Page 52 of Dominion’s Collar

"True. Tonight it's louder." She pours a bourbon for a regular two stools down without looking away from me. "Whatever it is, the answer isn't at the bottom of that glass."

"The answer isn't at the bottom of any glass. That's why I only ever order one."

Andy is at the far end of the bar, Woodford Reserve in front of him, leathers on. Off-duty detective who never fully clocks out. He's watching the room with the systematic attention I use when I'm pretending to be casual.

Renata follows my gaze and gives me a look that communicates several things, most of them amused.

"Go. He won't bite. On this side of the bar."

I take my Negroni and close the distance. Andy registers my approach before I've crossed half of it.

His eyes track me, settle on the collar, return to my face. Professional courtesy. He's read me and decided to keep what he found to himself.

"Detective." I take the stool beside him.

"Writer." He lifts the bourbon. "How's the book?"

"Progressing." I turn the glass in my hands. "I have a research question, if you've got a minute."

"I've got a drink and no plans for another hour." He angles toward me. "Shoot."

"Hypothetically. For the book." The qualifier is thin and we both know it. "If a death was ruled accidental years ago and new information surfaced, what would it actually take to get the case reopened?"

Andy doesn't react. He sips the Woodford, giving himself time before he answers. The bar noise fills the pause.

"Depends on what kind of information." He sets the glass down. "Contradictory evidence that directly undermines the original finding. A credible witness who's willing to go on record with testimony the investigators didn't have. New forensic interpretation of existing evidence. A confession." He pauses. "Pattern evidence strong enough that the original ruling becomes untenable in context."

"Pattern evidence." I let the words settle. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning if you can show the death fits a documented pattern by a specific individual. A pattern the original investigators couldn't have seen. That gets you grounds for review." His eyes are steady. "The pattern has to be independently verifiable. Not speculation. Not inference. Documented incidents, documented connections, documented escalation."

"How many incidents constitute a pattern?"

"There's no set number. A handful of documented incidents can matter more than a dozen rumors. You need enough independently verifiable overlap that coincidence stops being the reasonable explanation."

Andy talks like a man who's built cases from worse raw material than this. He isn't lecturing. He's giving me the map of a terrain he's navigated before.

He knows this isn't hypothetical. I can see it in how he doesn't push. He's answering the actual question inside the performance, and I think it's because the answer matters more than the pretense.

"Last thing." I take a slow sip. "What happens if the evidence involves a community that values privacy above everything else? People who won't testify because testifying means exposing their participation in something they've kept hidden?"

Andy's mouth tightens. A fraction. The recognition is there and he doesn't disguise it.

"Then you need the pattern to be strong enough that testimony becomes corroboration, not foundation. Build the case on documents, on records, on the paper trail. Let the witnesses confirm what you've already proven." He tips the glass toward me. "And find one witness who's willing to go first. One person breaks the seal, others follow. That's how it works."

Vivienne. The name sits in my throat and stays there.

"Thank you, Detective." I slide off the stool.

"Anytime, writer." His voice follows me. "And Natalie? Inside the club, it's Andy. Whatever this is really about, be careful."

Vivienne told Claire the same thing. It wasn't enough.

I nod without turning back and carry the Negroni toward the booth. Sebastien is waiting, scotch untouched, his gaze tracking me across the floor. He misses nothing and comments on less.

"You were talking to Andy," he says. The observation is neutral enough to almost be a question.

"Research." I settle onto the cushion at his feet. The position is automatic now. "He's useful."