EIGHT #3
Calum jerked his arm away. “Don’t be absurd.” He stared at her as she leant back in her chair. “Did you really think that would work?”
“It was worth a try.” Aly stretched her arms overhead, her manacles clinking. “It worked last time, anyway. How else do you think I got off with just a warning?”
Calum’s stomach churned as he realised what she meant. She was cavalier about it, but he didn’t miss the flash of revulsion on her features as she spoke.
“So, what will it be, then?” Aly asked, clasping her hands on the table. “A fine I can’t afford to pay, or a stay in prison that makes me even more unemployable afterwards?”
There was a third option, one that had been prodding at the corners of Calum’s mind since she’d asked him if he was new. She’d already shown that she understood the way things worked in the slums far better than he did. If he was to catch whoever had killed Gibson, he needed to understand it, too.
More than that, he wanted to give her the chance to have her crimes erased.
It had been clear from the moment he’d found her hand in his pocket that she stole for sustenance, not out of greed.
She was trying to survive in a hostile world, and he recognised the resolve she’d shown throughout their interview, even when he’d threatened her with a fine they both knew she had no hope of paying.
And if he proved his worth with this case, he would be in much better standing to press for an investigation into the missing people. For a start, he would keep his job, and the success of solving a burgess’s murder would overshadow mutterings about harassing a colleague.
He released a breath, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. Aly hadn’t even admitted involvement with the crime guilds, though he suspected she knew more than she was saying. Few petty criminals escaped their reaches. “I have a proposal for you.”
Aly folded her hands. “I’m listening.”
“I’m willing to grant you immunity in return for providing me with information that could help me find whoever killed Burgess Gibson. I can pay you, too, for information leading to an arrest.”
“You want me to clipe,” she said flatly.
“Do you think murderers deserve loyalty?” Calum pressed.
“The key word there is ‘murderers’,” Aly snapped. “I’m not keen on becoming their next victim.”
Calum shrugged. “Then I suppose you’re going to prison.”
Aly bit her lip. “How much money are we talking?”
“Two pounds for an arrest, thruppence for any other information that meaningfully furthers the investigation.”
Aly’s mouth twisted. “And I suppose it’s at your discretion whether or not anything I give you ‘meaningfully furthers the investigation’?”
“It is, but it’s money given to you freely and fairly, not taken out of my pocket when I’m not looking.”
Aly didn’t drop her gaze or look away, her expression as she stared at him not showing the merest flicker of shame. “And where does this money come from, you or the police?”
“Does it matter? It’s cash.”
“It matters.” She spoke through gritted teeth.
“The two pounds for an arrest would come from the police, but anything else is from me.”
Aly shook her head, her manacles clanking as she leant back in her chair. “I don’t want your money.”
Calum stared at her. With the poorly patched waistcoat and gaunt cheekbones, she clearly needed it. “It’s fair payment in exchange for services, no expectations attached.”
“No.” Aly’s hands were clenched together on the table. It was the most emotion she’d shown since he’d arrested her. “But if I agree to this, you won’t charge me with any crimes?”
That was a loaded request. “I can’t guarantee that I won’t charge you with any crimes.
There are some crimes, such as murder, that I am unable to overlook.
However, in exchange for your help with this I can promise that you won’t be charged with any offences related to working outwith guild control, with failure to comply with a Section Thirty-Three order, or with carrying illegal weapons. Do we have a deal?”
Aly nodded. “Deal.” Her throat bobbed. “I’ll need those illegal weapons back, though.”
Calum halted with his arms outstretched towards her, the key to the manacles in one hand. “I can’t—”
“Of course you can.” Her manacles clinked as she tossed her plait over her shoulder. “If you’re not charging me for them, you don’t need to take them into evidence.” Her tone was light, but he saw the undercurrent of alarm on her face.
Once again, she had stared at him in fear and yet still managed to outsmart him. And, though it made him uneasy to return her weaponry, he understood well the kind of terror that led to arming oneself against danger.
He eyed her as she left the interview room, still stowing her belongings back in her pockets.
For all he knew, she was off to tell Gibson’s killer all about the foolish trust the lead DI was placing in her.
But he didn’t think so. If she was playing him, she wouldn’t have refused his money.
That showed she had scruples. She had as much to gain from this arrangement as he did.