Chapter 3 - The Arrest
Within twenty minutes, the quiet suburb of Caluire-et-Cuire was pierced by the sirens of the National Police. Father Thomas himself had called them, ignoring Martine’s desperate glares and whispered threats about withdrawing her financial support from the parish.
Two police officers entered the chapel, their heavy boots shattering the solemn atmosphere. Captain Moreau, a stern woman with sharp eyes, immediately took control of the situation.
"Nobody leaves this room," Moreau commanded.
Martine tried to push past her, her designer purse clutched tightly against her ribs. "This is an outrage! My grandbabies are dead, and you are desecrating their memory based on the wild fabrications of a jealous daughter-in-law and a confused child!"
"Madame, step back," Captain Moreau said coldly. She looked at Chloé, who was now hiding behind Élise’s coat. "Little girl, can you show me the phone?"
Élise gently took the phone from Chloé and handed it to the captain. As Moreau watched the video, her jaw tightened. She looked up at Martine, her eyes hardened like flint. "Martine Duval, I am arresting you on suspicion of administration of harmful substances resulting in the death of minors, and premeditated murder."
"Julien! Do something!" Martine screamed as the steel handcuffs clicked around her manicured wrists. "Call our lawyers! Tell them this is a conspiracy!"
Julien stood frozen. He looked like a man whose entire reality had been torn apart. He looked at his mother, the woman he had defended against his wife for eight years, the woman whose 'experience' and 'wisdom' he had always forced Élise to accept.
As Martine was led out of the funeral home, the guests parted like the Red Sea, faces filled with disgust and horror. Nadia, the sister-in-law who had been nodding along with Martine's insults minutes ago, now slunk into the shadows, trying to avoid the police's gaze.
Captain Moreau turned to Élise. "Madame, I am so sorry for your loss. But we must halt the burial immediately. The prosecutor will order an emergency autopsy."
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Élise closed her eyes. The pain of knowing her babies would not rest yet was unbearable, but a new, fierce flame ignited in her chest: the hunger for justice. She looked at Julien, who tried to reach for her hand.
"Don't touch me," Élise whispered, her voice devoid of any warmth. "Don't ever touch me again."
