Page 27 of Whispers at Dusk
He was young, mid-twenties, Della thought. Her Viking ghost had given her an excellent description of the man, shaggy hair, casual appearance.
And now he was upset and spouting out threats.
“I’m going to sue you! I’ll sue the Norwegians, and I’ll sue you in America, too!”
He was an American, Della decided. His accent was neutral, as if he’d come from the center of the country, or at least there was no Southern drawl to his speech nor did he have the sound of a New Yorker or a man from New England.
“Okay, well, do what you must,” Mason said. “But—”
“Get me out of these ridiculous handcuffs and let me go this instant, and I’ll consider forgetting about the incident!” he raged.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Della said.
“You can’t just hold me!”
“Oh, we wouldn’t just hold you. You’re under arrest,” Mason said casually.
“Under arrest! For being at a bar?” the man responded indignantly.
“No,” Della murmured.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Mason agreed. “You’re under arrest for murder.”
“Murder!” the young man shouted.
Della had to admit, if his astonishment was an act, he was damned good at acting.
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s a very grave charge. A victim—seen with you—was law enforcement,” Mason told him.
“You—you—you can’t! I didn’t, I swear to you, I didn’t... Oh, man!”
He stared at them both with wide eyes. When they didn’t speak, he repeated himself.
“I’m not a perfect human being—but I swear to you, I never killed anyone, I never would kill anyone! Oh, wow, please, don’t arrest me!”
“Well, we’re going to walk a few blocks to our headquarters and have a discussion,” Della said. “Maybe you can talk us out of arresting you.”
He nodded, swallowing painfully. “I’ll come, I’ll talk to you, but...please. Please! I swear on my mom’s life, let me out of the handcuffs. Let me just walk with you. I don’t want anyone to see... I don’t want to lose my job.”
“You’re working at the dig?” Della asked him.
He frowned and nodded. “Please! We had to be invited. My father managed to get a friend of a friend to get me an invitation. I majored in history and archaeology and this is...so important to me! I don’t want to get sent home. I mean, before God! I didn’t kill anyone. And I swear that I will not run!”
Della looked at Mason. She was still surprised that it seemed they could look at one another and make the same decision.
“All right. We’ll get the cuffs off you. And you can walk right along with us. May I have your wallet?”
“Are you shaking me down for money?” the man asked.
“No, I need your name, and I’d like to see your passport,” Mason told him.
“Scott Harrington,” he said quickly. “And here’s my passport. I’m from Denver, Colorado.”
Mason looked at the passport and nodded to Della.
“Not British,” Mason murmured.
“No, but I...”
