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“Look, I’m well aware that Oliver has probably spoken to you in the past suggesting my own involvement—”
“Do you know how I’ve made it to my forties in the world I exist in, Noel?”
“Luck, swagger, money, and more luck?”
He arches a brow.
“By keeping my nose out of shit that does not concern me.”
“Thomas was our friend, Kristoff. His daughter’s life and his wife’s murder are most certainly your concern, whether you like it or not.”
“I agree. But this enteral dick-measuring contest between you and Prince isnot,” he growls. “And I have steadfastly kept clear of the finger pointing between you. Yes, of course, Oliver came to me years back claiming he had proof that you killed Cassandra, and Matilde.”
“You understand how absurd that is.”
“Is it any more absurd that accusing Oliver of the same fucking thing? Look, whatever evidence you’ve brought to show me to sway my mind… Oliver’s done the same. I know about the redacted police reports, the donations to the force—andyes, I understand that you’re a high-level donor because of your grandfather, Noel. I know all that.”
He sighs.
“But still. It circumstantially points at you. As will anything you’ve found that points at Prince. Yes, Noel, Matilde diedaftershe left you, when she was with him.”
“You know how he always looked at Cassandra, Kristoff. Youknowthat, and you know how he felt when I moved in there.”
“And next you’re going to tell me about the accelerants. Yes, Noel,I know. Just like I know that explosion at Charm, Inc the other day utilized the same chemicals. I still don’t see any reason to make the leap that Oliver Prince is responsible for or capable of murder. Twice over. And believe me, I work side-by-side with murderers on a daily basis.”
He sighs.
“I’m sorry, Noel. I’m not getting involved in this finger-pointing shit.”
“The night Cassandra died, Oliver—”
“Was in fuckingMilan—”
“Yes, until he landed back in London at nine that night, and left again to Italy at three in the morning.”
Kristoff goes still. His eyes narrow.
“What are you talking about.”
“He flew to Milan, turned around, came back to London. And then just about six hours later, three after the fire started, he was back on the plane, flying back to Milan.”
My Russian friend’s face darkens.
“You have proof of this?”
“I do.”
He looks away, raking his nails down his jaw, eyes narrowing to slits at the grimy window of the pub.
“I’ll speak to some people.”
“Thank you. I’ll obviously cover whatever cost—”
“Don’t thank me, and I don’t want your money for this.” He frowns. “This isn’t a favor to you, Noel. This is a favor to Thomas.”
I nod, raising my glass.
“To Thomas.”
“To Thomas,” he growls. “And to kings and villains, and the empires they raise and raze.”
