange to go so late, but she insisted.

She said her mother was alone and sad during the holidays.

” “Did she drive?” “No, she called a taxi.

Our car is in the yard, I checked.

She left the house, got into a taxi, and drove away.

I saw it from the window.

” “Did you call her?” “Yes, several times.

First at 10:00 in the evening, then at 11:00, then at midnight.

The phone was unavailable.

I thought the battery had died.

Or she decided to stay at her mother’s overnight and turned off her phone so she wouldn’t be disturbed.

” Ashby nodded and took notes.

“When did you start to worry?” “This morning.

I called her mother and asked if everything was okay, if she needed any help.

She said that Chanel hadn’t come home at all.

That’s when I got scared.

I called the police, but they told me to wait 48 hours.

” Lamb and Ashby exchanged glances.

The story seemed plausible.

“Mr.

Curtis, did you and your wife have any problems, conflicts, arguments?” Dwayne raised his head and looked at the detectives with red, swollen eyes.

“No,” he said firmly.

“Everything was fine.

We loved each other.

We have three children.

We were happy.

” “Where are the children now?” “At my parents’ house.

They took them the night before last.

Chanel and I wanted to be alone for Christmas.

” “We’ll need your parents’ address,” Ashby said.

“And your wife’s mother’s name and address.

” Dwayne dictated the information.

At that moment, the sound of a car pulling up outside could be heard.

Dwayne jumped up and rushed to the window.

“It’s my parents,” he said.

>> >> “They brought the kids.

” A minute later, an elderly, heavy-set woman and a tall, gray-haired man entered the house.

The woman was holding the hands of two children, a boy and a younger girl.

Behind them walked an older girl with a book in her hands.

“Dwayne, what happened?” the woman asked, looking at her son.

“Why the police?” Dwayne couldn’t answer.

He just shook his head and tears ran down his cheeks again.

The woman gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth.

“Mrs.

Curtis,” Ashby addressed her.

“I’m Detective Ashby.

I’m afraid we have some bad news.

Your daughter-in-law, Chanel, was found dead this morning.

” Gloria Curtis swayed and her husband, Mike, caught her by the elbow.

Gloria’s face contorted and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a scream.

The children huddled fearfully against their grandmother.

“No,” Gloria whispered.

“It can’t be.

Chanel, she’s so young.

She has children.

” Mike Curtis stood motionless, staring at the floor.

His face was stony, gray.

His jaw was clenched.

Ashby watched him closely.

Such a reaction was strange.

Most people in such situations showed emotion, but Mike looked more depressed than shocked.

“Maybe you should take the children upstairs,” Lamb suggested to Gloria.

“They shouldn’t hear this conversation.

” Gloria nodded and took the children upstairs.

Mike remained standing in the living room doorway.

“Mr.

Curtis,” Ashby addressed him.

“Are you Dwayne’s father?” “Yes,” Mike replied curtly.

“When was the last time you saw Chanel?” “The night before last.

My wife and I came to pick up our grandchildren.

Chanel was at home making dinner.

We talked for a couple of minutes, picked up the kids, and left.

” “How did she seem? Was she acting normal?” Mike paused, then nodded.

“Yes, normal.

” “Do you know if she had any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt her?” “No, I don’t know.

” Ashby wrote down the answers.

Mike spoke in short sentences, avoiding eye contact with the detectives.

His hands were clenched into fists and his whole body was tense.

“Mr.

Curtis, are you all right?” Lamb asked.

“Yes,” Mike replied.

“Just in shock.

I didn’t expect this.

” Gloria came downstairs.

Her eyes were red and she was sobbing as she wiped her face with a handkerchief.

“The kids are upstairs,” she said.

“My god, how am I going to tell them? How do I explain that their mother is gone?” Dwayne hugged his mother and they stood there, pressed against each other, both crying.

Mike watched them from the side, his face impassive.

Ashby and Lamb asked a few more questions, wrote down their contact information, and asked them not to leave town.

Then they left the house.

In the car, Lamb was the first to break the silence.

“What do you think?” “The husband seems sincere,” Ashby replied, starting the engine.

“His grief is real.

He doesn’t seem like a murderer.

” “The father is strange,” Lamb remarked.

“Too reserved.

His daughter-in-law is murdered and he’s like a robot.

” “People react differently to shock,” Ashby shrugged.

“Some cry, some shut down.

So far, there’s no reason to suspect the family.

Let’s go to the wife’s mother’s house and check Dwayne’s alibi.

” Chanel’s mother, Delores Hunter, lived 20 minutes away from the Curtis home.

It was a small apartment on the first floor of an old building.

Delores opened the door almost immediately, a woman in her 60s with gray hair and a tired face.

“Mrs.

Hunter?” Ashby showed his badge again.

“We’re with the police.

Can we come in?” Um Delores let them in.

The apartment was clean, but poor.

Old furniture, a worn carpet, a TV from the previous decade.

“Has something happened?” she asked, seating the detectives on the sofa.

“Is this about Chanel? I spoke to Dwayne this morning.

He was looking for her.

” “Mrs.

Hunter, I’m very sorry, but your daughter was found dead this morning,” Ashby said.

Delores froze.

Then she slowly sank into a chair as if her legs had given way.

“Dead?” she asked quietly.

“My Chanel is dead?” “Yes, ma’am.

We’re very sorry.

” “Very?” Delores covered her face with her hands.

Her shoulders shook.

Lamb waited a minute, then asked gently, “Mrs.

Hunter, we understand how difficult this is, but we need to ask you a few questions.

” “What What happened? How did she die?” “That’s under investigation.

Tell me, when was the last time you saw your daughter?” Delores raised her head and wiped away her tears.

“The day before yesterday, in the afternoon.

She stopped by with the kids, brought groceries, asked if I needed any help.

We talked for about 20 minutes, then she left.

” “And last night, on Christmas Eve, she didn’t come to see you?” “No.

” Delores shook her head.

“I was home alone all evening.

I watched TV, then went to bed.

Chanel didn’t come or call.

” Ashby and Lamb exchanged glances.

Dwayne’s alibi was not confirmed.

>> >> “Mr.

Curtis, your daughter’s husband said she took a taxi to your place last night,” Lamb said.

“But you say she didn’t come?” “No, she didn’t,” Delores repeated.

“Maybe Dwayne was mistaken.

Maybe she said she was coming to my place, but changed her mind.

” “Possibly.

” Ashby nodded.

They asked a few more questions about Chanel’s personality, her friends, acquaintances, and possible conflicts.

Delores spoke warmly about her daughter, a good girl, a caring mother, a devoted wife.

No enemies, no problems.

Leaving the apartment, the detectives got into the car.

Ashby tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel.

“So,” Lamb said.

“The husband says his wife took a taxi to her mother’s.

The mother says her daughter didn’t come.

That means Chanel was killed somewhere between her home and her mother’s apartment.

Or the husband lied about the taxi,” Ashby added.

“But I looked at him.

He wasn’t lying.

He’s too grief-stricken.

Maybe she really did call a taxi, but something happened on the way.

Did someone attack her? Was it a robbery? The motive?” “Robbery or a random attack.

There are drug addicts and homeless people in that area.

She could have run into the wrong person.

Lamb nodded, but she looked uncertain.

I don’t know.

Something tells me it’s not that simple.

For now, work with what we have, Ashby said, starting the car.

We’ll get the autopsy results tomorrow.

Maybe there will be new leads.

Now, let’s go to the station, file the paperwork, and start checking the taxi.

They drove away, leaving behind a quiet street where an elderly woman mourned her murdered daughter in one of the apartments.

And 20 minutes away, a father of three tried to explain to his children that their mother was gone forever.

December 27th began with disappointment.

Ashby and Lamb had spent the entire previous evening checking taxi services, but none of them had registered a call from 52 Oakland Street on the evening of December 25th.

>> >> They called the six largest companies in the city, checked electronic databases, >> >> even contacted independent drivers through apps.

Nothing.

No one picked up a passenger from the Curtis home at the specified time.

This could only mean two things.

Either Dwayne had lied about the taxi, or Chanel had called a private driver who worked without a license and left no trace in the official databases.

There were plenty of those in Detroit.

People who moonlighted as private drivers, took cash, didn’t pay taxes, and didn’t register their trips.

Chanel’s phone was never found.

Her car, an old Honda Civic, was still parked in the yard of her house on Oakland Street.

Inquiries to the hospitals where Chanel worked also yielded nothing.

Her colleagues described her as a calm, professional nurse who had no conflicts with either patients or staff.

By noon on the 27th, Ashby and Lamb were sitting in the station sorting through the case files.

On the table in front of them were photographs from the scene where the body was found, examination reports, and the preliminary conclusion of the medical examiner.

The cause of death was mechanical asphyxiation due to compression of the neck with hands.

Time of death, between 10:25 pm on the 25th and 2:00 am on the 26th.

No signs of sexual assault.

Under the victim’s fingernails were skin particles, probably belonging to the killer.

DNA sent for analysis.

Someone strong strangled her, Lamb said, looking at the photos of the bruises on her neck.

Look at these marks.

They’re deep and clear.

It took a lot of physical strength.

Or intense rage, Ashby added.

Sometimes in a state of passion, even a weak person is capable of incredible things.

What’s next? Ashby leaned back in his chair, rubbing his nose.

We don’t have any leads yet.

No witnesses, no cameras on that street.

Her phone hasn’t been found, so the killer must have taken it.

The motive is unclear.

If it was a robbery, it’s a strange one.

Usually robbers don’t waste time taking the body to the river and dumping it in the water.

They hit, grab the stuff, and run.

Maybe it wasn’t a robbery, Lamb said, thoughtfully.

Maybe the killer knew her.

He wanted to hide the crime, so he took the body away.

Then we’re back to the husband.

But I looked at him.

He wasn’t lying.

People can lie, Ron, especially when it comes to murder.

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.

The sergeant on duty peeked into the office.

Ashby, you have a visitor.

He says he has information about the Curtis case.

Who? Mike Curtis.

The victim’s father-in-law.

Ashby and Lamb exchanged glances.

Ashby nodded.

Let him in.

A minute later, Mike entered the office.

He looked even worse than the day before.

His face was gray, his eyes sunken, his shoulders slumped.

He walked to the table without looking at the detectives and sat down on a chair.

Mr.

Curtis, Ashby greeted him.

What brings you here? Mike was silent for a few seconds, staring at the floor.

Then he raised his head, and his eyes revealed a painful decision.

I need to talk to you.

Alone.

It’s important.

Ashby looked at Lamb.

She shrugged.

Her presence at the interrogation was mandatory, but if the man requested privacy, an exception could be made for a few minutes.

Detective Lamb is my partner, Ashby said.

Everything you tell me, she will hear, too.

We work together.

Mike clenched his jaw, then nodded.

Okay.

Just Just promise you won’t tell my wife.

Gloria, she can’t find out.

We can’t promise anything, Ashby replied.

But if the information is not relevant to the investigation, >> >> we will try to keep it confidential.

Mike took a deep breath and clasped his hands together.

His knuckles turned white with tension.

I was Chanel’s lover, he said, quietly but clearly.

For many years.

Ever since she married my son.

Silence hung in the office.

Ashby froze, his pen suspended over his notebook.

Lamb slowly leaned back in her chair, her eyes fixed on Mike.

Please repeat that.

Ashby asked in an even voice.

I had an affair with Chanel, Mike repeated, staring at the table.

It started almost immediately after their wedding.

>> >> She She was young, beautiful, and I I don’t know what came over me.

But it happened.

And it continued all these years.

Did your son know about it? Lamb asked.

No.

At least I didn’t think so.

We kept it secret.

We met when Dwayne was at work.

Sometimes at her place, sometimes at a motel.

Gloria didn’t know, either.

Ashby took notes, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face.

The children, he said.

Dwayne and Chanel’s three children, they are mine, Mike finished.

All three of them.

Kira, Jamal, Tracy.

They’re all my children.

Dwayne isn’t their father.

Lamb exhaled and shook her head.

Ashby continued writing, though his hand trembled with tension.

How did you know the children were yours? Chanel told me.

When she got pregnant with Kira, she came to me and said the baby was mine, not Dwayne’s.

I suggested she have an abortion, but she refused.

She said she would give birth and raise the child as Dwayne’s daughter.

And that’s what happened.

Then Jamal was born, then Tracy.

They’re all mine.

Were you sure they were yours? Did you take tests? No, but Chanel wasn’t lying.

She said she hardly ever slept with Dwayne.

She said she wasn’t attracted to him, that she loved me.

And you believed her? Mike nodded.

Yes.

I knew it was wrong.

I knew I was betraying my son, cheating on my wife.

But I couldn’t stop.

Chanel was She was the only thing that made my life bearable.

Ashby put down his pen and folded his hands on the table.

Mr.

Curtis, why did you come to us with this information? Mike looked up at the detective.

Because I think Dwayne found out and killed her.

Why do you think that? Because Chanel told me she was going to reveal the truth.

It was a few weeks ago.

She came to me and said she was tired of lying, that she wanted to be with me officially.

That she would tell Dwayne everything and file for divorce.

I tried to talk her out of it.

I told her it would destroy the family, that Gloria would find out and everything would fall apart.

But she wouldn’t listen.

She said she had already made up her mind.

When, exactly, did she tell you this? Three weeks ago, on the 20th or 21st of November.

And what happened next? I don’t know.

I haven’t seen her since they took the kids on the 24th.

But I thought about what she said.

I thought about what she might say to Dwayne at Christmas when they were alone.

And now she’s dead.

Mike clenched his fists, his voice trembling.

I know my son.

He’s calm, quiet, but if you anger him, if you touch a nerve, he can snap.

I saw it a couple of times when he was a teenager.

He knows how to control himself, but if you push him to the breaking point, he explodes.

Do you think Chanel told him the truth on Christmas Eve and he killed her in a fit of rage? Yes, Mike replied, firmly.

That’s what I think.

She told him about us, about the children.

She showed him some evidence, maybe, and he take it.

Ashby nodded and took notes.

Do you know if Chanel had any proof? DNA tests, for example? I don’t know.

She didn’t say anything, but she was stubborn.

If she decided to reveal the truth, she must have been prepared.

Mr.

Curtis, where were you on the evening of December 25th? At home with my wife and grandchildren.

We watched a movie, then put the kids to bed.

Gloria can confirm that.

Did you leave the house? No.

I was there all night.

Ashby and Lamb exchanged glances.

Mike seemed sincere, but his confession turned the case upside down.

Mr.

Curtis, I have to warn you,” Ashby said.

“What you’ve told us makes you a potential suspect.

You had a motive to kill Chanel.

If she threatened to reveal the truth, it would have destroyed your family.

” Mike shook his head.

“I didn’t kill her.

I loved her.

Yes, I was afraid the truth would come out, but I would never have laid a hand on her.

” “All right.

” Ashby nodded.

“We’ll check your alibi.

Now, tell me, are you willing to provide a DNA sample for analysis to confirm that the children are really yours?” “Yes,” Mike replied without hesitation.

“I’m ready.

” Lamb called in a technician who took a swab from the inside of Mike’s cheek.

When the procedure was over, Mike got up to leave.

“Please,” he said at the door, “don’t tell Gloria, not until you’re sure.

She doesn’t deserve this.

” “We’ll do our best,” Ashby replied.

Mike left.

The door closed behind him, and silence fell over the office once more.

“What a twist,” Lamb exhaled.

“A father slept with his son’s wife and fathered three children.

That’s It gives the husband a motive,” Ashby finished.

“If Chanel really told him the truth on Christmas Eve, Dwayne could have killed her in a fit of rage, affection, temporary insanity.

” “Are we going to see him?” “Yes.

We need to talk.

Carefully.

Don’t say directly that the father confessed.

Let’s see how he reacts.

” They arrived at the Curtis house 20 minutes later.

Dwayne opened the door almost immediately.

He looked even worse than yesterday.

His eyes were red and swollen.

He had stubble on his cheeks, and his clothes were wrinkled.

He smelled of alcohol.

“Detectives,” he said dully, “anything new?” “Can we come in?” Ashby asked.

Dwayne let them into the house.

The living room was a mess.

Empty beer bottles on the table, clothes on the sofa, dirty dishes.

Dwayne sank into an armchair, wrapping his arms around his head.

“I can’t wrap my head around it,” he whispered.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.

” Ashby and Lamb sat down opposite him.

Ashby chose his words carefully.

“Mr.

Curtis, we need to ask you a few questions.

They may be unpleasant, but they are necessary for the investigation.

” “Ask away,” Dwayne replied wearily.

“Did you know that your wife was cheating on you?” Dwayne flinched as if he had been struck.

He raised his head and stared at Ashby.

“What? What are you talking about?” “We have information that Chanel was in a relationship with another man for a long time.

” Dwayne’s face contorted.

“No,” he whispered.

“That’s not true.

Chanel never She loved me.

We were together for 15 years.

” “Mr.

Curtis,” Lamb said softly.

“We understand this is hard to hear, but we need the truth.

Chanel didn’t tell you anything? She didn’t confess?” “No!” Dwayne shouted, jumping up.

“She never said anything because it never happened.

Who told you that? Who dared to slander my wife?” Ashby and Lamb remained silent.

Dwayne paced around the room, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Tell me who said it.

I have a right to know.

” “Mr.

Curtis, please calm down,” Ashby asked.

“Please sit down.

” Dwayne stopped, breathing heavily.

Then he slowly sank back into his chair.

“We can’t reveal our source,” Ashby continued.

“But this person claims to have had a close relationship with your wife, and that your three children are not biologically yours.

” Dwayne froze.

His face turned pale.

His lips trembled.

“What? What did you say?” “The children,” Lamb repeated.

“Kira, Jamal, Tracy, we’ve been told they’re not yours.

” Dwayne slowly shook his head.

“No.

This is nonsense.

They’re my children.

I’ve raised them since birth.

I changed their diapers, fed them at night, taught them to walk, to talk.

Biological fatherhood and parenting are two different things,” Ashby said cautiously.

“Mr.

Curtis, be honest.

Did you really know nothing about this?” Dwayne looked at him for a long time.

His eyes showed pain and despair, but not guilt.

“No,” he replied firmly.

“I knew nothing, and I don’t believe it.

Whoever told you this nonsense is lying.

” Ashby took a deep breath.

“That man is your father.

Mike Curtis came to us today and confessed that he had a relationship with your wife.

He claims that all three children are his.

” Silence.

Absolute ringing silence.

Dwayne sat motionless, not blinking, not breathing.

Then his face slowly began to change.

His eyes widened, his mouth opened slightly, his skin turned gray.

“Dad,” he whispered.

“My father said that?” “Yes,” Ashby nodded.

Dwayne jumped up, clutched his head, and began pacing from corner to corner.

“No, no, no,” he muttered.

“That’s impossible.

Dad would never Chanel would never They couldn’t “Mr.

Curtis,” Lamb began, but Dwayne wasn’t listening.

“I don’t believe it!” he shouted.

“It’s a lie.

He’s gone mad, or you made him say it.

” “No one made him,” Ashby replied calmly.

“He came voluntarily, and he’s willing to take a DNA test to prove his words.

” Dwayne stopped and turned to the detectives.

Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Why did he come to you? Why did he say that?” “He thinks you found out the truth and killed Chanel,” Lamb said.

“He thinks she confessed to you on Christmas Eve, and you couldn’t handle it.

” Dwayne swayed, grabbing the back of the chair.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered.

“I swear to you I didn’t know.

If I had known If she had told me He didn’t finish the sentence, falling back into the chair and covering his face with his hands.

His shoulders shook with sobs.

“I didn’t know anything,” he repeated through his tears.

“Nothing.

She didn’t tell me anything.

I thought we were happy.

I thought the children were mine, that we were a real family.

” Ashby and Lamb sat silently, watching him.

Dwayne cried for a long time, unrestrained, sobbing like a child.

“I have nothing left,” he whispered finally, lifting his red, wet face.

“No wife, no children.

My father betrayed me.

>> >> Everything I believed in turned out to be a lie.

” “Mr.

Curtis,” Lamb said quietly.

“I understand how hard this is for you, but we need the truth.

If Chanel really confessed to you on Christmas Eve, if you had an argument, and you lost control, it’s better to tell us now.

” Dwayne looked at her through his tears.

“I didn’t kill her,” he said slowly, clearly.

“She didn’t say anything to me.

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