Page 290 of These Tears

‘Where is Elias?’ I ask again.

Conall lowers his hand until the knuckles make a dull sound against the wooden desk. ‘Leah—’

‘No.’ I press my palms against the table and rise. ‘You have spent the last half-hour telling me what Cromwell has done, what Elias knows and what I need to do. And I will. But I want to see him now.’

Inga straightens beside me.

Sindre’s ankle drops from his knee, his Converse striking the floor.

Conall looks down at the file instead of answering, and something cold slinks down my back.

‘He is not in with the Protected Services, is he?’ I say firmly.

The Irishman closes his eyes for one exhausted second. ‘No.’

For once, even Sindre has nothing to say.

‘Elias knew what was waiting for him here.’

‘Conall,’ I warn.

‘He came back to attend the interview voluntarily, but he never got that far,’ he says quietly. ‘He was arrested at the airport on suspicion of murdering Isak and Melody.’

No one moves.

No one breathes.

The blood drains from my fingertips where they press against the table.

‘He’s still in custody?’ I barely manage the sound.

‘A superintendent extended the initial twenty-four hours to thirty-six. Before that expires, the police have applied to the magistrates’ court for a warrant of further detention. I made sure the threat is on his custody record, and the investigating team knows exactly what he is at risk from.’

‘The evidence is planted by Cromwell,’ Inga growls beside me.

Conall shifts in his chair. ‘We can’t prove it yet.’

‘Take me to him now,’ I say very quietly, not trusting my own tongue any more.

‘The custody officer has refused visits.’

‘You are his solicitor! You can make it happen!’

‘I can see him because he has a right to legal advice. You cannot. Not while the police are examining whether you helped him leave the country, and not while your own statement has yet to be secured.’

My pulse slams into my throat.

Helped him?

Conall rubs at his face, then stands slowly. ‘I need you calm. You will give a truthful statement. I will oppose the continued detention. The police will release him, charge him or ask for more time. They cannot keep adding hours indefinitely.’

‘While they decide, the bad guy gains more hours.’ Sindre’s voice settles like frost over us.

Hours to alter records. Frighten witnesses.

My eyes slide towards him. Slowly – not enough to draw anyone’s attention, just enough for the tattooed man with a questionable background to feel my question when my gaze catches his.

‘The law is flawed,’ I say aloud.