Page 46 of Girl, Reformed

The wiry-haired suspect was hunched overthe single metal table bolted to the floor, hands manacled in front of him, legirons clinking with every twitch. His head snapped up at their entrance,scrutinizing the new arrivals, probably looking for the crack in the armor hecould slip a blade between.

She sauntered over to the table, pullingout the chair with a screech of metal on concrete. Plopped herself down,crossed her legs and waited. She let him stew a minute. Aleister stared at her,unblinking. A cobra just waiting for the mongoose to blink. Luca hovered behindher, radiating enough nervous energy to light up the Vegas strip. She let himsquirm for a ten-count before jerking her chin at the empty seat.

Luca sat down ramrod straight andplanted his hands on the table. His knuckles were as white as Aleister'spasty face, but Ella gave him points for putting up a strong front.

Ella leaned forward, elbows on the table,fingers laced like she was settling in for a friendly little tête-à-tête. Lether eyes rake over Aleister from greasy head to jittery toe, taking in everytwitch, every flinch.

‘Mr. Morgan, you know why you’re here.’

Aleister twitched like someone goosed himwith a cattle prod. He leaned forward, chains rattling, drowning Ella in atsunami of stale breath. ‘I’m not saying anything without a lawyer.’

The lawyer response. Classic.

‘That’s cute,’ Ella said, ‘but cast yourmind back an hour and you’ll remember we found a meth lab in your basement.There isn’t a lawyer on the planet that can talk a judge around that one.’

Aleister's eyes bugged out of his head sofar Ella thought they might pop clean out. His gaze swung wildly between them,color high in his cheeks.

‘But that’s not why we’re here,’ Ellacontinued. ‘Truth be told, we couldn’t care less about your side hustle. We’remore interested in those medieval stocks you have stashed away.’

‘My stocks? They were for mymuseum.’

‘Okay, let’s start at thebeginning,’ Ella said. ‘Your museum. What was the deal with it?’

‘I was a craftsman once upon atime,’ Aleister said proudly. ‘I liked medieval props, so I made my own. Ithought I could get some money out of it, so I opened my house up to thepublic.’

Ella followed. ‘And?’

‘Nobody cared. So I rented some realmedieval props. Cost me a fortune. But nobody cared about those either.Tumbleweeds on opening day.’

‘Right, so your business went tohell. How did you go from medieval devices to cooking methamphetamines?’

Aleister hung his head, greasy lockscurtaining his face. ‘You don't understand. I was drowning in debt. Collectorscalling day and night, threatening to break my legs, take my kidneys. I didn'thave a choice. I need money.’

‘There's always a choice,’ Ella saidflatly. ‘And it looks like you made the wrong one. Because now, your littlearts and crafts project has got you linked to two homicides.’

‘Homicides?’ Aleister asked. ‘Whathomicides?’

‘Maybe you ought to tell us,’ Lucasaid.

Aleister looked between his twoaccusers, deer in the headlights. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t knowabout any homicides.’

‘Hawkins, show him,’ Ella said.

Her partner obliged. He pulled outhis phone, scrolled to a photo and placed the phone down on the table.

‘This is Georgia Bolton. Localgirl, found strung up in wooden stocks this morning.’

Aleister's eyes went wide as saucers as hestared at the picture. His mouth worked like a fish on a hook, opening andclosing but no sound coming out.

Luca moved to the next photograph. ‘Andthis is Archie Newman. Not only had he been strangled to death, but he wasfound in a set of metal stocks – stocks with your signature on them.’

At last, a sound escaped Aleister’slips. ‘This is… my stocks?’

‘Yes,’ Ella said. She tapped Luca’sscreen. ‘Tell us. Did you make these?’

Aleister nodded.

‘You recognize them,’ said Ella. It wasn'ta question.

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