CHAPTER 16 #3
“But Marcus’s hole interests you more.”
“That is not fair.”
“It is.”
“He supplied the murder vessel.”
“Yes.”
“His felt blocked the grille.”
“Likely his company’s felt. Comparison is strong, not personal attribution.”
“He supplied the panel with false provenance.”
“Yes.”
“Sebastian expected Fenn at 6:55.”
“Yes.”
“Marcus denies the meeting.”
“Yes.”
“So why am I wrong to keep him high?”
“You are not.”
Ellis stepped closer to the board.
“You are wrong if you discount Celeste because Marcus gives you a more satisfying pattern.”
“That sounds like Nina.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Celeste’s story changes every time evidence changes.”
“Yes.”
“She has missing charcoal.”
“Yes.”
“She knew the vent mattered.”
“Yes.”
“She had a reason to stop Sebastian.”
“Yes.”
“She was alone in the room.”
“Yes.”
“You like the provenance theory because it has architecture,” Ellis said. “An object history, false record, changed backing, dealer chain, meeting note. It looks constructed.”
“And Celeste?”
“Looks emotional.”
Romy said nothing.
“Do not decide emotional means less intelligent.”
“I don’t.”
“Or less planned.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.”
That irritated her because it was useful.
Romy looked at the black bag photograph.
Commercial charcoal.
Missing briquettes.
The right general fuel.
Simple.
Portable.
Available.
Maybe murder did not need an antique ownership chain.
Maybe Sebastian had angered too many people and one of the plainest motives had killed him.
“I still think the 6:55 Fenn note matters.”
“So do I.”
“And the panel.”
“Yes.”
“And the backing.”
“Yes.”
“Then we don’t abandon Marcus.”
“No one said abandon.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not telling me I’m ridiculous.”
“I said distorted.”
“Much kinder.”
He almost smiled.
Leo returned at three with a paper bag from The Fig & Thistle.
“Nina says neither of you has eaten.”
Ellis looked at him.
“How does Nina know I’m here?”
“Nina knows things.”
The bag held two sausage rolls and one slice of apple cake.
Ellis looked at Romy.
“Why two sausage rolls?”
Romy looked at Leo.
“Why one cake?”
“Nina said you can fight over it.”
“This woman is dangerous,” Ellis said.
“I’ve been telling people.”
They ate in the site office.
Romy took half the cake. Ellis took the other without negotiation.
Leo looked disappointed.
“You didn’t fight.”
“We are professionals,” Romy said.
“Marginally,” Ellis added.
For fifteen minutes, there was no new evidence.
Leo complained about a metadata export.
Romy told him to stop naming files FINAL_FINAL2.
He blamed the Show House media team.
Ellis ate apple cake and pretended not to listen.
Then his phone rang.
He answered, listened, and said almost nothing.
Professional blankness settled across his face.
He ended the call.
“What?”
“We need to go.”
“Where?”
“Station.”
“Why?”
“Celeste’s solicitor has finished conferring with her.”
“That does not explain why you need to go.”
“No.”
Romy stared.
“Ellis.”
He looked at Leo, then back to her.
“The current evidence threshold has changed.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Because of the charcoal?”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
“Her purchase records, inconsistent explanations, room access, motive evidence, and the witness account.”
“Still no direct proof she lit anything.”
“No.”
“Still no proof she returned after Marcus delivered the warmer.”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
His expression answered before he spoke.
“Taking her into custody.”
The station was already surrounded when they arrived.
Someone had tipped the press.
Or the press had learned the shape of a case tightening.
Romy stayed back from the entrance with Leo beside her, Nina’s paper bag still folded in his hand because neither had remembered to throw it away.
At 4:18, two officers moved through the internal corridor visible beyond the glass doors.
Celeste appeared between them.
No handcuffs.
Solicitor at her side.
Her face white with fury.
Then she saw Romy through the glass.
For one second they looked directly at each other.
Romy remembered Celeste on the ladder in the Blue Study.
Reduce it to three?
No.
Four?
No.
Five?
No.
A ridiculous argument about six millimetres of air.
Celeste had seemed vain.
Difficult.
Terrified of Sebastian’s judgment.
Now that tiny dispute sat inside a murder theory.
One officer opened the secured side door.
Journalists surged toward the barrier.
“Celeste, did you kill Sebastian Pryce?”
“Were you arrested over the charcoal?”
“Did Pryce threaten to expose plagiarism?”
“Did you tamper with the Blue Study?”
Celeste stopped.
Her solicitor touched her elbow.
She ignored him.
Her eyes found Romy again.
Not pleading.
Accusing.
As though Romy had chosen this version of events.
Romy understood the feeling.
Facts moved.
People followed.
Sometimes the movement crushed whoever stood where the evidence landed.
Ellis came through the door behind them.
He did not look at Romy.
He looked at the press.
Then at Celeste.
The formal words were quiet enough that the reporters could not hear.
Romy could not either.
She did not need to.
Celeste Arden was taken into custody on suspicion of Sebastian Pryce’s murder.