Chapter Thirteen — A Perfect Alibi #3
Bell's face relaxed slightly. Vance studied him. Then nodded.
“Inside.”
The verification took fourteen minutes. Lucas's message. Date. Time. Elliot's response. Nothing else. Vance photographed the screen. Then asked:
“Where was this phone Tuesday night?”
Elliot had been waiting.
“Home.”
“All night?”
“Yes.”
“Can you verify?”
“Probably.”
Vance looked at Bell. Then Elliot.
“How?”
“Our home Wi-Fi.”
Her expression changed. Tiny. Interested.
“My phone automatically connects.”
“When did you last leave the house Tuesday?”
“Afternoon.”
“Return?”
“About seven thirty.”
“After that?”
“No.”
Ronan glanced at him. Elliot felt it. Not now. Vance asked, “You never disconnected from the network?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you turn the phone off?”
“No.”
“Airplane mode?”
“No.”
“Would you consent to us obtaining router records?”
Ronan's eyes widened. Elliot didn't hesitate.
“Yes.”
Bell turned.
“Elliot.”
“It's fine.”
Vance watched him. There. Confidence. Maybe too much. Elliot softened it.
“If it proves I was home, why wouldn't I?”
Vance didn't answer. Because she knew. Confident suspects could be innocent. Or prepared. The distinction required evidence.
“Would Mr. Vale confirm you were home?”
Elliot looked toward Ronan. Ronan's jaw tightened.
“Before midnight,” Ronan said.
Vance kept her eyes on Elliot.
“And after?”
“He was downstairs. I went to bed.”
“Alone?”
The question landed. Ronan's face hardened. Elliot almost laughed.
“Yes.”
Vance wrote something.
“You're comfortable providing router access through counsel?”
Bell interrupted.
“Records relevant to the stated period.”
“Fine.”
Elliot leaned back. Vance closed her notebook. For the first time, something almost like frustration passed across her face. Tiny. Beautiful.
“Anything else?” Elliot asked.
She looked at him.
“No.”
Elliot smiled politely.
“Great.” Outside, Ronan caught Elliot's arm before they reached the parking lot.
“What the fuck was that?”
Elliot looked down at his hand.
“What?”
“The Wi-Fi.”
“What about it?”
“You knew.”
Elliot stared. Ronan's eyes narrowed.
“You knew your phone would prove you were home.”
“I assumed.”
“No.”
“Ronan.”
“You walked in there completely calm until she asked for the phone, then suddenly you have a fucking digital alibi.”
Elliot pulled his arm free.
“Because I was home.”
Ronan stared. There was suspicion again. Not enough. Still.
“You leave your phone home a lot?”
“Sometimes.”
“When you go running?”
The question hit. Wednesday. Different night. Elliot's pulse changed. Ronan noticed. Fuck.
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I forget it.”
“Twice in one week?”
“Do you want me to apologize for not being addicted to my phone?”
Ronan stared. Elliot stared back. Then Bell appeared several yards behind them.
“Everything all right?”
Elliot smiled.
“Fine.”
Ronan didn't answer. Bell looked between them.
“Don't discuss the investigation where you can be overheard.”
Ronan glanced toward the station. Then walked toward his motorcycle.
Elliot followed. His heart beat harder now.
Not because of Vance. Because Ronan had seen the shape of something.
Not enough to identify it. Enough to recognize design.
That was dangerous. At 2:36 P.M., Bell called.
The router records had been obtained voluntarily through a narrow request. Elliot's phone had remained connected to the carriage-house network from 7:41 P.M. Tuesday until 8:12 A.M. Wednesday.
Continuous. No disconnect. No movement. Bell sounded satisfied.
“The device corroborates your account.”
Elliot stood beneath the stone arcade at Bellweather listening. Students moved through light rain beyond the arches.
“Good.”
“Detective Vance will still investigate other evidence.”
“I know.”
“But this is favorable.”
“Thank you.”
He ended the call. For several seconds, Elliot stared at his reflection in the dark phone screen.
A perfect alibi. Almost. His phone had been home.
His car had been home. Ronan had seen him before midnight.
Digital records carried him through morning.
No evidence put him with Lucas. Vance would have to shift.
The question was where. Elliot already knew.
Ronan owned dark clothing. A black full-face helmet.
A motorcycle that could move through Bellweather without resembling the sedan captured near the river.
He had violence in his history. A relationship with Dylan.
Jealousy. Possessiveness. Police had already started assembling those pieces.
Elliot's satisfaction vanished. He looked across the quad.
Ronan stood near the curb. He hadn't told Elliot he was coming.
Apparently Elliot wasn't the only one checking locations now. Ronan leaned against his motorcycle, arms folded, expression unreadable from this distance. Elliot approached.
“You stalking me?”
Ronan didn't smile.
“Bell called me.”
Of course.
“And?”
“Your phone was home.”
“Yes.”
“All night.”
“Yes.”
Ronan stared. Elliot stopped several feet away.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Elliot's jaw tightened.
“Fuck that word.”
Ronan finally smiled. Barely. Then:
“You really were home.”
Elliot looked at him. Trust returning. Not completely. A little. Elliot felt relief so intense it almost made him angry.
“Yes.”
Ronan exhaled.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
Ronan stepped closer. His hand briefly touched the back of Elliot's neck. Public. Brotherly. Anyone watching would see nothing. Elliot knew better.
“I told you,” he said.
Ronan's thumb pressed once against his skin.
“I know.”
Elliot looked toward the police cruiser parked across Hawthorne Quad. Detective Vance wasn't inside. Probably. Still. He stepped away first.
“Let's go home.”
Ronan handed him the spare helmet. Elliot took it.
As he climbed behind Ronan, something vibrated in his pocket.
A message. Unknown number. Elliot checked while Ronan started the motorcycle.
One photograph. Dylan Price leaving his apartment.
Timestamp from twenty minutes earlier. No text.
No explanation. Elliot stared. Another message arrived.
UNKNOWN: You aren't the only one watching.
Cold moved through him. Real. Immediate. For the first time since Mason Kerr died, Elliot felt something dangerously close to fear. Ronan looked over his shoulder.
“You getting on?”
Elliot locked the phone.
“Yeah.”
He climbed behind him. His arms closed around Ronan's waist. Tighter than necessary. Ronan glanced down at Elliot's hands.
“You okay?”
Elliot looked back toward Bellweather University. Students. Windows. Cars. A thousand possible eyes.
“Fine.”
The word came automatically. This time, Elliot knew it was a lie.