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“And from midnight till three?”
“He stayed at my place,” Fletch fills in. “My ex-wife was on a downward spiral, Captain. I needed to talk it out, and I’d had quite a bit more than a single beer. So Archer got me home and made sure I didn’t leave again to make poor decisions.”
The captain studies us with suspicion in his eyes, unwilling to believe so easily.
“Where were you on the evening of Laramie Fentone’s murder, between the hours of seven and midnight?”
I swallow the dread in my throat and answer as truthfully as I can. “At my brother’s bar.”
“Again?” he bites out. “That sounds awfully convenient to me.”
“Um… I was there with Detective Fletcher, Doctors Mayet and Emeri, Seraphina Lewis, and about three dozen other officers who could vouch for our presence.”
He thinks it’s me, I realize.He thinks it’sonlyme.
“Until midnight?” he snarls. “At a bar on a work night,again, and until the a.m.?”
“No, I paid for our meal around eight, I think. I’d have to check my receipts to confirm the precise time.”
“So from eight until midnight?”
“I was with my wife at home.” I rock back on my heels, ever so subtly, and prepare to run. “We were home for the rest of the evening and didn’t leave again until the next morning.”
“And Chief Medical Examiner Minka Mayet would attest to this?” He lifts his brow and challenges me. “She would swear under threat of perjury that you were home all night?”
“She would. We were together the entire evening, you have my word.”
His eyes are comically narrowed, like glaring at me will somehow compel me to spill my guts. “Explain to me why you’ve ignored your rat’s intel.”
I frown like this is all new information for me. “I haven’t, Captain. Every lead I receive, on these cases or others, is followed up at my first opportunity. Sometimes, the intel we get is simply… bullshit.”
“I’m aware of who your family is, Detective Malone. Lieutenant Fabian vouches for you, and believes a man should not be punished for the roots he stemmed from, or the trees that grow around him. But,” he looks me up and down, “I know where you come from.”
“I don’t understand your point.” I push my shoulders back and let him see nothing of the way my heart thunders. “I’ve been on the force for a long time. I thought I’d proven myself.”
“I thought you had, too. But now rumors float implicating you as the vigilante. You may have removed yourself from New York, Detective, but I do not forget that New York remains in your veins.”
“If you’re uncomfortable with me being under your command, Captain—”
“Are you the vigilante, Detective Malone?” His voice is like the crack of a whip. “Are you the man who slid a knife through Justin Dowel’s throat, or Laramie Fentone’s heart? Yes or no?”
And this is what Fletch meant when he said he didn’t lie: the captain asked him these same questions. And the truth is…
“No, sir, I did not. My alibis stand for each of these nights.”
“But while we’re on the subject…” Fletch takes a step forward and draws Captain Bower’s eyes his way. “I wish to be removed as primary from Laramie Fentone’s case.” He turns his head and looks deep into my eyes. “Conflict of interest.”
“What conflict?” Bower sits taller in his chair and watches us with the wisdom of a man who has spent a lifetime on the force. “Do you have suspicions about Detective Malone’s truthfulness today?”
“No.” He looks to Bower again, steadfast and sturdy. “I do not. However, during the course of our investigation, evidence came to light that Laramie Fentone had a new target in his sights.” His hands flex and ball by his sides. “My daughter. So I cannot, in good conscience, continue to run this case, knowing I am incapable of being impartial.”
He lifts his chin. Proud. Confident. “As far as I’m concerned, in this instance, the vigilante was a hero. Which means you probably need to remove me from Dowel’s case, too. I respectfully suggest you give them to someone else, Cap. Fresh eyes could be helpful, anyway.”
Captain Bower was hoping to make a bust today; not just to solve a couple of murders, but to get a Malone out of his precinct. Instead, we’ve delivered unbreakable alibis and offloaded cases where we know who the killer is, but choose not to make an arrest.
“Lieutenant Fabian was pushing to have you both sit the lieutenant’s exam soon.” The vein in his forehead throbs with anger. With impatience. “You both have the years on the job, and the skills to move up.”
“So we’re getting a promotion?” Fletch’s lips curl into a grin. A promotion, for him, means more money… and more money means more corndogs for Mia. “When will we sit the exam, Cap?”
