“If Riley did it,” my mother said, and slid an apologetic gaze to Gabriel, “and I’m not saying he did, maybe he didn’t have a choice. Maybe someone made him do it. Someone drugged him. Or magicked him.”
“He’ll be tested for drugs,” Dearborn said. “But a positive drug test would hardly excuse homicide.”
“Magic might be more likely,” I said, and thought of the vampires’ reaction to finding Tomas. “Riley looked really dazed when I found him. He seemed confused, kind of out of it. And the crowd’s reaction was also weird. It makes sense that they’d be shocked, that they’d be angry. But they started fighting, and not just Riley. They fought me.”
Maybe that’s also why I hadn’t been able to hold back the monster.
“He wouldn’t kill anyone,” Connor insisted.
“And your friend is entirely innocent? He has no violence in him?” Dearborn’s gaze was cutting.
“If you have questions about the background of a Pack member,” Gabriel said, “direct them to me. I assume you’re aware of Riley’s history given the question, and the fact that he overcame substantial odds to become the man he is today.”
“Or he didn’t overcome them,” Dearborn said, turning off the recorder and slipping the screen back in his pocket. “But that’s the purpose of the investigation. To find the truth.”
“What happens now?” Connor asked.
Dearborn rose. “He’ll be taken in and questioned by the CPD and our office, per the standard protocols. We’ll keep him at the supernatural facility until his preliminary hearing, after which he’ll be remanded back into our custody. Bail is unlikely given the nature of the crime and his”—he looked at Gabriel—“background.”
There was scuffling in the hallway as five CPD officers moved Riley through the hall, hands tied awkwardly at his back. Riley’s expression was absolutely deadly.
“Theo, accompany them back to the office.”
Theo glanced at me, then headed for the door, his expression as grim as Gabriel’s had been.
“You should postpone tomorrow’s session,” Dearborn said to my father. “Presuming anyone wants to continue the talks, given the breach of the peace.”
“Perhaps, instead of focusing on Riley,” my father said, “we should consider who would have wanted that breach?”
“It hardly matters, given the deed was done,” Dearborn said. “As to the delay, announce it’s not because we’re afraid of further attack, but because we wanted to honor the delegate who was killed. It is . . . an opportunity for reflection and consideration of the reason for the talks.”
“Good spin,” my father said dryly.
Dearborn seemed to miss the sarcasm and walked to the door. “We’ll be in touch.” He stopped and turned back, adjusting his cufflinks before looking up. “I expect none of you will attempt to interfere with our investigation. That would be viewed by myself and the mayor as a violation of the spirit of cooperation my office has come to embody”—he lifted his gaze to my father— “and the specific deal previously negotiated with Cadogan House. This is our matter to handle, and handle it we will. Without interference.”
With that, he disappeared.
“That man is no Chuck Merit,” Gabriel said, derision obvious in the tone.
“No, he is not,” my father said, taking my mother’s hand. “He’s a political operative with more interest in staying in the mayor’s good graces than in finding the truth. He’s had a very easy tenure up to now, and he took a great deal of pride in the talks, in the shine they brought to the city. He won’t like his blemish on his record, and he’ll want to close this quickly.”
“And damn the consequences?” Gabriel asked.
My father inclined his head. “But he’s the Ombudsman, so he’s the one we have to deal with. Do you have an attorney you trust? If not, I can make a recommendation.”
“Emma Garza,” Gabriel said. “Tanya’s sister. She’s an attorney, and she can handle this.”
“Good.” My father frowned. “You know we have to stay out of the investigation, let the Ombudsman handle it. That was the deal we struck.”
“I’m aware,” Gabriel said dryly.
“The Ombudsman will likely keep us updated, given the crime occurred here,” my father said. “And whatever we learn, we’ll tell you. In the meantime, be careful.” His eyes were cold and hard. “Because peace has apparently become too much of a burden for some of us.”
“Let’s go,” Gabriel said, and headed for the door. Connor followed him out, and didn’t so much as look at me on the way.
So much for friendship.
* * *
• • •
“Riley wouldn’t have done this,” I said, looking back at my father when the shifters were gone, their magic receding behind them.
“It certainly doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d do,” my father said, but his tone was soft. “But our feelings about him didn’t sway Dearborn, and they probably wouldn’t sway a jury.”
Kelley stepped into the doorway, screen in hand. She was tall and slender, with pale skin, dark eyes, and gleaming ebony hair that fell just past her shoulders.
“But perhaps this may,” my father said, gesturing her into the room.
Kelley walked to the television, pointed her screen at it. The monitor filled with a color shot of the brick patio.
“Surveillance video,” my father said, and we all walked closer to get a better look.
I glanced at him. “You waited until Dearborn was gone to watch this.”
“I wanted to see what happened at my House first,” he said. “Then we’ll report.”
Being the kid of Ethan Sullivan was a masterclass in political strategy.
Kelley advanced the video, and we watched as sups silently milled around the patio, chatting, checking out the barbecue grill and burners, and nibbling hors d’oeuvres. Tomas walked into the frame—and the video shuddered, shook. When it cleared again, Tomas was on the ground, dead. Riley stood over him, bafflement in his expression.
“There’s no video of the incident,” my father said, and looked at Kelley.
“There is not,” she said. “And no other camera caught this particular spot.”
“That’s . . . interesting,” my father said.
“Isn’t it, though?”
I looked between them, then back at the screen. “You think someone altered the video.”
“The camera was fine until it wasn’t,” Kelley said with a nod. “And Tomas was alive until he wasn’t.”
“What about the other parts of the yard?” I asked. “Whoever killed Tomas would have been covered in blood, and he or she would have to make an entrance and an exit. Surely some other camera captured it.”
“They did not,” Kelley said. “Conveniently enough, there appears to have been a cascading failure among certain of the House’s cameras.” She futzed with her screen, and the video footage was replaced with an overhead view of the House and lawn. A series of red dots made a path from between the patio and the fence on the west side of the House.
“They came in over the fence?” my mother asked.
“And left again that way,” Kelley said with a nod. “We checked the area—carefully so as not to disturb any evidence—and found no implements, no blood trail, no discarded clothes.”
“The perpetrator left,” my father said. “And was very careful.”
Kelley inclined her head. “Now we have to determine why the cameras failed in the particular way that they did.”
“What are the options?” my mother asked. “Someone hacked into the system?”
“Or temporarily blocked the camera,” my father said, “although this doesn’t look like a visual break.”
“No, it does not,” Kelley said. “I have an idea, but I’d like to flesh it out a bit more before I advise you.”
“You’re the expert,” he said. “Let us know what you can, as soon as you can.”
“Of course, Liege. What about Dearborn?”
My father considered. “It might be most helpful to the Ombudsman if we were to provide the video along with our conclusions regarding . . . we’ll call it the ‘blip.’”
“That’s a very good idea.” Kelley’s smile was sly. “If we have our answer first, we can tell them we’ve eliminated the possibility of a mechanical failure. And you just never know about technology. I’ll be in the Ops Room,” she said, then pocketed her screen and disappeared into the hallway again.