“Security people?” Emmy slid a photo out of her purse, an old picture of Eric Ridley from his Navy days. Alaric wasn’t sure whether Black had called in a favour to get it or sent in one of his pet hackers, but it was the best they could do on short notice. “Did you see this guy hanging around?”
“Kyla Devane’s boyfriend? Sure, he was around. Why? Do you think he was involved in this…this…horror show?”
Kyla’s boyfriend? This just got better and better.
“Devane’s dating this man?”
“Well, yeah, I think so. I mean, isn’t she?”
O’Shaughnessy leaned forward and plucked the photo from his intern’s hand. Studied it. “I always thought he was part of her security team. Eric, right? He looks younger in this picture. Must be fifteen years older than her if he’s a day.”
“You’re familiar with him?”
“Not really. I’ve seen him with her a time or two, and he introduced himself once.” O’Shaughnessy tapped his head. “Never forget a name. It’s been a blessing in this game.”
Emmy turned back to Malorie. “What makes you say he’s her boyfriend?”
“I… I… I’m not sure. I guess I just saw them standing real close, like…you know. And so I figured…”
“It’s okay. We’re not trying to catch you out here, only understand your thoughts. Gut instincts are often the right ones.”
If Ridley was involved with Devane on more than a professional level, it certainly gave him an incentive to assist with a dirty-tricks campaign. The money he’d get for providing security services paled beside the influence he’d gain as one half of Kentucky’s newest power couple. He’d had it all—means, motive, and opportunity.
The only thing missing was the evidence.
But now Black leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“Diamond, when you saw Ridley yesterday, was he wearing gloves?”
Emmy closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. “No, he wasn’t. And the convention centre was hot as hell. I only kept my jacket on because…” She glanced at O’Shaughnessy. No, best not to admit that she’d smuggled a gun past the metal detectors. “Never mind. Anyhow, gloves would have looked weird.”
“Malorie, you mentioned a bag. Yet there was no bag listed on the police evidence log. What happened to it?”
Good spot. Guess that was why Black earned the big bucks. That and apparently having his tentacles deep inside the Kentucky police force’s databases.
Malorie sat up straighter. “I… I don’t know.”
“Did you pick it up?”
“I think I put it in the box with the flyers. Everything was in chaos, and people were shouting, and…”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Emmy tried to soothe her. “Where did the box end up?”
“Maybe on the bus? I have no idea.”
Black looked straight at O’Shaughnessy. “Get me onto that bus. We’ll also need your fingerprints for elimination purposes. Malorie’s too.”
O’Shaughnessy gulped and nodded. “Let me make a call.”
Two prints. They found two unknown prints on the oversized metal zipper tab, one each side, thumb and finger by the positioning. Black had photographed the laptop bag in situ on the bus, careful to follow evidence collection rules in case their findings were ever needed in court, then they’d couriered the package to the nearest Blackwood lab in Cincinnati, where a team was on standby. They had the results by the time Beth served dessert. In terms of resources, Blackwood was Harrods to Sirius’s Mom ’n’ Pop general store.
But who did the print belong to?
The working hypothesis was that Ridley was involved, but Mack hit a snag when she dug his fingerprint records out of the FBI database—they were held there by virtue of his military service.
“They’re smeared,” she said. “Forensics says there’s one small area that looks the same, but the rest is too smudged for a conclusive match.”
“Why are they smudged?” Beth asked. Alaric was pleased to see her taking an interest in the case. “Did he sabotage them or something?”
Black shook his head. “Poor-quality prints are more common than you’d think. You get printed as a matter of routine at the beginning of your military career, and the people handling the process aren’t always as careful as we’d hope. Estimates suggest around a third of prints on file have imperfections, some worse than others.”
“So we can’t prove that Eric Ridley was involved? Kyla Devane will get away with ruining a man’s reputation?”
“No, he won’t. It just means we have to get more creative.”
Alaric was glad Black had chosen to fight on the same side as him for once. He wasn’t sure what “more creative” meant, but he wouldn’t have wanted to be in Ridley’s shoes at that particular moment.
“Define ‘creative,’” Emmy said.
Black held out a hand to her, and when she placed hers into it, he brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them.
“Join me for dinner, Diamond.”
“We just ate dinner.”
“Thursday evening at the O Club.”
“The O Club?” Beth’s eyes widened, and Alaric realised where her thoughts had gone. Not that kind of O, sweetheart. But he liked the way her mind worked, even though he knew he shouldn’t.
“Short for the Officer’s Club. It’s a hotel in Norfolk, Virginia,” Black clarified. “And the day after tomorrow, it’s hosting Destroyer Squadron Twenty-Six’s annual get-together. Ridley will be there. He never misses an opportunity to dress up and brag about his conquests. I usually skip it.”
“Then how do you know he goes?” Alaric asked.
Black glared at him. “I skim the newsletter.”
After their recent run of bad luck, they deserved a break. And if Ridley did show up at the dinner as Black predicted, it would save them from following the man to restaurants, rallies, and other random places. Emmy laughed, then twisted Black’s hand in hers and brought it to her lips in a return of his gesture.
“It’s a date, Chuck.”
CHAPTER 13 - ALARIC
“YOU’RE NOT TIRED?” Alaric asked.
Beth had yawned three times since dessert, but rather than going to bed, she flopped onto the couch in the living room. Her blonde hair spread out along the top
