Shades of Gray

Detective Johnson is revealed hunched over a desk in a small, dingy office with the dim light of a small desk lamp revealing a tan folder he is flipping through. There is a knock at the door and he looks up as a beautiful young woman enters the room.
Johnson glances up and puts the folder away, straightening in his chair.
Detective Johnson
Thank you for coming in so late, Ms. Warner.
Elizabeth sits down in the chair looking tired and wary. She is dressed in expensive clothes and she idly taps her long red nails against the wooden arm of the chair.
Elizabeth Warner
It sounded important on the phone, Detective.
Detective Johnson
Something new has come up in your husband’s
case.
Elizabeth frowns, as if this surprises her.
Elizabeth Warner
A suspect?
Detective Johnson
Not exactly.
Elizabeth’s frown deepens.
Elizabeth Warner
Then what is it?
Johnson straightens and stares Elizabeth straight in the eye.

Detective Johnson
Ms. Warner, have you ever heard of a Ms. Juliet
de Leau?
Elizabeth Warner
No sir, I have not.
Detective Warner
She came in this morning…
There is an uncomfortable pause as Johnson struggles to find the right words. Elizabeth just seems confused. Clearing his throat, Johnson continues.
She claims to be your late husband’s lover.
Elizabeth looks at the floor and Johnson can’t tell her expression. When she makes no indication of replying, he continues.

I’m sorry ma’am. Were you aware he was
having an affair?
When Elizabeth looks up her eyes are sad, but she doesn’t look surprised, which interests Johnson.
Elizabeth Warner
No. No, I was not.
Detective Johnson
You never wondered where he was most evenings?
She said they met up a couple of times a week.
Elizabeth Warner
He told me he was working late.
Frowning, Johnson asks:
Detective Johnson
And you believed him?
Elizabeth sighs.
Elizabeth Warner
Some people are more trusting then you are,
Detective. I loved him, and I know he loved me.
Johnson frowns.
Detective Johnson
Despite the affair.
Elizabeth Warner
We all make mistakes, Detective.
This intrigues Johnson and he leans forward in his seat so that his elbows are propped on the wood of the desk in front of him. With a suspicious expression he says:
Detective Johnson
So tell me Elizabeth…What’s yours?
Elizabeth starts to laugh, catching Johnson off guard.
Elizabeth Warner
You think I killed my husband.
Johnson cocks his head to the side and studies her reaction curiously.
Detective Johnson
I’ll admit you are a suspect.
Elizabeth examines her cuticles as she casually asks:
Elizabeth Warner
And what proof do you have?
Johnson ignores the question and begins to idly shuffle some papers on his desk. Glancing back at her, he changes the subject.
Detective Johnson
Ms. Warner, remind me again where
you were at the time of your husband’s death?
Elizabeth crosses her legs, distracting Johnson for a moment. He realizes this was intentional and looks back to her.
Elizabeth Warner
I was on my way home. I had just left work.
Johnson opens the folder and reviews the transcript of the interview with Elizabeth’s secretary.
Detective Johnson
Your secretary said that you left an hour
earlier than usual.
Elizabeth Warner
I had to run and pick up groceries on the way
home.
Elizabeth leans in with a smirk.
Groceries that were found with me when the
cops came.
Detective Johnson
Did your husband have any enemies?
Elizabeth shrugs.
Elizabeth Warner
I didn’t know of any. But he may have had
enemies. We all have secrets.
Johnson leans back in his chair and studies her.

Detective Johnson
Interesting.
Elizabeth eyes him curiously.
Elizabeth Warner
What makes you think it was me, Detective?
Johnson shrugs as if the answer is simple.
Detective Johnson
You married young and for money. You
didn’t love him, but you found out about the affair
you were angry. Because it never occurred to you
that a person couldn’t love you back.
Elizabeth scowls, before leaning forward in her chair so that their faces are only ten inches apart.
Elizabeth Warner
You think you’re so clever, don’t you Detective?
You wear your expensive suit about, trying to make
yourself seem more important than you actually are, because if you don’t find yourself important, then
how is anyone else supposed to?
Johnson moves away, uncomfortable by her close proximity and clears his throat ignoring her taunting comment. He reopens the folder and looks over his notes.
Detective Johnson
What year were you and Jonathon Warner
married?
Without hesitation she answers:
Elizabeth Warner
2003.
Without missing a beat, he asks:
Detective Johnson
How old were both you and your husband at this
time?
Elizabeth Warner
I was 21. Jonathon was 56.
Detective Johnson
And how much money was in his possession at the
time of your marriage?
Elizabeth winces and Johnson smiles at her obvious discomfort. Elizabeth hesitates.
Elizabeth Warner
I don’t see how that is relevant…
Johnson looks at her sternly as he patiently asks for her answer.
Detective Johnson
Answer the question, Ms. Warner.
Elizabeth hesitates and her eyes shift to the floor. Incredibly softly, she says:
Elizabeth Warner
3.4 billion dollars.
Johnson smiles, triumphant.
Detective Johnson
Interesting. Is that not a good enough motive for
murder?
Elizabeth scowls.
Elizabeth Warner
Detective, Jonathon had lymphoma. He had maybe
another year to live. If money was the sole motive,
couldn’t I have just waited another year? I’d already
waited eleven.
Johnson ignored the statement and moves on to his next question.
Detective Johnson
Ms. Warner, how old were you when your mother
died?
Elizabeth looks back at him with rage in her eyes.
Elizabeth Warner
I beg your pardon, Detective? How dare you bring
up my mother!
Johnson looks intrigued that he has hit a nerve and more firmly asks:
Detective Johnson
How old were you?
Elizabeth doesn’t look at him.
Elizabeth Warner
I was nine.
With sympathy, Johnson continues.
Detective Johnson
Drunk driver, wasn’t it?
Elizabeth Johnson
Yes.
Detective Johnson
You had four siblings, correct?
Elizabeth looks pained.
Elizabeth Warner
Yes. I did.
Detective Johnson
And you were the oldest.
Elizabeth Warner
Yes.
Johnson sighs, feigning sympathy.
Detective Johnson
That must have been hard on a nine-year-old. Raising
four kids on your own.
Elizabeth raises her eyes to look at him curiously.
Elizabeth Warner
What makes you say that?
Johnson motions to the manila folder on his desk.
Detective Johnson
It says here in your file that your father was an
alcoholic, so I imagine you were forced to look
after your siblings alone.
Elizabeth tries to hide a grimace, but it’s too late, Johnson has already seen it.
Elizabeth Warner
I wanted to do it. They deserved better from a
father who didn’t care.
Detective Johnson
So, your father, must have drank a lot around the
home?
Elizabeth nods.
Elizabeth Warner
Yes, usually.
Detective Johnson
Did he ever beat you?
Elizabeth raises an eyebrow, suspiciously.
Elizabeth Warner
That isn’t in the file?
Johnson hesitates.
Detective Johnson
No. It says here the authorities could never get
you to confirm it for them.
Elizabeth shrugs nonchalantly.
Elizabeth Warner
It’s none of your business, Detective. And I still
fail to see how any of this is relevant.
Johnson frowns, his eyes scanning over her file.
Detective Johnson
Your father was found dead on the living room
floor five years later.
Elizabeth nods.
Elizabeth Warner
If I remember correctly, the coroner said it was
the drugs that eventually killed him.
Detective Johnson
Later, however, it was found that no drugs were
found in his blood prior to his death.
Elizabeth pauses for a moment, catching Johnson’s attention. She looks away when he meets her eyes.

Elizabeth Warner
How interesting.
Suspiciously, he asks:
Detective Johnson
The coroner was a friend of yours wasn’t he?
Elizabeth nods.
Elizabeth Warner
A good friend of my mother’s, yes.
Johnson looks at her without hiding his disgust.
Detective Johnson
So he lied in order to protect your family.
Elizabeth smiles casually and shrugs.
Elizabeth Warner
He was a professional, Detective. But sometimes
even professionals make mistakes.
Johnson frowns.
Detective Johnson
It was too big of a mistake to overlook, Ms. Warner.
But strangely enough, all cases concerning your father
were dropped and you and your siblings were sent to
foster homes to live normal lives.
Elizabeth sighs, exasperated.
Elizabeth Warner
Detective, what exactly is it you are trying to say?
Detective Johnson
What I’m saying, Ms. Warner, is that a killer is very
rarely a one-time offender.
Elizabeth Warner
Investigations were dropped because there was no
proof.
Johnson laughs humorlessly.
Detective Johnson
I’m not saying you aren’t good at what you do.
Elizabeth frowns.
Elizabeth Warner
I loved my father and I loved my husband. But
sometimes those things just don’t seem to be enough.
Johnson rolls his eyes, clearly not believing a word she is saying.
Detective Johnson
Your father was a useless, selfish drunk and your
husband was an old fool who didn’t care about you.
Elizabeth stands and bends over the desk so that her palms are flat on the desk and she glowers at him.
Elizabeth Warner
Don’t you dare! My father may have been a drunk
but it was only because his love for my mother
drove him completely out of control when she died.
She was killed by a drunk driver, Detective. Just some
stupid teenager out one night from a party while my
mother was out going for a walk. It shouldn’t have
happened to her. It doesn’t make any sense why the one
night she decided to go home she was smashed up so
violently against a pole, and the driver survived with
only a concussion. It doesn’t make sense that she died,
leaving a broken, struggling family in her wake. It doesn’t
make sense why it happened. But life doesn’t make
sense. And my father couldn’t deal with that.
Johnson leans back in his chair and shakes his head as if he is talking to a child.
Detective Johnson
The same could be said about you, Ms. Warner. You
lived the rest of your life manipulating the world into giving you everything that you wanted. And they did. Because you seemed to have everything a man could
want. But one day you came home to find your husband with another woman and you decided to kill him. Because it didn’t make sense why a man like Jonathon couldn’t
love a woman like you. It didn’t make sense that after
how much you loved him, he could go behind your back and fool around with someone else. And it didn’t make sense that for the second time in your life, how much
you loved a person didn’t matter. They still hurt you anyway.
Elizabeth knocks a tacky snow globe Johnson had on his desk onto the floor in anger. There are tears in her eyes but she doesn’t make any mention of them.
Elizabeth Warner
Don’t try to understand me, Detective. Don’t try
to understand how my mind works, as if yours is
so impossibly different. You seek to understand
why things happen. Because you need answers.
The word is black and white for you, and you
cannot have any shades of grey in between.
Johnson only smirks and looks at her with a mixture of pity and disgust, meant only to infuriate her.
Detective Johnson
You want me to be like you. Murderers are lonely
people, you know. They hurt and they hurt and they
have no way of making the pain go away than by
hurting others. Only the pain doesn’t go away, does
it? It eats at you until you kill again and again and
again. And it is my job to stop people like you. People
who never seem to learn when enough is enough.
Elizabeth takes a moment to compose herself, before sitting back in the chair. She leans back and watches him for a moment.
Elizabeth Warner
Why did you become a detective, if you’d be so kind as
to tell me?
Johnson shrugs.
Detective Johnson
I became a detective to stop people who have no
understanding of right or wrong.
Elizabeth Warner
I understand right from wrong.
Johnson laughs humorlessly. He leans forward expression suddenly serious and voice quiet.
Detective Johnson
But you don’t care. You’re a psychopath Ms.
Warren. And I know you killed your husband,
Elizabeth. I know you killed him with every bone
in my body.
Elizabeth begins to laugh hysterically for a moment and Johnson leans further back suddenly incredibly uncomfortable. When she finally stops, there is a terrifying expression on her face.
Elizabeth Warner
You became a detective after your wife was hit
by that car. He came out of nowhere, ran her
over and then drove away.
The color drains from Johnson’s face and he freezes.
Detective Johnson
How do you know that?
Elizabeth merely laughs and flicks some blond hair over her shoulder.
Elizabeth Warner
I know more about you then you’d like to believe.
You see Detective, you and I aren’t all that
different. That man that killed your wife got away
and you’ve spent the rest of your life stopping
people like him from getting away because each time
you catch someone, you feel a little less guilty that
you never found the man who killed her. Me? I hurt
the people who hurt me in a screwed up attempt
to make the pain go away. But it never does, does
it Detective? You still lie awake at night and imagine
her lying next to you, and running a hand through
your hair and then you cry yourself to sleep every
night because you know in your heart there is
nothing you can do.
Johnson’s jaw has tightened but there is a fierce look in his eyes as he speaks.
Detective Johnson
But you don’t quite understand that yet
do you? You don’t understand that the pain never
really goes away. Not really. And no matter how
many people you hurt, including yourself, it
doesn’t go away.
Elizabeth laughs and gets up to leave, moving towards the door.
Elizabeth Warner
Something you should know about me Detective…
She stops once she is at the door and smiles sadistically at him.
  …Is that I always get what I want.
Johnson looks at her with revulsion and stands up straight. Softly, but without any room for misunderstanding he says:
Detective Johnson
I will not sleep until you are in jail, Ms. Warner.
All murderers slip up sometime, and when you
do I will be there to drag your sorry ass back to
the bottomless pit of hell where you belong.
Elizabeth laughs again, her voice soft and carefree.
Elizabeth Warner
I wish you the very best of luck.
She winks at him.

Goodnight Detective.
She leaves closing the door behind her, leaving Johnson standing in his office alone. He sighs and collapses into his chair with a sigh. He buries his head in his hands for a minute, before unlocking the top drawer of his desk and pulling out a photo frame from the back of the drawer. The photo is old and damaged but shows a beautiful young woman in a wedding dress and Detective Johnson in a tuxedo with his arms around her. He shakily places the photo onto the desk and begins to weep desperately into his hands.