Page 17 of Justice for Francesca

Tripoli heard the venom behind the words she threw back at him. She definitely had issues with her brother.

“Michael has been a model employee. He told Rye in his interview about his family’s history. Apparently, it’s come back to haunt him more than once in his search for a place in the workforce. I’ve always been about how a person makes their own way in life, regardless of what’s around them. People make their own choices.” He hoped she was transferring this information to her own situation as well. Her family meant nothing to him, just as Mila’s hadn’t. “He has never given us the slightest opportunity to doubt him.”

“Give him time,” she muttered. She shook herself and took out her notebook. “I have a couple of quick questions about the trapeze room.”

“I’ll answer what I can, but if they’re about the technical aspects, Triumph would be the best to ask as most of it is computerized.”

“Noted. These are basic questions right now. Where is the control room?”

“It’s behind the wall directly to your right as you walk into the room. There are cameras from six different angles up above the walls, mostly hidden in the glare of the lights or camouflaged by everything being black in the rafters. The operator follows the performer through the cameras. Each performer has their routine, and they practice with the operator, so both are intimately aware of the mechanics of the act.”

“Is there any way to access the controls without entering the control room?”

“Not to my knowledge. The mechanics for several rooms are the spokes of the control room, which serves as the hub of a wheel. There are three control rooms throughout the maze, each controlling four different rooms, each room with a different performer, sometimes two who trade off. I can give you a tour if you’d like.”

“I can ask Mr. Zelinski to do that after I question him.”

It did not go unnoticed that she was avoiding being alone with him and that she was attempting to put up walls by using people’s given names instead of the ones they commonly went by. Tripoli decided to try and throw her perfect control out the window by suddenly changing the direction of the conversation. “Have you eaten?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have dinner with me.”

“No.”

“You haven’t eaten, neither have I. You have questions for me, and I have answers. Why not ask me those questions over dinner?”

“That would be highly inappropriate, Mr. Evans.”

“Tripoli. I’d prefer you call me Ethan, but I’ll settle for Tripoli right now.”

“My answer,Mr. Evans, is no.”

“If your brother isn’t a conflict of interest getting you knocked off this case, having dinner and interviewing me certainly won’t.”

“I haven’t seen my brother or had any contact with him or my family in fourteen years. He’s a veritable stranger, whether we share DNA or not.”

He shrugged. “Be that as it may, you want information. I’m willing to allow you to ask, but dinner is the price.”

“I can ask you to report to headquarters and question you there.”

“Why? I’ve offered to answer your questions here.” He was playing dirty, and he knew it, but he also didn’t care.

“No one will question a request for a subpoena,” she assured him.

“But it will take hours, even days, to get it. I’m offering you the opportunity to get your questions answered right now without the formality of a request to appear or a subpoena.” He leaned forward. “Special Agent McCabe… dinner or days?”

“Dinner with a person of interest in a murder case is against the regulations. No dinner.”

He sat back, feigning indifference. “I call bullshit, but fine. You want to play by some mythical set of rules? I’ll wait for the subpoena.”

The color reappeared on her face, along with a spark of something in her eyes. Anger? Frustration? Respect? Attraction? He wasn’t sure, but something had aroused emotion of some sort within her.

“If you’re refusing to answer questions, then I need immediate access to your computers and files.”

Tripoli stood from his desk. He grabbed his suit coat and came around the front of it, gesturing for her to take his spot. “The sticky note to the left has my login and password should you need it in case you come to view the files and my computer’s shut down. Feel free to poke around in any file you want. I’ve nothing to hide.” He walked to the door. “I’ll be in my apartment on the fourth floor if you need me. Just come on up. No need to call ahead.”

He exited the room, but after he shut the door, he gave a mighty exhale and let the tension out of his shoulders. He headed to his apartment, already thinking about what he’d make for dinner when she showed up. It wouldn’t be tonight. She needed time to come to grips with his condition before she gave in. He had a sense she would get pressure from someone—Special Agent Livingston?—once they learned she had an opportunity and didn’t take it. That dinner would be the first round of battle. He grinned as his brain began making plans on how to speed up the process.

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