corporate drag. Turner was another matter. He’d had to pop by the courthouse that morning to bump into Lance Gressang’s attorney and secure his visage in the compact.
They passed through security without incident.
“Stop looking at the cameras,” Alex whispered as she and Turner were escorted down a
dingy hallway lit by buzzing fluorescents.
“They look like they’re working.”
“The power is on, but they’re just recording static,” Alex said with more confidence than she felt. The thermos was tucked into her bag, its weight resting reassuringly against
her hip.
Once they were inside the meeting room, they’d be safe at least. There was no video or
audio recording allowed in a conference between an attorney and his client.
Lance was seated at the table when they entered. “What do you want?” he said when he caught sight of Turner, who had pocketed the compact after flashing it at the scowling guard.
“You’ve got one hour,” the guard said. “Don’t push it.” Gressang shoved back from the
table, looking from Turner to Alex. “What the fuck is this? Are you two working together?”
“One hour,” the guard repeated, and locked the door behind him.
“I know my rights,” Gressang said, standing. He looked even bigger than he had at the
apartment, and his bandaged hand didn’t do much to put Alex at ease. She had made it her
business not to get trapped in small spaces with men like Lance Gressang. You didn’t want
to be the only thing in sight when their moods went sour.
“Sit down,” said Turner. “We need to have a conversation.”
“You can’t talk to me without my lawyer.”
“You walked through a wall yesterday,” said Turner. “That in the penal code?”
Lance looked almost sheepish at the accusation. He knows he’s not supposed to be using portal magic, Alex thought. And he most definitely wasn’t supposed to be seen doing it by a cop. Lance had no way of knowing that Turner was associated with the Houses of the Veil.
“Sit down, Gressang,” Turner repeated. “You might be glad you did.”
Alex wondered if Lance would just pop a mushroom in his mouth and vanish through
the floor. But slowly, sullenly, he dropped back into his seat.
Turner and Alex took chairs opposite him at the table. Lance’s jaw set and he jutted his
chin toward Alex. “Why were you at my place?”
My place. Not our place. She said nothing.
“I’m trying to find out who killed Tara,” said Turner.
Lance threw up his hands. “If you know I’m innocent, why don’t you get me out of this
shithole?”
“ ‘Innocent’ is a big word for what you are,” Turner said in that same pleasant, condescending tone he’d used on Alex just a few days ago. “Maybe you’re innocent of this particular bit of brutality, and if that’s the case it will be my great pleasure to make sure the murder charge against you is vacated. But right now what I want to convey to you
is that no one knows we’re here. The guards all think you’re chatting with your lawyer, and what you need to absorb is that we can do whatever we want.”
“Am I supposed to be afraid?”
“Yes,” said Turner. “You are. But not of us.”
“Hey, he can be afraid of us,” said Alex.
“He can, but he has bigger problems to worry about. If you didn’t kill Tara, then someone did. And that someone is just waiting to lay hands on you too. Right now you’re
a useful scapegoat. But for how long? Tara knew things she wasn’t supposed to, and maybe you do too.”
“I don’t know shit.”
“I’m not the one you need to convince. You’ve seen what these people can do. Do you
think that they care about wiping away a little shitstain like you? Do you think they will
hesitate to eradicate you or your friends or that entire neighborhood if it will help them sleep a little better at night?”
“People like you and me don’t matter,” said Alex. “Not when we stop being useful.”
Lance placed his injured hand gingerly on the table and leaned forward. “Who the fuck