Chapter 24
MAGGIE
Luka hasn’t been found. Ches lost him after about an hour of pursuit, and though he immediately called in the license plates, the vehicle’s not been picked up yet.
The first thing I did, as any cop would, is make a voicenote of every word Luka said to me, as best I could remember.
It wasn’t much. Lachlan Frey. Redhaven. He even mentioned Harper Fenn.
She’s gone, he said. No one will help me.
Did he seriously expect help from her? Does he even know what I suspect – that Frey is Harper’s father?
I’ve already relayed the conversation to half a dozen people, including Remy, the prosecutors building the case against Luka, and Theo and his team from the Bittershore investigation still marshalling the evidence.
So when Theodorou asks me to come by so he can go through it with me again in person, I’m not minded to comply.
Remy stops by my desk half an hour later. ‘You ought to, Maggie,’ he says. ‘Help the guy out.’
‘I’ve told him everything that might be useful.’
‘Well go hold his ickle hand, then.’ My boss must see my eyebrows shoot up, because he adds, testily, ‘Margaret Knight, I want you to go because frankly you are getting on my nerves skulking around waiting for Luka Ortiz or his car to be found.’
Sighing, I grab my keys and head to Beulah County.
At first, I stew in my seat, fingers drumming the wheel, figuring I could have done without another drive after Luka dragged me a couple hundred kilometres to Pennsylvania and back last night.
But after a pit stop at a Dunkin’ drive-thru, I’m relaxing into the ride.
I won’t have anything useful to say to Theo, so if we’re wrapped up quickly I can use the time to call on Sarah Fenn.
I’d like to check how she’s doing since Pierre’s death, and studiously not ask any questions about Harper beyond the most basic, Have you heard if she’s okay?
Surely she’ll feel able to tell me that, right?
But Theo’s tetchy. What is it with him and Remy?
I swear no woman could carry on the way these dudes do without being served a few ‘joking’ remarks about being on their period.
He gives me the same tiresome questions as my boss.
Why did I meet a suspected criminal, who I arrested, and in whose trial I’m going to be a key witness, yadda yadda.
‘Because I didn’t know it was him,’ I say. ‘It won’t have any bearing on my testimony. Did you really get me here for a lecture I’ve already heard back at HQ?’
At least Sanctuary is only a half-hour drive away. And my favourite Vietnamese there does droolworthy Bánh mì cha lua.
But as I turn to leave, one of Theo’s colleagues is standing in the doorway. His posture doesn’t suggest he’s stopped by to take orders for a coffee run.
‘That’s not why I asked you here, Maggie,’ Theo says behind me. ‘Sorry.’
‘What?’ I whirl, only to see an expression on his face that’s half apology, half defiance.
‘You’re a key witness. One of the most crucial to the entire case. But ever since Sanctuary you’ve been suspected of being a witch sympathiser. Until Luka’s been found we can’t run any risk of you abetting his escape – or people being able to say you have.’
I scoff. ‘You can hardly keep me here. You’d have to detain me to do that.’
‘Well yes,’ Theo says, as his gaze slides over my shoulder to the brawny officer in the doorway. ‘Yes, I would.’