Thirty-One Justice
THIRTY-ONE
Justice
We’re sitting in the drab interrogation room, Fergus as my lawyer. He’s old and pissy, and besides being my accountant, he once practiced law. I have tons of lawyers on retainer, but right now, I just want him.
I glance at the door, feeling Ella outside.
Right outside in the company of Wynd. He met us here after dropping Wesley at an urgent care, and he has instructions to zip tie her to the doorknob if she tries to move.
I’m done treating her gently. She’ll have a guard on her until I decide what to do with her.
Letting her go doesn’t appeal to me, and neither does constantly chasing her all over the damn country if she gets irritated. Or just wants freedom.
I hate that she was in Sylveria’s den and could have easily been killed. I don’t know what to do about Sylveria, and that gnaws at me, but right now Horace Whimple is my concern.
The interrogation room tries to bully me and fails. The steel table is scratched and sticky at the edges, while a dent the size of a fist sits near my elbow. The mirror carries a smear someone half-heartedly wiped.
Detective Caldwell sits across from me, calm on the surface, shoulders tight. She taps one light pink nail on the battered table. She has been asking questions for fifteen minutes, and I’m already bored. “We know Ella Rendale was cheated out of her inheritance.”
That may be true. “Perhaps, but I’m not sure how much she was cheated. It’s my understanding that she plans to sue for her rightful place.” I keep my voice casual. Although knowing Ella, she’ll blow the whole place up first. I rather like that about her.
Detective Ashner leans against the far wall and tries for menace. He looks tired. I imagine his job isn’t easy, and today it shows. He watches me the way a bouncer watches a door he knows will not hold. “Your understanding? Come on, man.”
I appreciate his attempt to be my buddy in this place.
Cold breath from a ceiling vent slides across my forearms, and a camera winks red in the corner.
The chair complains every time I shift. Tile pops under boots in the hall, and somewhere a copier coughs.
It smells of damp paper, anxiety, and lemon disinfectant that never met a lemon.
“Obviously, you and Ms. Rendale are in a relationship,” Caldwell says. The tone lands accusatory. Fluorescents buzz above with a faint hitch that turns seconds into static.
“Well, we obviously took a shower together,” I say. Their voices are barely bothering me, and I have to wonder if it’s because I’ve been around Ella so much.
Caldwell’s gaze sharpens. “Are you in a relationship with Ms. Rendale?”
So they’re trying to make Ella my motive for killing Horace. Interesting. “None of your business.”
Fergus sits forward so his chair legs squeal. “My client isn’t here to answer personal questions,” he says, voice low and steady. He places a gnarled palm on the rough table.
“The hell he isn’t,” Ashner bursts out. “We have a dead body on his property by the ocean.”
“I don’t believe you found a body,” I say.
“I think you have a report, and somebody is wasting all of our time.” I can’t imagine anyone would dare bury a body out at my actual home.
Although I have been distracted lately, and my men are scattered over different areas.
I haven’t been home enough, so I guess it’s possible.
Whoever did so will bleed. For quite a while.
The light flickers and steadies. Caldwell’s gaze never leaves my face. “You own one of the most powerful social media companies in the world,” she says, tapping the table again. “I’m sure your security system at your private residence is impressive.”
“I have three registered firearms,” I say. “That’s all I need.” The plastic seat creaks when I shift, and the vent hums a steady line across my wrists.
Her brows pull together. Her nail ticks against the steel table and keeps time with the fluorescent buzz. “You don’t have cameras. CCTV. Everywhere?”
“No,” I say. “I value my privacy, Detective. I assume you do too.” The ceiling camera’s LED blinks its slow red pulse and I toss it a smile. Just for the hell of it. I don’t know anything about the detectives yet, but I will by the end of the day. Kaz is already on it.
Caldwell glares. “You’re telling me you have zero cameras on your private estate?”
I watch the vein now pulsing near her temple.
“Cameras are too easy to compromise, even with our protections. You build a firewall and someone beats it. Then you build another and someone else tests that. I don’t need the risk or the noise.
” I hold her gaze and say nothing for a beat.
“I don’t want anyone watching me drink coffee on my deck in the morning. It’s simple, and it’s true.”
The detectives don’t need to know this, but I don’t even leave the place exposed to overhead collection.
Mature canopy covers approach lanes. My roofs use a matte, low-reflectance ceramic coat that cuts visible and near-IR glare.
We track satellite pass windows from TLE data and schedule outdoor movement when skies are empty.
She shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t need your trust,” I say.
Fergus fidgets beside me, and a chair leg grates. He straightens his dark blue flannel, neat about the line of it. He slicked his hair back for the city.
“You’re looking good, Fergus,” I say.
Pink touches his cheek and he gives me a quick glance. “Thanks. It’s been a while since I dated anybody.” He studies Caldwell. “You’re pretty young, but I like your levelheadedness. Are you free?”
Surprise touches her eyes. She recovers and sets her mouth. “Knock it off, counselor.”
“I apologize. Like I said, it has been a while.” Fergus turns to Ashner. “You look like you need a nap.”
I keep my expression flat and my breathing even. Control is a habit.
Caldwell smiles. “I’ve heard rumors of a missile attack and a firefight in the middle of my town, right around Malice Media’s headquarters, but you know what? There are no police reports. Do you find that odd?”
“Sure do,” I agree. “You can’t believe rumors, Detective.”
Her brow wrinkles. I have more power in this world, and she doesn’t understand. That makes her likeable.
A soft knock lands on the door, and Ashner crosses to it. What now? He opens it, leans into a whisper with someone in the hall, then comes back with a smile he almost hides.
I keep my pulse even. Cheerful news for him is bad news for me, most likely.
The latch clicks as the door seals. Chair legs scrape somewhere down the corridor and fade. “The cadaver dogs earned their steaks today. We found a body,” Ashner says, not looking so tired now.
“Are you serious?” Fergus shakes his head.
“Yep. Found the body of Horace Whimple on your property out by the ocean. Buried about seven feet down. Just seven,” Ashner says. He adjusts his belt and squares to me, pleased with himself.
I keep my face neutral. “Somebody was in a hurry.” I look to Caldwell. “Before you ask, no, I didn’t kill him. I don’t know who did, and I don’t know how he ended up on my property.”
One of her eyebrows arches, and suspicion fills her eyes. Does she believe me? I think so. Not because I’m trustworthy but because I wouldn’t be that stupid.
Ashner clears his throat. “Maybe you’re paving the way for your girlfriend so she can retake TimeGem Moments. That tracks for you, doesn’t it?”
It tracks. I don’t hand that to him. “I wouldn’t put a body on my land. Besides, Horace Whimple doesn’t own any of TimeGem Moments.”
“You’re wrong,” Ashner replies. “He owns ten percent.”
I didn’t know that, so the fact isn’t public.
Fergus shifts beside me, and his chair gives a quick squeal.
“You don’t really rely on public records, do you?” Caldwell asks. She flips a page in her notebook. “If there was an agreement in place, even one kept from those of us who aren’t billionaires, you’d have known.”
“I didn’t know about this,” I say. “What documentation do you have?”
“We don’t need to share that with you right now,” Ashner says. He drags a chair two inches and parks on it. “You have motive and opportunity to kill Whimple, and the body was found on your property. Tell us the truth.”
“I have,” I say.
Fergus gives one small shake of his head and sets a legal pad square to the table edge. “Who’s your witness?”
“We don’t need to tell you that,” Ashner replies.
That means the tip is anonymous.
Fergus meets my eyes and nods once. “An anonymous tip like that won’t hold up in court and you know it,” he says. “I’m not even sure it gives you probable cause. Did you have anything else before you searched the property?”
Caldwell steeples her fingers and lets the question hang. A door shuts somewhere beyond the wall. I lace my fingers together and rest them on the table so they do not move. The mirror gives me my own posture and nothing else. Ashner rolls his shoulders and tries for weight.
I let the pause work for me. Control is habit. If they had more, they’d have led with it. I count three slow breaths and hold her gaze. The room waits for their next card, and I let them deal it.
“We had probable cause, as I said,” Ashner says.
“I don’t know about that.” I’m done with this. “You had an anonymous source who made an accusation. With that, you got a warrant to search an entire piece of land way outside of town?”
Ashner sets his knuckles on the table. “We were told exactly where to look. That gives us credibility. The warrant was for a very small patch.”
That sounds reasonable. I’m done talking. I need to get Ella alone and safely away from this mess, and we still haven’t discussed the fact that she hijacked my fire suppression system.
Fergus stands, his chair feet rasping across the floor.
Ashner blocks the way with a flat palm. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Are you going to arrest me?” I stand, towering over him. He’s probably only six feet tall.
He swallows.
Detective Caldwell pushes away from the table and rises with economic motions. “I don’t think we need to arrest you at this point, especially since it would cause a media frenzy. Surrender your passport, and we’ll continue to build this case against you.”
She doesn’t think I killed him. I can appreciate that. She knows I’m smart enough not to bury a body on my own property. Passport surrender means they want control of my range and time. It also means they don’t have what they want yet.
Like I need a passport. “Of course,” I murmur.
“Who do you think killed him, if it wasn’t you?” she asks. The question is predictable.
“I have no idea,” I say. “If I were looking, I’d guess Sylveria Rendale got pissed at her lover for some reason. She’d bury a body on my property.”
Caldwell closes the file with two fingers. “We’ll interview her stepdaughter, Ella Rendale, next.”
“No,” I answer.
Caldwell smiles. “I don’t think that’s up to you.”
“Let’s go.” Fergus steps to the door and holds it open. I move into the hallway with him. Ella stands next to Wynd, blowing her nose.
I’m worried the run through the rainy forest has given her a cold. The woman needs sleep.
Rosalie Mooncrest strides toward us, flanked by Alexei’s men in a tight, practiced formation. Polished shoes hammer a steady beat on the tile. The corridor narrows under their approach.
Ah, fuck. How did Ella get word to her friend?
Rosalie lifts a hand. “Ella. I’m here.” Her black hair is loose over her shoulders. She wears cherry red lipstick and a navy suit, looking sharp and professional, even at this late hour.
“Thanks for coming,” Ella says. "Sorry no drinks tonight."
Detective Caldwell steps out from behind me. “Ms. Rendale? We’d like to speak with you.”
Rosalie moves in front of Ella and angles her shoulders to block the lane.
Alexei’s men come alert and space out along the wall.
“I don’t think so,” she says. “I need to speak with my client before she talks to anyone, and you have no right to hold her.” She cuts me a quick smile. “Hi, Justice. How’s it hanging?”
I don’t like this at all. “Ella, you’re coming with me,” I say.
“I don’t believe so,” Rosalie murmurs. “She’s coming with me.”
Alexei’s men tighten their formation. Hands hover near jackets.
Wynd shifts his weight toward Ella and stiffens when two guards slide a half step forward.
Ella gives me the sweetest smile imaginable. “It’s been fun, Justice, but I’m going to go.”
She knows I won’t throw her over my shoulder in the middle of a police station. I take one step closer and keep my voice low. “I strongly recommend you come with me. We have a lot to discuss.”
“Nope,” she says, chipper as ever, and threads her arm through Rosalie’s. “Like I said, it’s been fun.” She turns with a quick grin. “I’m starving, Rosy. Have you eaten dinner?”
I watch her and Rosalie walk down the hall, the line of Alexei’s men sealing around them.
Lightning flashes outside.
Wynd looks at me, waiting. “What do you want me to do?”
“At the moment, nothing,” I say dryly. If nothing else, I can count on Alexei’s men to keep her safe.
At least until I get my hands on her. That woman is forever escaping me.
It’s impressive—and irritating. She’s got a sweet ass as she walks away, though.
“I’ll talk to her another day. Let’s go.
” Yeah, I make sure the cops hear my last word.
We follow the stream toward the exit. Outside, news vans already crowd the darkened street, ignoring the pouring rain, cameras with bright lights pointed at the doors. Horace’s death is a big deal.
“What’s the plan?” Wynd whispers, glaring at the bright lights showing the entire area.
I keep walking toward the darkness, through the storm, and lower my voice. “If Rosalie gets her to Alexei’s compound, I won’t be able to reach her, so we take her first. Map their route and find the spot we can take her from the car.”
“Gotcha,” Wynd says.
We reach my car and I slide into the back seat. “Put the word out that I don’t want Ella or Rosalie harmed in any way.”
Wynd looks down. “Understood. My car’s around the corner, and I’ll bring Fergus with me. I’ll have people in position. Where do you want to be?”
“Oh, I’m going to be in the car that takes her,” I say. That little brat’s freedom just ended.
A pattering splits the air. What the hell?
I stretch out of the vehicle, and the driver tosses me a Sig before ducking. A battered white van careens by the cars parked at the curb, the passenger spraying bullets.
People scream, duck, and run. Reporters take cover and start recording almost instantly.
I turn to see the car with Ella and Rosalie slam into a light pole.
The gunman turns the weapon on them.
“Ella, get down!” I bellow, already on the move.