Page 51 of There is No Devil

I gesture to the conference room table, with its assortment of midcentury modern chairs, deliberately mismatched. Hawks takes a seat directly across from me.

He’s not taking notes, but I have no doubt he’ll remember everything I say, and probably write it down afterward.

“Did you ever meet Erin Whalstrom?” Hawks asks.

“Once or twice. Like I said, it’s an insular industry. I’m sure we attended the same parties and events.”

“Did you ever see Erin with Alastor Shaw?”

“Yes. I saw them talking the night of Oasis.”

“Shaw said that he and Erin had sex in the stairwell.”

I shrug. “I wasn’t present for that.”

“Did you see them leave the show together?”

“No.”

“Did you see Shaw leave at all?”

“No.”

“What was the last time you saw him?”

“I have no idea. There’s more wine than art at those things.”

“Did you see Mara there?”

I hesitate a fraction of a second, distracted by the vivid image of the first time I laid eyes on her. I see the wine splashing across her dress, soaking into the cotton, dark as blood.

“Well?” Hawks prompts me, leaning forward, blue eyes keen behind his glasses.

“Yes, I saw her. Only for a moment, early in the night.”

“But you didn’t see her leave.”

“No.”

Hawks lets the silence stretch between us. This is an age-old technique, to encourage me to add on to my statement. To get me babbling.

I keep my mouth firmly shut. Smiling at Hawks. Waiting with equal patience.

Hawks switches tactics.

“How long have you known Alastor Shaw?”

“We went to art school together.”

“Really.”

He didn’t know that.Sloppy, sloppy, officer.

I can tell he’s annoyed at the omission—color rises up from the collar of his shirt.

“TheSirencalled you rivals,” Hawks says.

“TheSirenlikes to stir up drama.”

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