Chapter 6 · He Knows the Drowning Night

The holding room smelled like burnt coffee and someone's cigarette from three hours ago. Vivian sat with her wrists on the table, no cuffs but two uniformed officers outside the door. The hairpin was in an evidence bag somewhere. She could still feel the cold metal shape of it in her memory, pressed into the dead man's palm.

James was arguing with someone in the hall. His voice carried through the door, sharp and fast.

"She doesn't run," he said. "She doesn't hide. You want her statement, fine. But you don't lock her up on Philip Roy's word and a piece of jewelry."

The door opened. James came in first, mouth tight. Then Silas.

Vivian straightened. "What is this?"

"Ten minutes," James said. He looked at the officer behind him. "I'll be right outside."

The officer didn't move. "Captain said—"

"Ten minutes. Door open. I'm watching." James stepped aside. The officer finally nodded and took a position just outside, still in view.

Silas walked to the table. He didn't sit. His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, hair messed up like he'd been running his hands through it.