Page 44 of Sullied Saints

“Tristan has admitted guilt. He’s convicted. That means he goes to prison, and they decide what to do with him there.”

I feel my chest tighten at that. “They could sentence him to the chair. He doesn’t deserve that. If he assists in catching Cocooner, he’s at least liable to get leniency…”

“That’s no longer up to us. We catch them, then they’re no longer our concern. You know that.” I open my mouth, but Tawill cuts me off. “I want himout, detective. This has dragged on long enough.”

Her hand is on the door handle, the conversation closed. That’s when I snap. “What the hell is your problem?”

In the second that follows, I press my teeth shut. Considering I came in here to stop Dirk from getting himself suspended, I appear to now be throwing myself under the bus instead.

Dirk has turned to me with a warning look, like I might be out of my mind.

Giving me a chance to take it back, Tawill asks slowly, “Excuse me?”

I should probably back down. But I usually don’t do the things I shouldprobablydo, so why start now? “We all know he doesn’t deserve the death sentence. Just like you must know that Dirk did what he had to get the city to remember that we’re not the bad guys here. If you’re worried about the riots now, it’ll be nothing compared to what they’ll do the day Needler is sentenced to death.”

Tawill is staring at me like I’m some kind of irritating puzzle. Seeming to catch up and collect herself, Tawill lets her hand slide off the door handle and turns fully to face me. “How long until they call the National Guard?”

I squint. What is she talking about? “National…”

“Tregam is on the brink of being brought under martial law,” Tawill hisses, voice low and angry.

Now it’s my turn to look at her like she’s insane. I knew things looked bad, sure. But this is Tregam. Thingsusuallylook bad. “But the riots are over…”

“They’re not over,” Tawill snaps. “Conrad might be under house arrest for now, but we can’t hold him long under inciting a supposedly peaceful riot. Yes, they stormed the precinct, but none of his followers actually assaulted anyone.” Right. They left that up to our officers. “And as for the vandalism, those riots can’t be pinned on Conrad. There will be other Conrad’s, other reasons to start again. They’re in shock for now, but they’ll be back. You want to know why I want Needler gone? Because if they raid the precinct again—something that should never have been allowed to happen in the first place—we’re all fucked. Do you know how long a city takes to recover from martial law?”

I don’t, but I can guess it’s not a short time.

“If we can’t get things under control, Tregam is about to go in a very bad direction, detectives.”

“Surely it hasn’t come to that,” Dirk says, stepping forward.

“Think about it; Crennick Row, the highest murder and violent crime rate in the country, a criminal we can’t move for fear of vigilante action, a former mayor candidate leading riots that are decimating parts of the city and even getting inside the precinct, and a killer on the loose gathering her own mob. Does that sound like a stable place to you?”

To that, neither of us can say anything.

With admirably held calm now, Tawill tells us. “We need to calm the people and take back control. Before someone else does it for us.”

I open my mouth, but Chloe has appeared in the open doorway, looking sheepish and concerned at once.

“We may have an issue,” is her introduction, and coming from her, that’s about the equivalent of being told we’re about to be raided again.

Dirk and I follow her back to our case room. Howie and Dean are gathered around that grey box of a computer that I’m starting to associate exclusively with bad news. Howie, face solemn, nods for us to come and look. Perched on the edge of the computer chair, I stare at the screen.

The chat is disordered, with too many voices shouting into the same space, more popping in even now as the feed scrolls down. But there is a common thread among the other seemingly meaningless babble. One of the posters has the name Chrysalis. That one we’ve worked out so far is Cassandra, and her posts stand out now.

The verses are separated by the chatter between them, so I read them aloud:

“I’ve seen people put

A chrysalis in a match-box,

‘To see,’ they told me,

‘what sort of moth would come.’

But when it broke its shell

It slipped and stumbled and fell about its prison

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