Page 121 of Over Her Dead Body

“Where is it?”

“Downstairs.”

The assistant starts to stand.

The guard catches him by the back of the neck and drives him back into the chair. Before he can catch his breath, the guard drives an elbow into his temple.

He stays seated.

“Fine,” I say. “Someone else can get it.”

The guard keeps his hand where it is.

“The tablet will show when Reid arrived,” I continue. “There are probably cameras. Marta can confirm the rest. My office can confirm the appointment. We have an almost embarrassing amount of documentation available.”

The man behind the desk settles back in his chair.

“I don’t need the tablet.”

That is when I begin to dislike the direction of this conversation.

“Then I’m unclear what we’re establishing.”

“He let Mr. Adams into this room.”

“Yes.”

“Alone.”

“For four minutes,” I say.

The assistant lifts three fingers.

“Possibly three.”

No one appreciates the correction.

“He believed Reid worked with me,” I say. “Then I arrived and told him exactly the same thing. If we’re assigning blame, I complicated the issue considerably.”

The man behind the desk looks at the assistant.

“You were responsible for everyone who came through the front door.”

“I didn’t know.”

The assistant starts to say something else.

The guard pistol-whips him across the mouth.

Metal hits teeth with a sound I feel in my own jaw.

The assistant pitches sideways in the chair, one hand flying to his face. When he pulls it away, his palm is red. So are his teeth. One of them is missing.

“Jesus Christ.”

The guard wipes the pistol against his trouser leg.

“Fine,” I say. “Not a discussion.”