Page 42 of Mystic Justice
And that was my cue. ‘The only thing is, Sandra,’ I interjected, ‘we have you leaving at 9.30pm. Talk to me about that.’
She paled and swallowed convulsively. ‘I – I—’
I leaned forward, pinning her with a hard stare, but I didn’t speak. I wasn’t tipping my hand just yet.
‘I—’ She licked her lips. ‘I guess I went home earlier,’ she stammered. ‘It must have been the day I had a headache.’
‘Why didn’t you mention that?’
‘I got the days mixed up.’
‘Mixed up?’ I repeated, letting that hang in the air for a moment, keeping my tone dubious. ‘After you got home with your “headache”, what did you do?’ I pressed.
I was being deliberately antagonistic and she rose to the bait. Glaring at me, she snapped, ‘I took a pain-relieving potion and went to bed.’
‘You know it’s an offence to give a false statement, right? Lying to the police is perverting the course of justice.’ I paused to let that sink in. ‘And it carries a potential life sentence. So, Sandra,’ I made my voice insultingly patronising as if I were talking to a small child, ‘knowing I have access to CCTV footage, let’s try again. After you got in early from work, what did you do?’
‘Oh fuck.’ She wrung her hands. ‘I had nothing to do with Moss’s death! Nothing. Ilikedher. I finished my shift early, went home to shower and change, and then I … I went to a black tourney.’
‘A black tourney,’ I said, drawing out the words slowly.
Sandra swallowed convulsively. ‘Yes. I get a call sometimes, always from a different number – burner phones, I guess, because they never work again. I get told where to go and when, and I get paid a huge cash-in-hand wage to supervise the staff there. We all wear masks. No names are exchanged. I just … I just serve the champagne! That’s all I do.’ Her eyes searched mine. ‘You have to believe me.’
‘It’s hard, Sandra, since you’ve already lied to me. Let’s be clear. You didn’t stay until the end of your shift at Botany, you left early at 9.30pm. You didn’t have a headache and you didn’t stay at home.’
‘No. I was fine. I went to the black tourney. To work.’
I removed the traces of rebuke that had been in my voice. ‘Where was it held?’
‘It moves around, to avoid detection from the… ’ Her voice faded as she seemed to recall where she was. ‘Connection,’ she mumbled, her voice barely audible.
‘Speak up for the recording,’ I directed firmly.
‘Connection,’ she repeated more loudly.
‘Thank you. Where was the black tourney held on this occasion?’
‘In the Baltic Triangle, in a warehouse called Tent and Flame.’
‘What fights did you see?’
‘I didn’t really see any,’ she said quickly. ‘I wasn’t there as a guest; I was just circulating with glasses of champagne and later on some canapés.’
I gave her a hard look. ‘You’re a manager, Sandra. You’re observant, reliable. You may not havewatchedthe fights but you knew which ones were on. So I’ll ask again. What fights did you see?’
This time she answered. ‘There was a werewolf-on-werewolf fight, a vampyr versus ogre fight, and a siren versus vampyr fight.’
The last one surprised me: it was rare for sirens to fight because they didn’t need to. Get close enough to them and they could enchant and charm anyone to leave them alone if they let their magic rip. They didn’t need to resort to violence.
‘Who survived?’ I asked bluntly. The fights were often to the death.
‘One of the werewolves, the ogre and the siren.’
‘Not a good night for the vampyrs.’
‘No, I suppose not. I think they were newly turned. They didn’t seem to know what to do and there was hardly any phasing. Not that I watched the fights,’ she added quickly. ‘They’re barbaric. I only go because it pays so well – triple my Botany wage and even more again on tips. I’d be mad to turn it down.’
‘Mad but law-abiding,’ I said. She flushed and didn’t reply. ‘What do you do with all that extra cash?’ I asked.
