Chapter 9: The Name He Would Not Say
Office interrogation room felt too small for three people. No windows. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Gray walls sweated in heat. Metal table bolted to floor between us. Mr. Belgasham sat calm at head, white napkin folded beside his hand, coffee stain still dark on right trouser leg. Guard sat across, leather jacket draped over chair back, black shirt sticking to his chest with sweat. I sat on plastic chair too big for me, feet barely touching floor, hands knotted in lap. Recorder blinked red in center of table.
Mr. Belgasham tapped recorder. Light steadied.
"State name for record," he said.
Guard swallowed. Voice cracked.
"You know my name."
"State it."
"Michel Durand."
Mr. Belgasham nodded slowly. Didn't look at me yet.
"Mr. Durand admits paid drop occurred at sidewalk cafe yesterday midday," he said, clear, measured. "Correct?"
Guard stared at recorder like it might bite him. Sweat ran down temple. Hand twitched toward chest where pocket had been. He caught himself. Pressed palm flat on table.
"Paid drop happened," he said. "Kid knocked coffee before... before it finished."
My breath caught. He admitted it. First time he said it out loud without calling me crazy.
"Who paid you?" Mr. Belgasham asked. Quiet. No raise in voice. Just weight.
Guard shook head fast.
"Can't say. Need deal first. Protection. No police. You handle inside."
"No deal until name given," Mr. Belgasham said. "You put poison in my cup. Kid saw it. Lab proved it. You want big plans? Tell truth."
Guard looked at me then. Eyes pleading, angry.
"He's kid. He didn't see correctly. I dropped sugar packet, not poison. Kid mixed it up."
Mr. Belgasham turned to me finally. Slow eye movement. Restrained.
"Tell him what you saw," he said to me. "Exact timeline. For recording. Start when you stood near gold-rimmed table."
My mouth went dry. Heart thumped loud against ribs. I leaned closer to recorder though I wanted to shrink back.
"I stood behind cafe table," I said. Voice small, shaking. "You sat with white napkin in hand. Dark coffee in white cup. He stood beside you in leather jacket. He waited till you looked away toward street. Toward black car parked at curb."
Guard interrupted, sharp.
"I stretched," he said. "Just stretched."
Mr. Belgasham raised one finger. Silence fell again.
"Continue," he told me.
"He reached to chest pocket," I said. "Pulled something small. White. Maybe folded paper. Maybe small glass. Hand moved quick over your cup. Something fell in. Brown liquid swirled. He pushed pocket closed. Hand stayed there."
"Packet versus vial matters," Mr. Belgasham said, eyes still on me. "Which was it? Look careful in memory. Describe shape."
I squeezed eyes shut. Tried to picture his fingers. Overcast daylight. Beige stone buildings behind. Gold rim of table flashing. Brown coffee. His hand darting.
"I... I think packet," I said. "Folded corner. But it caught light like glass. Not sure. Small. White. I saw it drop. I saw it splash. That's why I knocked table."
Guard seized on hesitation like lifeline.
"See? Kid not sure. Could be sugar. Could be nothing. Lab found residue but not from my hand. Maybe street trash."
Mr. Belgasham didn't blink. He picked up white napkin, unfolded it, laid it flat. Brown stain marked crease.
"Lab found poison in cup and residue on vial seized from your jacket," he said, each word spaced. "Same compound. Lab proof aligns with kid timeline. Your hand over cup at 12:03. Kid knocked table at 12:04. Camera across street confirms motion, though blurred. Memory gap on packet versus vial does not erase core act. Core claim stands."
Recorder kept blinking red. Guard stared at it, breathing hard.
"I want deal," he whispered. "I give handler location. Not name yet. Handler meets near cafe tomorrow. Drop spot behind bakery. I lead you there. You see for yourself. Then deal. Then name."
Mr. Belgasham leaned back. Stared at stain on trouser leg, then at my dirt-smudged hands.
"Recording holds partial confession," he said. "Payer name withheld. Eyewitness testimony now official, with noted uncertainty on container shape. Handler lead offered."
May you like
He clicked recorder off. Red light died. Room felt colder.
Guard slumped, hands covering face. I stayed frozen on plastic chair, understanding suddenly my words lived now outside my head, trapped on tape, and someone still unnamed wanted Mr. Belgasham dead enough to pay for it.
