Page 75 of Crocodile Tears

“What makes you think he’s different now?”

“Are you saying Alexander Lytton is a changed man?”

“I have nothing more to say.” Josiah reached out, picked up the woman in his way, moved her bodily to one side, and strode into the safety of the Inquisitus building.

He was greeted by a dishevelled Reed. Never a sartorial dresser at the best of times, Reed’s holotie was fading fast and clearly required charging, its colours no longer the glaring reds and blues of yesterday but muted pinks and turquoises flickering wanly instead.

“Were you here all night?” Josiah demanded.

“Me and my entire team. With all the data you wanted, where else did you think we’d be?” Reed frowned. “What happened to your face?”

“Cut myself shaving,” Josiah said smoothly. “I read the update on the file; it seems Elliot Dacre was living the high life on the never-never – and he had a croc habit.”

“Do you think his drug dealer got pissed off about not being paid and put a bullet through his head?”

Josiah shook his head. “In my experience, people who are owed money want their debtors alive so they can pay up, so no. What do we have back from forensics?”

“Early days yet, but so far, not much.” Reed pinged some holodocs into the air and flicked through them. “No signs of forced entry, no fingerprints that aren’t Dacre’s, Lytton’s, or the housekeeper’s, either,although we’re still looking. Chantal Boucher kept things pretty tidy – everything was cleaned and polished every day. It looks to me like Lytton shot Dacre, took himself off for his gym session like nothing happened, then returned with that innocent look on his face a few hours later, prepared to bluff it out.”

“Maybe – where is our prisoner right now?”

“In the interview suite as you requested.”

“How does he seem?”

“Fine. Slept like a baby, apparently.”

“So, no sign of a guilty conscience?” It seemed as if their prime suspect had slept better in a cell than he had in his own home.

“No sign of a conscience at all,” Reed said darkly. “You’ve read his file – Alexander Lytton leaves a trail of destruction wherever he goes.”

“He hasn’t been in any trouble since his sentence, though,” Josiah said, scanning the holodocs as they walked towards the interview suite.

“Yeah, he’s quite the model IS, apparently.”

“Hmm.” Josiah stroked his cut jaw absently, wondering how much being a “model IS” was an act. Reed was probably right to be sceptical.

“Find me a list of Dacre’s biggest creditors, track down his drug dealer, and make me an appointment with the solicitor who drew up his will,” Josiah ordered, waving the holodocs away as they reached the door of the interview suite.

“Do you want me on standby in the observation room?” Reed asked.

“No, I want you downstairs working. Leave Lytton to me.”

He watched Reed scurry off down the corridor, then took a deep breath, bracing himself for another encounter with his challenging prisoner.

Alexander was sitting at the table in the interview room, looking calm, when he entered.

“Good morning, Investigator Raine,” he said politely. Josiah grunted and sat down at the table. “Bad night?” Alexander glanced at the cut on his jaw and then at the black leather gloves covering his bruised knuckles. “Ah, not just a bad night, but averybad night. You should try spending a night in one of your cells – it’s very peaceful. I slept well.”

“God knows why; the press are outside, baying for your blood.”

“I’m sure they are. They’ve always had a ridiculous fascination with me. Do you intend to give it to them?”

“What?”

“My blood. Are you going to throw me to the wolves?” There was a weary, resigned look in his eyes.

“That depends on whether or not you killed Elliot Dacre.”

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