Chapter 4Her Peeping Accusation, My Prosthetic Eye

The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to my landlady, Ms. Jenkins.

Her voice, through the receiver, was cold as ice.

“Ms. Jenkins, it’s not what you think.”

I tried to explain.

“I don’t want to hear it!”

She brutally cut me off.

“All I know is, you only moved in a week ago, and you’ve already caused such a scandal!”

“Now the entire neighborhood chat group is exploding! Everyone’s cursing me for letting a wolf into the fold!”

“How will I rent my apartment out in the future? What about my reputation?”

Her voice grew sharper, filled with the anger of being implicated.

“Lucas Rochester, I don’t care if you’re a genuine pervert or wrongly accused, I’m giving you three days!”

“If you’re not moved out in three days, I’ll hire someone to throw all your belongings out!”

With that, she slammed the phone down.

Silence once again fell over the holding cell.

Detective Miller showed a hint of schadenfreude.

“Heard that? It doesn’t feel good to be abandoned by everyone, does it?”

He winked at his subordinate.

“Take him away!”

I was escorted, walking through the long corridor.

This time, no one whispered.

They just looked at me with expressions of utter contempt.

I was shoved into a police car, heading for the city detention center.

There, I would await the so-called judgment.

Outside the car window, the city’s clamor gradually faded.

I leaned against the cold car wall, feeling the vibrations of the vehicle.

Despair, like a tide, surged from all directions, threatening to drown me.

Just then, another voice suddenly echoed in my mind.

A calm, efficient, emotionless female voice.

“Mr. Rochester, I am Quinn Vance, a lawyer from the City Legal Aid Center.”

“Your case is now assigned to me.”

I froze.

Legal aid?

I hadn’t applied for it.

“The police applied for you.”

As if guessing my question, the lawyer named Quinn explained.

“According to regulations, in your situation, a lawyer must be present.”

I understood.

This was just a formality.

A mere procedural step.

This lawyer, Quinn, probably already assumed I was guilty, just like Detective Miller and his team.

All she had to do was persuade me to plead guilty, then sign a stack of papers.

“I have nothing to say.”

My voice was dry and tired.

“I am innocent.”

Silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds.

I expected her to launch into a lengthy lecture, just like Detective Miller.

But she didn’t.

She simply spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I’ve reviewed your situation with the police.”

“Binoculars and a camera with candid photos were found at the scene, the victim’s accusations are vivid, and multiple neighbors can testify to your suspicious behavior.”

“All evidence is heavily against you.”

Every word she spoke was like a hammer, striking my heart.

“If you insist on not pleading guilty, once the trial begins, and the judge accepts this evidence, your sentence will only be harsher.”

I closed my eyes, my deeply sunken eye sockets dry.

“So, you’re also here to persuade me to plead guilty?”

“No.”

Quinn’s answer surprised me.

“I’m not here to persuade you to plead guilty. I am your lawyer, and my duty is to protect your legal rights.”

“I now need you to answer a few questions. Please be absolutely truthful.”

Her voice was as calm as a precise instrument.

“First, are those binoculars and that camera yours?”

“No.”

“Second, did you know the plaintiff, Amy Lestat, previously? Or have any contact with her?”

“No, no contact.”

“Third, besides your eyes, are your other senses, such as hearing, more acute than an average person’s?”

This question stirred something within me.

She was the first person to notice other changes in my body.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

A subtle, almost imperceptible tremor seemed to enter Quinn’s voice.

“Mr. Rochester, the police will transfer you to the city detention center in half an hour. Before that, they will ask you to sign a criminal detention notice.”

“Do not sign anything.”

“Wait for me.”

The call ended.

I held my phone, and despite the cold in my hands, a bead of sweat formed.

Hope.

In the endless darkness and despair, this woman named Quinn gave me a faint glimmer of hope.

Though this hope was as small as a candle flame in the wind, liable to extinguish at any moment.

The police car stopped.

I was led into an office, where Detective Miller threw a document in front of me.

“Sign it!”

I shook my head.

“My lawyer will be here soon. I won’t sign anything before she arrives.”

Detective Miller’s face instantly turned purple with rage.

“Lawyer? You can afford a lawyer?”

He acted as if he’d heard the biggest joke.

“Let me tell you, it’s useless! No one can save you!”

He grabbed my hand, trying to force my fingerprint onto the document.

Just then, the office door was violently pushed open.

A woman in a professional suit, with an upright posture, walked in.

She glanced at the scene in the room, her brow slightly furrowed.

“Stop.”

Her voice was soft, but it carried an undeniable authority.

“I am Lucas Rochester’s defense attorney, Quinn Vance.”

“Any coercive action on your part, when my client has explicitly refused to sign, is illegal.”

Detective Miller’s face turned from green to pale as he looked at the suddenly appearing Quinn. He released my hand, scrutinizing the powerful woman, his tone unfriendly: “Who are you? Who let you in?” Quinn took a power of attorney and her lawyer’s badge from her briefcase, placing them directly on the table. “Appointed by the City Legal Aid Center. These are my credentials and authorization. Now, I demand to meet my client immediately and privately.”