Page 88 of Hawk & Sparrow

“Mr. Maximilian Kite?” he said, staring at the sorcerer.

Maximilian stood, frowning. “Yes.”

“We met at your event at the Basalton Museum of Art. My name is Chief Frederick Stettner.” The stiff formality in his voice sounded strange to Vesper. “I’m sorry to do this here, but I’m going to need you to come with me.”

Vesper stood too. “Stettner, what is this? What’s going—”

“Stay out of it, Miss Evans.” The police chief’s eyes were hard. “I don’t want to make a scene, but if you refuse to come with me of your own volition, Mr. Kite, I’m afraid I’ll have to take more drastic measures.”

Maximilian stiffened. “Am I under arrest?”

“You’re being detained,” said Chief Stettner. “We’re going to need you to come to the station now to answer some questions in relation to the recent murder of Mr. Francis Gladwell.”

Vesper went cold. “Fred, wait. This isn’t right. Max didn’t kill Francis Gladwell. He—”

“Miss Evans.” There was a new sharpness in the police chief’s voice. “For once in your life, do as I say and be quiet.” He turned back to Maximilian, looking wary. “Will you come with us of your own volition?”

Maximilian swallowed, suddenly looking much younger than he was. At that moment, he didn’t look confident, or self-assured. He only looked afraid.

“I’ll comply.”

Chief Stettner nodded to the other police officer. He stepped forward and took Maximilian by the upper arm.

“Fred.” Vesper moved so that she was standing directly in front of the police chief now. She knew how short Fred’s patience tended to be, knew that she was taking a gamble by pushing him further, but she had to try one more time. “Please. Tell me what’s going on. Why is Mr. Kite being arrested?”

Chief Stettner seemed to have some sort of internal battle with himself. He frowned, but then his expression softened. He turned to the police officer now holding on to Maximilian.

“Go ahead,” he ordered. “I’ll catch up in a moment.”

The officer nodded and started out of the park, frog-marching Maximilian. Once they were out of earshot, Chief Stettner leaned in.

“This morning, we had a man come in and give testimony we believe is credible.”

“Testimony?” Vesper repeated. “What kind of testimony?”

The police chief took a deep breath, then said, “The man confessed to the murder of Francis Gladwell, and said Maximilian Kite paid him to do it.”

TWENTY-NINE

SUNDAY, 20TH OF NOVEMBER—12:52 P.M.

Brisk air whipped about Vesper’s face as she stood before the Basalton Police Department’s office.

She took a deep breath as she climbed its crumbling steps, eyeing the blocky concrete building with apprehension. It had been over an hour since Maximilian had been brought here, and she felt no better about what she was going to do.

You have to try, for him.

She squared her shoulders before opening its front doors and entering.

As always, the lobby was busy, a mix of people filing reports, officers moving to and fro. Vesper went straight to the receptionist desk. She recognized the middle-aged, redheaded woman sitting there.

“Martha,” she said. “Good morning.”

The receptionist jolted with surprise. “Vesper? What are you doing here?”

“I came to get some information,” said Vesper. She knew there was no point in being coy with someone like Martha. “I know Stettner brought a man in earlier—tall, dark curly hair? I need to speak to him.”

Martha pursed her lips. “You know I can’t do that, sweetheart. As I understand it, the man you’re talking about is suspected of murder.”