This Fallen Prey (Rockton #3)(87)

“And you’re the judge. No lawyers, I’m guessing.”

“I was one,” he says.

“And one lawyer is quite enough.”

He doesn’t quite smile, but the glimmer in his eyes awards me a point for that.

I continue, “I’m presuming, though, that if you’ve gagged Eric, I’m acting as his lawyer. Witness and counsel.”

“Correct.”

“As a former lawyer, sir, you’ll recognize the predicament I’m in here,” I say. “All I know is that Eric has been accused of killing your people. I don’t know what Harper told you. I don’t know what you might have found at the scene. There’s been no discovery. No formal laying of charges. So I’ll skip straight to the biggest missing piece. Motivation. Why did Eric do this?”

Harper tenses, but I nod for her to trust me.

Edwin waves the question off. “As you well know, Detective, motivation isn’t important. Fact is what matters.”

“Yes, motivation gets in the way of an investigation. It clouds fact. But this is a trial. Unless Eric has confessed, we need motive.”

“We have an eyewitness.”

I give him a look. Just a look. He grants me another point. Juries love eyewitnesses, but a lawyer knows how unreliable they are.

“Fine,” I say. “Set motive aside for now. What is the evidence beyond your witness? You returned to the scene to collect your dead, I presume.”

“Our people did.”

“And you saw how they died? Albie killed at his guard post. The older man in his sleeping blankets. Harper’s grandmother running for her life.”

A grumble runs through the crowd. This reminder does not please them.

“What evidence do you have that Eric did this?” I ask.

“He fled the scene, which means we can hardly search his belongings for bloody clothes or a weapon.”

“What you need then is a second eyewitness.”

I glance at Harper. Her face is glowing now. She sees victory—I will be that witness for her.

“I believe I have your motivation,” I say, and then I switch to Mandarin with, “Keep your eyes on me, please, sir.”

His brows lift, but he does as I ask. I nod discreetly to Harper, who is fairly quivering with anticipation. I do not dare implicate my lover when he stands right there, so I am using another language to do it, a language I share with her leader.

“Motivation,” I say to Edwin. I speak slowly, carefully—my Mandarin is rusty and probably the equivalent of a four-year-old’s. “You know Eric doesn’t have one. You can’t even think of one.”

His mouth opens. I continue, while sneaking looks at Dalton. Worried looks. Maybe guilty looks. For Harper’s benefit. Dalton doesn’t even frown. He trusts me.

“But I have a motivation for you,” I say. “A motivation for Harper to lie. That is right in front of your eyes. I have something that she wants.”

“The dog? That’s . . .” He doesn’t finish.

“I have something she wants,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Then she would know you’re telling me the truth now. She would be arguing.”

“Not if I’ve convinced her I want Eric’s job. And that she can have the dog if she sticks to her story.”

“What happened out there?”

I tell him. When I finish, I say, “Which story makes logical sense?”

Edwin says, in English, “So you were tasked with imprisoning a killer. You failed to do that, and we suffered. Is that your story, Detective?”

Oh shit. I haven’t fixed anything. Edwin never believed Dalton did it. This was all for show. We haven’t dodged a bullet . . . we just stepped back into the path of the one that’s been coming at us since we fled the massacre.

“Yes,” I say. “We accept responsibility—”

“You did not. You walked away. You failed to show the basic respect due my people.”

“Yeah,” says a muffled voice.

I look to see Dalton has managed to get the gag down just enough to talk over it. He twists, and it drops further, and he shakes it off, saying, “Yeah, I did. That was my choice. Because I knew there was no way in hell we’d come in here, confess to our mistake and you’d let us walk away. And there was no way in hell I was putting up with your bullshit while I’ve got a killer out there.”

“My bullshit?” Edwin’s voice lowers, heavy with warning.

“Yes, and don’t give me that tone. You’re in charge here. I’m in charge in Rockton. We’re equals. Which means you should have shown me the basic respect of marching me in here for a private audience. Not tying me up. Gagging me and talking to my detective instead. You know why I didn’t come here right away. I wish I could have. Would have saved us all a shitload of grief. But I couldn’t, and this is all fucking theatrics, so cut the bullshit and let me get on with my job.”

“I think perhaps we should put that gag back on.”

“Sure.” Dalton meets his gaze. “Go ahead and try.”

“He killed—” Harper begins.

Edwin spins on her, snapping as he finds a target for his frustration. “I don’t know what you thought you saw out there, girl, but no one from Rockton is going to murder our people for a few bows and supplies. You lost your head in those woods, and you won’t be going back out there anytime soon. Turn in your bow and hunting knife. You’ll help Mabel with the cooking now.”