Page 112 of One Shattered Crown
Ashner chomps his gum again. “Maybe your client set this up. It’s almost too obvious he’s guilty, right? That’s a decent defense, don’t you think, Caldwell?”
Caldwell tilts her head, a stray strand of dark hair slipping from her bun to frame her cheek. She’d be pretty if she weren’t gunning to put me in a cell. Not for me, not for anyone tied to me.
She flips her notebook closed with a neat snap. “Well, Mr. Beathach, you are being detained. You’re coming down to the station with us either on your own or in handcuffs.” Her eyes cut toward the glass doors. Outside, news vans jockey for curb space, umbrellas bump, and camera lights flare white against rain-slicked pavement.
“I’m fine either way.” I smile, slow, and pull my phone from my back pocket, the case warm against my palm. “You might want to take a look at this.”
“What’s this?” Caldwell asks.
I hadn’t planned on sharing this information. “Cameras. Installed at my personal residence yesterday.”
Fergus’s head snaps up. “You did?”
“Yeah. Didn’t tell anybody.” My tone stays even. “With a body showing up there, I figured it was time.”
Caldwell takes the phone and scrolls, face unreadable except for a twitch at the corner of her mouth. The blue of her suit catches the overheads, and her nails flash a hot pink when her thumb moves.
“As you can see,” I say, “there I am arriving with Ms. Rendale last night. Timestamped. There we are leaving this morning. Plenty of angles. No window for me to kill Sylveria Rendale and stash her in a closet on my own property.”
“These could be doctored.” Caldwell’s gaze lifts.
“Sure.” I take the phone back. “Your email?”
She gives it, and I send the files. “Run them through every analyst you trust. My word stands. It’s real.”
Fergus exhales, shoulders loosening under rain-damp flannel. “Never thought you’d put cameras out there.”
“Didn’t have a choice.” The lobby smells of lemon polish, wet wool, and the faint iron thread of death. “We need to know who is getting onto my property and leaving bodies.” More importantly, I need eyes on Ella at all times.
Caldwell snorts. “You can afford to hire somebody to kill, you know.”
I give her a smile. A real one. “I’d never ask anybody to do my dirty work for me, Detective. That I promise you.”
She swallows and visibly shakes herself before her chin goes up.
Questions keep coming for another half hour. They cycle the order, poke the same corners, try to catch a flicker. I give them nothing new. Radios chirp. A tech’s flash pops near the closet. Evidence markers sprout across the tile like small yellow teeth. The coroner seals Sylveria into a black bag, zipper rasping, then a cart squeaks away toward freight doors.
Caldwell stands, straightening her slacks. “I want everyone out of this lobby. Our techs need the entire space.”
I stand as well. “Fine by me.”
The front doors push wide. Alexei Solokov strides in with two men tight at his shoulders. Their collars arecrooked, hair damp, jackets creased from elbows in the crowd. Rain beads on his coat and rolls down to the floor in neat drops.
“Mr. Sokolov,” Detective Ashner says, stepping forward, trench coat swinging. “We’d like to discuss a couple of matters with you.” He tucks his gum to one side of his mouth and waits.
“Not now.” Alexei doesn’t spare him another look. His gaze finds me across the room and holds. There’s calculation there, and a heat that ignores the chill in the vents. “Justice,” he says, voice even.
“Yes, detectives,” I tell them without taking my eyes off Alexei. “I’ll be in touch.”
Caldwell’s jaw works once. “I want you at the station later today for a formal interview. Don’t make me detain you.” She signals her team. Uniforms start funneling people toward the doors, hands light on elbows, voices clipped but controlled. Outside, a siren winds down.
Yeah, she doesn’t have enough to take me in with my alibi in her email. Not right now, anyway.
Fergus edges closer, boots leaving damp ovals on the marble. “You want Sokolov in the conference room?” he asks under his breath, glancing at Alexei’s guards, then at mine.
“No. We’re going downstairs,” I say. “Sound good?”
Alexei adjusts his cuffs, brushes water from his sleeve, then nods once toward the interior hall.
