Jasper Ashton was a tall, dark-skinned man of about 35, with cropped hair and a nervous look. He sat clutching a plastic cup of water, flinching at every sound. “Mr. Ashton, Detective Waverly. Tell me what happened.” Jasper’s hands shook as he replied, “I was doing my rounds, checking all the floors before closing. Found her on the second floor, knew right away she was dead.” He’d called the police immediately. As for Hester staying late, Ashton shook his head, “No, she was always punctual. I don’t remember her ever staying late.”

At that moment, a woman in her 50s entered the reception area, dressed in an expensive dark gray suit. Tall, with short brown hair and attentive eyes, she exuded the confidence of a seasoned lawyer. “Detective Celeste Raven, owner of the firm. I got here as soon as I heard.” Waverly shook her firm, business-like hand. “Mrs. Raven, I need to ask a few questions about Mrs. Blackwell. Any idea why she might have stayed late?” Celeste replied, “No idea. Hester’s worked here twelve years, never broken routine.”

Celeste described Hester as reliable, kind, and helpful, with no work conflicts. “She had no family; work was everything to her.” Waverly noted Ashton’s continued nervousness. “Mr. Ashton, what time did you come on duty?” “6 p.m., as usual. Day shift ends, I stay until morning.” He’d seen all staff leave, including Mrs. Raven at 7. “I thought Hester left, too. Didn’t see her after 6.” Celeste frowned, “That’s odd. She always said goodbye before leaving.”

Security at the building included electronic locks, alarms, and CCTV cameras, but Ashton revealed the cameras weren’t working that night due to maintenance. “Who made the decision to disconnect them?” Waverly asked. “Management of the company maintaining the system,” Ashton explained. Celeste was bewildered, “No one told me about disabling the cameras.” Ashton insisted he’d received a call about remote shutdown, but Celeste was suspicious. “We have a contract, all work is agreed in advance.”

Waverly watched Ashton closely, sensing something off. “Mr. Ashton, let’s go over this again. What time did you leave the building at the end of the workday?” “I didn’t leave. I came in at 6 and stayed all night.” So, he was present during the accident. Ashton nodded, eyes darting, claiming he was in the security room listening to music with headphones. Celeste stood, clearly upset, but agreed not to touch Hester’s belongings until the investigation was complete.

Waverly asked Ashton for a list of everyone with access to the building that night. “Employees only. Everyone has an electronic card. System records all entrances and exits.” In the security room, Ashton showed him the records: last exit at 18:32 for Mrs. Raven, but no exit registered for Hester. Waverly realized Hester had been in the building from close of business until her death. But why stay late, and why on the day the cameras were off?

“Jasper, do you often have problems with your security system?” “No, almost never. It’s very reliable.” “Then why agree to disabling it so easily?” Ashton sweated, “I thought it was routine. The voice on the phone sounded professional.” Waverly closed his notepad, requesting Ashton’s statement and contact details for the maintenance company. Fear was evident in Ashton’s eyes—more than a simple accident warranted.

The next morning greeted Waverly with gray skies and drizzle. He arrived at Raven and Associates at 9 a.m. as the building came to life after the tragedy. Employees entered with grim faces, casting glances at the spot where Hester’s body had lain. Celeste Raven waited in her spacious fourth-floor office, tired and disheveled. “You didn’t sleep last night,” Waverly observed. “It was hard after what happened. Hester was family.”

Celeste poured coffee, her movements slow and thoughtful. “Tell me more about her.” Hester was dedicated, never late, with an amazing memory for details. She remembered everyone’s birthdays, family problems, important dates—a true soul of the staff. She’d never married, lived alone, enjoyed gardening, novels, and theater. Waverly asked if there’d been any changes in her behavior. Celeste hesitated, “Yes, for the last three or four weeks, Hester was different—more lively, glowing.”

“She smiled more, hummed at work, sometimes had a dreamy look,” Celeste recalled. “When I asked, she’d just smile and say life was full of surprises.” No mention of travel or shopping, but Celeste noticed Hester visiting the doctor more often and requesting time off. “Which doctor?” “Not sure, just routine checkups.” Celeste remembered Hester becoming more secretive about personal calls, sometimes stepping out to answer the phone.

“How often?” “Three or four times in the last month, maybe more.” Celeste also noticed Hester talking more closely with Jasper, which was unusual. “About three weeks ago, I saw them talking quietly in the hallway. When I showed up, they stopped immediately.” Waverly asked to see Hester’s workplace. Her office, directly opposite the stairway, was small and simply furnished. On her desk were file folders, a calendar, photographs, and a cactus.

Waverly examined the photos: Hester with an elderly woman in a garden, at a theater lobby, and at a corporate party. “Is that her mother?” “Yes, she died five years ago. Hester took it very hard.” In the desk drawers, Waverly found office supplies, personal notes, and a small notebook with phone numbers. Noting a recent entry, he asked, “Who’s Dr. Finch?” “I have no idea,” Celeste replied. In the bottom drawer, he found an unsigned envelope with a medical form.

Waverly handed the form to Celeste, whose expression shifted from surprise to bewilderment. “This can’t be true. The analysis shows pregnancy—due date approximately six weeks.” Celeste sank into her chair, stunned. “Impossible. Hester is 63, long past menopause.” Waverly checked the date—the analysis was only a week old. “Now I see why she’s been so happy lately.” “You think she knew?” “Definitely. The results were in her private drawer.”

Celeste paced the office, “But who? Hester didn’t have affairs. She never told anyone.” “Sounds like she had secrets,” Waverly remarked. At that moment, voices sounded outside. Waverly saw Jasper Ashton in the yard, agitated and gesturing while on the phone. “Mr. Ashton was supposed to be at the station by 10,” Waverly noted. “It’s 11 already.” Perhaps he decided to come in first, Celeste suggested.

Waverly went downstairs and found Jasper still on the phone. “No, I can’t discuss this right now. I need time to think.” Sensing Waverly’s presence, Jasper ended the call. “Jasper, you’re late. We agreed on 10.” Jasper looked haggard, eyes red from lack of sleep. “Sorry, detective, I had business.” “What business could be more important than testifying in a murder case?” Jasper turned pale. “Murder? I thought it was an accident.” “We’re considering all leads. Let’s talk.”

They moved to a small meeting room. Waverly pulled out his notepad. “Jasper, let’s go over last night again. What time did you come on duty?” “6 p.m.” “First thing you did?” “Took the day guard’s shift, checked the log, inspected the control panel.” “How long did that take?” “15–20 minutes.” “So by 6:15–6:20 you were free?” “Yes.” “What did you do next?” “Started to walk around, first floor as usual.”

“Jasper, if you checked the first floor around 6:15, why didn’t you see Mrs. Blackwell leave?” Jasper sweated, “Maybe she was in the restroom or another room.” “When were you on the second floor?” “Maybe 7, maybe later.” “Did you see anyone?” “No.” Waverly leaned back, “Colleagues say you’ve been talking to Mrs. Blackwell a lot lately. About what?” Ashton tensed, “Nothing in particular, just polite conversations. About the weather mostly.”

“Did she share any news with you?” “No, we weren’t close.” Waverly placed the test results on the table. “Jasper, did you know Mrs. Blackwell was pregnant?” Ashton’s face registered shock. “Pregnant? But she’s 63.” “Nevertheless, the due date is six weeks.” Ashton leaned back, stunned. “I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know?” “But you communicated with her. She didn’t mention going to the doctor?” “No, never.”

“And about her good mood?” “Maybe. Yeah, she’s been happier than usual.” “Jasper, I need honesty. What was your relationship with Hester Blackwell?” Ashton was silent, then slowly replied, “We talked sometimes. She was lonely. Me too. Just friendly conversations.” “About what?” “About life. Her hobbies, my work.” “Are you married?” “No, it’s complicated.” “What do you mean?” “I have a girlfriend. We’ve been together two years, but not married.”

“Does she know about your conversations with Hester?” “Why would she know? It was just work.” Waverly closed his notebook. “That’s all for now, Jasper, but stay in touch.” After Ashton left, Waverly reflected on the coincidences—the older woman’s pregnancy, cryptic conversations with the security guard, cameras turned off, and Jasper’s excessive nervousness. Waverly decided to check Dr. Finch’s number from Hester’s notebook.

A directory search led him to Cordelia Finch, a psychiatrist at a private clinic on the outskirts of Manasses. The clinic was modern, surrounded by old oak trees. The lobby smelled of perfume and flowers. At the front desk, Waverly showed his ID. “Police investigation. I need to speak to the doctor about one of her patients.” Ten minutes later, Dr. Finch, a woman of about 45 with short gray hair and blue eyes, greeted him.

“Detective Waverly. Cordelia Finch. What can I do for you?” “Doctor, Hester Blackwell died yesterday. She had your number in her records.” Dr. Finch’s face darkened. “Hester died? My god, what happened?” “She fell down the stairs in her office. We’re still looking at an accident.” “Come into my office.” The room was calm, furnished with armchairs and bookshelves, a few landscape paintings.

“Hester was a patient?” “No, she never came to me for help. But we met about a month ago under unusual circumstances.” “What kind?” “Jasper Ashton came for therapy—anxiety disorder, family history of mental illness.” Waverly took notes. “Family history?” “Yes, Jasper’s grandfather and father suffered from schizophrenia. Jasper was afraid the disease would manifest in him.”

“Did it?” “No, but the fear was poisoning his life. We worked on self-acceptance.” “How did Hester get involved?” “A month ago, Jasper came in agitated—his girlfriend was pregnant.” “Girlfriend?” “Yes, much older than him. Jasper panicked about passing on schizophrenia to the child.” Waverly’s pulse quickened. “Did he give her name?” “Hester. She worked in the same office. They had an affair, now she’s pregnant.”

“How did Jasper feel about the pregnancy?” Dr. Finch twirled her pen thoughtfully. “He was terrified. Begged Hester for an abortion, explained about heredity, but she refused.” “What did he say?” “That Hester was happy, saw it as her last chance to be a mother, didn’t care about genetic risks.” “Your assessment?” “He was on the verge of a breakdown, saying he couldn’t let a sick child be born.”

“Did he make threats?” Dr. Finch hesitated, weighing confidentiality. “Detective, if Hester is dead, I must tell you. At the last session, five days ago, Jasper said he’d do anything to prevent the birth.” “Willing to do anything?” “He said if the system wasn’t working, you had to break it.” Waverly felt a chill. “What did he mean?” “Sounded threatening.”

After speaking with Dr. Finch, Waverly checked Jasper’s alibi. Ashton claimed he hadn’t left the building, but across the street at Mary’s Café, the owner recognized Jasper’s photo. “He comes in for coffee. The night before last, he left the office in a hurry around 7 or 8, looked upset.” At the bus stop, a city transit worker remembered Jasper taking the number 12 bus to Southside at 8, returning on the last bus at 10.

Jasper’s alibi was unraveling. He’d left the building between 8 and 10—the window during which Hester died. Waverly checked the Southside route; the terminus was near a shopping center and apartments. At the mall, a security guard confirmed seeing Jasper shopping in the drugstore and hardware store. “What was he buying?” “Rope and gloves.” Waverly reviewed security footage, seeing Jasper buy rope and rubber gloves at 8:42 p.m.

Walking back to the office, Waverly pieced together the evidence. Jasper had known about Hester’s pregnancy, tried to persuade her to abort, bought rope and gloves, and lied about his whereabouts. At the office entrance, Celeste Raven was talking to Fiona Ashton, Jasper’s girlfriend. Fiona, intelligent and confident, wanted to talk. “He’s been acting strange, jumpy, irritable, hasn’t slept much.”

“Was he home the night before last?” “No, said he was at work all night. Came in pale and anxious.” “Did anything else strike you as odd?” “He threw away clothes yesterday morning, said they were soiled, but they looked fine—his work shirt and pants.” Waverly felt the mosaic coming together. Jasper had lied, bought suspicious items, thrown away clothes, and had a motive.

“Did Jasper mention Hester?” “No, never talked about anyone at work having personal problems.” Celeste, listening, asked, “Detective, do you think Jasper—?” “I’m only gathering facts, but the picture is becoming clear.” Fiona turned pale. “You don’t think he’s capable of something terrible?” “People are capable of much when desperate.” Fiona nodded and left, Celeste looking on.

Celeste turned to Waverly, “So, it wasn’t an accident. All indications are that Hester Blackwell was killed deliberately, and we have a suspect with motive and opportunity.” The next morning, Waverly arrived at the station with a folder full of evidence and witness statements. The case against Jasper Ashton was solid: motive, opportunity, perjury—classic murder elements. At 9 a.m., he sent a patrolman after Jasper.

Ashton was found at home, not resisting arrest but looking like he’d been waiting for it. The interrogation room was sparse—a metal table, two uncomfortable chairs, bright light. Jasper sat across from Waverly, hands clasped, face gray with fatigue. “Jasper, do you understand why you’re here?” He nodded. “Because of Hester.” “Exactly. It’s time to tell the truth.”

Waverly laid out mall surveillance photos of Jasper buying rope and gloves. “Can you explain these items?” Jasper stared at them, then ran his hand over his face. “I wanted to stage a suicide.” “Whose suicide?” “My own.” Waverly hadn’t expected this. “Explain.” “I couldn’t stand the situation with Hester any longer. She refused to abort. I couldn’t let a child be born to suffer.”

“You decided to kill yourself?” “Yes, it seemed the only way. If I was gone, there’d be no baby.” “But plans changed?” “Yes. When I got back, Hester was still there, crying. She’d been thinking about our conversations, about my family’s illness, and for the first time, she had doubts.” Jasper explained he tried again to persuade her calmly, telling her about his grandfather and father’s suffering.

After an hour, he asked if she’d have an abortion for the baby’s sake. Hester replied, “It’s sad, but my decision hasn’t changed. At 63, this is my last chance. Any child is better than none.” “How did you react?” “I don’t remember exactly. I felt rage. She listened to all my pain, and didn’t care.” Jasper’s despair was palpable. “I yelled, called her selfish, said she was condemning a child to suffering.”

“Hester got up, said the conversation was over, her body, her decision, and headed for the stairs.” “You followed her?” “Yes, still yelling, trying to explain.” At the landing, Hester turned and said, “If you’re so afraid of passing on the disease, you shouldn’t have gotten involved with women.” “That made you angrier?” “I lost control. Thought about a suffering child. I pushed her.”

“Not very hard, just wanted her to stop and listen. But she was at the edge. Lost her balance and fell.” “And you knew right away she was dead?” “Yes, the way she was lying.” There was silence. “What did you do?” “Panic. Went downstairs, checked for a pulse. Nothing. Then I realized I had to think of something.” “So you decided to fake an accident?” “Yes. I thought if I said I found her dead, no one would suspect.”

“You left and came back later?” “Yes. Went home, changed clothes, threw them away, then returned and pretended to find the body. Dumped the rope and gloves in a dumpster.” “Was disabling the cameras your idea?” “Yes. Realized I might need to take extreme measures. Called the office as security, said systems would be shut down for maintenance.” “You planned the assassination in advance?” “No, planned suicide. But when I saw her doubts, I thought I could persuade her.”

“When you realized there was no chance, you lost control?” “Yes. It wasn’t premeditated murder. I just couldn’t bear the thought of a suffering child.” Waverly closed his notebook. “You realize an accidental push is still murder?” “I understand. I’m willing to take responsibility.” “Do you regret what happened?” Jasper was silent, then said, “I regret that Hester is dead. She was a good person. But I don’t regret preventing the birth of a sick child.”

Waverly was struck by the coldness of Jasper’s words. Even after confessing, Jasper considered his actions justified. “Jasper Ashton, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Hester Blackwell. You have the right to remain silent.” Jasper sat motionless as his rights were read, as if a great weight had been lifted. After he was led away, Waverly pondered the tragedy.

A woman who dreamed of motherhood all her life died defending her right. A young man, haunted by family history, committed murder believing he was saving a child from suffering. An hour later, prosecutor Michael Henderson reviewed the case file. “Has a confession been obtained?” “Complete. Motive clear—hereditary schizophrenia, victim’s reluctance to abort, loss of control.” “Classic second-degree murder. Not premeditated, but under influence.”

“How much jail time?” “15 to 25 years, depending on defense and jury.” After Henderson left, Waverly sat, reflecting on human nature’s paradoxes. Jasper killed Hester for motives others use to save lives—the desire to prevent suffering. In his logic, death was a lesser evil than a potentially sick child. That evening, Waverly reported to Celeste Raven.

Celeste met him in her office, now filled with wilting flowers left in Hester’s memory. “Detective, I hear Jasper’s been arrested.” “Yes, he pleaded guilty.” Celeste sank into a chair. “I still can’t believe it. Hester and Jasper had an affair. She was pregnant with his child—the motive for murder.” Waverly recounted Jasper’s family history, fears, and attempts to persuade Hester.

“So, Hester died because she wanted to be a mother?” “Essentially, yes.” “That’s terrible. She dreamed of having a child all her life. Trouble conceiving when young, then devoted herself to work. When she finally got the chance…” Celeste didn’t finish, wiping away tears. “What will happen to Jasper?” “Trial, likely 15 to 25 years.” “His girlfriend Fiona didn’t know about the affair or pregnancy. It was a shock.”

The women sat in silence, each lost in thought. “You know,” Celeste said, “Hester lived 63 years with dignity and honor and died defending what mattered most. It was heroic, in a way.” Waverly nodded, recognizing the truth. Hester died defending her right to motherhood, risking everything for love. Jasper chose fear, leading to tragedy.

As Waverly left, he reflected on the thin line between protection and destruction, love and obsession. Hester loved her unborn child enough to risk everything; Jasper’s love, poisoned by fear, led to murder. The case was closed, justice served, but the taste of tragedy lingered. Two lives destroyed, the dream of motherhood buried with Hester Blackwell. Somewhere in this story lies the lesson that fear can be more destructive than any disease.