Page 28 of When 're Silent

“Beliefs aren’t crimes,” Blackwoodcountered, his chin lifting in challenge. “And I assure you, Detective, I’m notfoolish enough to turn my convictions into murder. I might be an anarchist, butthat doesn’t mean I think murder is fine.”

“Nonetheless,” Amelia chimed in,her tone level but firm, “we need something concrete. Where were you on the 6thof January, the night Rebecca Hanover was killed?”

“I... I can’t remember.”

Finn could see that he was lying.

“Can’t or won’t?” Finn asked. “Youknow, sometimes a murderer feels guilt and they don’t want to be reminded oftheir terrible crime.”

“You lot are full of it!” Jamessaid, angrily. “I don’t kill. That’s one thing I don’t do.”

“Ah,” Finn said with a grin. “Butthere is something you do that’s a crime. So, could it be that you were doingsomething you shouldn’t have been on the night Rebecca Hanover was killed, andthat’s why you refuse to tell us?”

James Blackwood’s lips formed atight line, his eyes evasive as Finn pressed for his whereabouts on the nightof Rebecca Hanover’s murder. The room felt suffocating, heavy with unspokenaccusations that lingered between them like a tangible barrier. James’reluctance to cooperate only fueled Finn’s suspicions further, each refusal apiece of the puzzle that seemed to fit too perfectly. Finn’s gaze sharpened ashe observed James closely, noting the subtle shifts in his demeanor—the nervousflicker in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. It was the telltale signs ofsomeone hiding more than just their alibi. The pieces began to fall into placein Finn’s mind like a sinister jigsaw puzzle. “Okay! I was at a protest. That’sall,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And what exactly were youprotesting?” Amelia asked.

“King George IV...” He said.“There’s a statue of him in Bingham Town. We want it gone. Imperialistnonsense!”

“Was it peaceful?” Amelia asked.

James' eyes darted around, clearlylooking for something to cling his hopes onto. "You weren't just at aprotest, were you?" Finn's voice was calm but edged with steelydetermination. “You were doing somewhere else that night, weren’t you? Committinga crime.” A shadow passed over James’ face, a fleeting moment of vulnerabilitybefore it hardened into defiance once more. “I don’t know what you’re talkingabout,” he retorted, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his unease.

Finn leaned in closer, his tonelowering to a dangerous whisper. "Don't play games with us, Mr. Blackwood.Perverting the course of justice is a serious offense. You either start talkingnow, or we take you in for obstructing this investigation."

The weight of Finn’s words hungheavy in the air, casting a pall over the room as James grappled with theultimatum laid before him.

Amelia swiftly pulled out herphone, fingers flying across the screen as she searched for information on thatfateful night. Her brows furrowed slightly before she looked up at James withan inscrutable expression.

“There were reports of vandalism ata statue of King George that same night,” she stated evenly, her gaze piercingthrough James’ facade. James scoffed dismissively. “You can’t prove I didanything to that statue or that I saw anything. But I was with other peoplethere for much of the night.” Amelia arched an eyebrow before replying coolly,“We’ll see about that. Get your witnesses ready to back up your story.”

“How many witnesses?” Finn asked,wondering if it was all a ruse.

“Three, at least,” he said. “TommyGillis, Mercy Willis, and Jack Millis.”

Finn burst out laughing. “Gillis,Willis, and Millis? What are they a brass trio?”

“Don’t laugh at me!” James said,loudly. “That’s their names. They all live in a squat together in 18 DaringtonLane in Bingham.”

“We’ll check that,” Amelia said,noting it down. Finn was still laughing at the rhyming names and she nudged himin the ribs.

Finn wiped his brow and tried hisbest to keep a straight face.

“Let’s talk about the nightDominique was killed—two nights ago.” Finn said, eyeing Blackwood keenly as theman cleaned the black residue from his hands. “Where were you?”

“Here,” Blackwood replied, meetingFinn’s gaze squarely. “Alone, unfortunately, which I realize isn’t ideal for mysituation. But I spent the evening working on a draft for a speech.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?”Amelia asked.

“Only my computer,” Blackwood said,nodding toward an ancient desktop that hummed in the corner, its screen a dullglow amidst the clutter. “I sent emails late into the night. Timestamps willprove it.”

“Emails alone aren’t airtight,”Finn mused aloud. “But they’re a start.”

“Check them, then,” Blackwoodurged, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “You’ll see I’m tellingthe truth.”

Finn wasn't certain, but it feltlike the alibi would hold. They would need to verify it, though.

“Right,” Finn finally conceded,nodding slowly. “We’ll look into it.”

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