This writing prompt took 2nd place in the Mystery writers 'Talk, Talk, Talk" competition. 

A big thanks to all who read, voted, and commented.

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"Do you want a cigarette?"

"Sure. I'd love a smoke."

The detective pulled out a pack from his inner pocket and extracted one, handing it over to Dr. Smith.

He placed it eagerly between his lips. "Thank you. Light?"

Patting his pockets, the detective found a blue disposable lighter and slid it across the interrogation table.

Dr. Smith worked the ridged wheel of the lighter. After several failed attempts, it finally produced a flame. He brought it to the tip of the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"An ashtray?"

"Oh, you can't smoke in here."

"Then why the hell did you let me light it?" He licked his fingers to put out the glowing tip. He rested the cigarette and the lighter on the edge of the scarred table.

The detective laughed, his bushy mustache twitching. "You can smoke it when you get released."

"So, I'll be getting out today." Dr. Smith loosened his striped tie and the top button of his tailored shirt.

"Don't count on it. If I get my way, you won't see the light of day for twenty-five years to life."

Looking at his watch, Dr. Smith said, "I don't have that kind of time. In fact, I think it is time that I invoke my right to an attorney."

"You do have the right, but a smart man like you shouldn't need a lawyer to talk to a dumb guy like me." The detective loosened his own inexpensive tie with several coffee stains along its length.

"I don't think you're dumb, but I won't be manipulated into confessing something I didn't do."

"Good. I'll have you answer a few simple questions to clear this whole matter up. Then we can both go outside and have a cigarette."

"I didn't kill that woman."

The detective smirked. "That wasn't going to be my first question. I was going to work up to that."

"And, I was cutting to the chase. I didn't do it. You can't have any evidence that says otherwise. So, if you're not going to charge me, I'll be leaving."

Dr. Smith stood. The metal chair scrapped on the linoleum.

"Sit back down! That woman has a name."

Involuntarily, he took his seat as a pang of guilt etched a hole in his stomach. "I know. Her name was Kristy. Kristy Jenkins."

The detective opened up the folder resting on the table in front of him and read from the top page. A picture was stapled to the top corner of the file.

"Kristine Marie Jenkins. Age thirty-six. Divorced. Mother of two. Boy age twelve and girl age ten. A medical-surgical nurse at Sinai Hospital. A beautiful woman. Or she was a beautiful woman before some monster got a hold of her."

"I didn't do it." Dr. Smith pleaded while he rubbed at his face.

"We'll get to that. You do admit the two of you were dating."

"Yes. We had gone on three dates."

"So, things were starting to get a little hot and heavy?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business."

Tapping a pen on the table, the detective said, "How about you let me decide that? Now, where did you meet?"

"At the hospital," Dr. Smith responded with exaggerated annoyance.

"You are a cardiac surgeon, correct?"

"Correct."

"So, I'm guessing that Ms. Jenkins was caring for one of your patients. You're making your rounds. You two happen to hit it off, and since she's an attractive single woman you ask her out. And, you being a handsome wealthy heart doctor, she'd have to be out of her mind to say no. Am I right again?"

"Something like that."

"Did Ms. Jenkins know about the circumstances surrounding your wife's death?"

He didn't need to exaggerate his annoyance this time. "I would assume so. It's common knowledge around the hospital."

"That was three years ago, correct?"

"Yes."

"And, they never found the murderer?"

"Correct."

"Were you ever a suspect?"

"Of course I was. Isn't the husband always considered a suspect in a murder investigation?"

"Not always, Dr. Smith."

"Don't patronize me. I was investigated and quickly dismissed as a suspect."

"You have an iron-clad alibi, didn't you?"

"Yes. I was in surgery with six other people as witnesses. Now detective, I know you are just doing your job, but I have never killed anyone. I loved my wife, and I would never have hurt her. I was growing fond of Kristy, and it tears me up inside to think what was done to her."

The detective leafed through the folder until he came to a set of glossy colored photographs. He slid them across the table, knocking the cigarette and lighter to the floor. Dr. Smith had to grab the pictures to save them from a similar fate.

"Ms. Jenkins was stabbed over twenty times in the chest and abdomen. She died from a severed aorta though the doctor who performed the autopsy wrote the punctured lung and perforated intestine were a close second."

Dr. Smith studied the pictures and then pushed them back towards the detective. The sight of her face frozen in pain made his normally steady hands shake.

"I hear you're one hell of a surgeon. Could you have saved her?"

"What are you getting at?" Small beads of sweat broke out across his forehead.

"Let's change gears. Where did you and Ms. Jenkins go on this last date?"

"We ate dinner at the Vino House."

The detective whistled. "Fancy. Could I afford to eat at a place like that?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Good point, Doctor, but for the record, I can't. Humble civil servants like myself make substantially less than you. So, what did you do after dinner?"

"I took her home."

"Good night kiss?" The detective asked, raising his eyebrows.

Dr. Smith nodded.

"Tongue?"

He frowned.

"Some hand stuff?"

"Enough!" The doctor slapped the table.

The detective smiled. "I'll decide when enough is enough. Do you want to know what I think?"

"Oh, please enlighten me."

Leaning back in his chair, the detective said, "I think that this was your third date. You're a big bad surgeon, and she's some little nurse who should love the fact that you paid attention to her. You spend a lot of money on a fancy dinner. Afterward, you take her someplace secluded hoping for a little action, and she told you no. You! How dare she?"

"You're wrong."

Ignoring him, the detective continued, "That's where things got out of hand. You try and force things, and she resisted. You hit her, and she screamed. You overreacted trying to shut her up, and you end up killing her."

It was Dr. Smith's turn to smile wolfishly. "So, in this little scenario of yours, to shut her up I stab her twenty times? I happen to have a knife handy when seconds before I had amorous intentions?"

"It's still a work in progress."

Dr. Smith stood up and pushed in his chair. "Well, it's been fun, but I'm leaving. You can call me when you have a workable theory with actual evidence, instead of half-ass ideas. It looks like they're paying you what you're worth."

Staring at a stain on his tie, the detective said, "I have one more question."

"What?"

"When did you drop Ms. Jenkins off at her home?"

"Eleven."

"Did you watch her go inside?"

"Of course, what kind of man do you think I am? Strike that. I'm a better man than you think."

"So, you watched her unlock the door and enter the residence safely?"

"Yes. I said that already." Dr. Smith twisted the door handle.

"Did you know that Ms. Jenkins had a security system installed after her divorce? The kids were spending the night with their father. The system records all activity. The last time any door was opened was when you picked her at eight o'clock. Yet, you said you watched her go inside, so I'm a little confused, but I am a low-wage government employee."

Dr. Smith released the knob. "I want to speak to my attorney."

"I bet you do."