Another shriek sounded from the floor, where all the workers had stopped and cleared a space around the thrashing young woman. Though she looked almost as tall as Peter, the model was thin as seaweed. I nodded, impressed, as she went limp and the two security guards struggled to support her. She was putting up more of a fight than I’d have expected such a waspish young woman to be capable of.
I tilted my head to the side as she screamed a string of obscenities that almost made me blush. Then again, she was probably pretty hopped up on potions.
Peter’s throat bobbed. “I think I’ve already got an idea, but… how’d Cid take it?”
Aileen blinked at him, her wide eyes bloodshot. “Uh—about as well as you’d imagine. She threw a huge tantrum, and Bel told her she’d be blacklisted from the fashion industry—that she’d see to it that Cid would never work again.” The designer’s expression clouded.
“Wow.” I lifted my brows. “Could Bel have actually made that happen?”
Aileen pressed her lips together in a thin line and gave a solemn nod.
Peter jerked his head toward Cid and the commotion she was causing. “What’s she doing here now?”
The designer shook her head. “I don’t know how she got in, but she crashed the fashion show last night. She leapt onto the runway during the final walk when Bel took the stage…” Aileen frowned and her eyes grew far away. “Right before Bel had her heart attack.”
Peter and I exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“She’s been in custody with security since last night. In all the chaos that followed, I’d forgotten about her, but I guess she still hasn’t sobered up. They must be escorting her out now.”
Okay, so this Cid Johannsen chick had motive and opportunity to kill Bel Hahn… but that only made sense if Bel had indeed been murdered. As far as we knew, she’d died of a heart attack—natural causes. It was hard to see a connection from Cid to Li Fan’s death at the sweat shop, unless…
I leaned into one hip. “Was Cid fired before the knockoffs hit the market?”
“Uh…” Aileen blinked and worried her lip. “Yes—I think so.”
I raised my brows at Peter. Maybe Cid had somehow gotten a hold of the designs and leaked them to Li Fan to try and take Bel Hahn down and ruin the debut of her fashion line.
Only it had backfired when Bel spun it into a scandal with the other designer, Ferdinand D’Lin, and turned it into a publicity boon for the House of Hahn. Maybe Cid decided to take things into her own hands last night.
Peter dipped his head in a bow to Aileen. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”
Aileen bowed back, and I gave her a little wave before we pushed out of the office. The workers continued to gawk as Cid Johannsen thrashed and screamed and the security officers fought to keep hold of her.
Peter strode forward in long, brisk strides, Daisy right at his side. I jogged to keep up.
Cid threw her pretty, angular face back, her pink-blond hair a tangled mess. “I’m glad Bel Hahn’s dead!” Her hoarse voice echoed off the marble floors and high ceiling. A collective gasp rose up from everyone watching.
Wow. Bold statement.
Peter reached her first and addressed the security guys. “I’m Officer Peter Flint—I’m taking this woman into police custody.”
11
THE STATION
I gulped, my chest tight, as I followed Peter, Daisy, and the magically cuffed Cid Johannsen under the iron portcullis into Bijou Mer’s jail. The place had been a medieval fortress, as evidenced by the rough stone walls that rose high around the central courtyard. We walked past the trickling stone fountain in the middle, Peter nodding hellos to his fellow officers as we passed.
I kept my eyes down and tried hard to be invisible. I stuffed my slightly trembling hands into my pockets and reminded myself to breathe. When I’d been a lawyer, I’d entered the place several times to interview clients and witnesses who’d been in police custody. But back then I’d felt safe—I had an official role no one would question.
Now—I was just a down-on-her-luck shifter surrounded by cops who’d arrest me as soon as look at me. Just being a shifter seemed to be enough of a reason for most cops. I only had Peter to vouch for me, and if he found out the truth, I doubted I’d still have his vote of confidence. I worried my lip as we passed through a narrow, cool hallway and into the main room of the station.
A new thread of panic laced through me. Would anyone recognize me from my time here as a lawyer? I hadn’t come up here often and I (woefully) looked much different now, so maybe I’d be alright? I’d traded my expensive haircuts and tailored slacks and blouses for moth-eaten band tees and hair that hadn’t been washed in a week… or two.
Peter and Daisy flanked Cid and escorted her up to the tall desk where an older woman with cat-eye glasses sat. Behind her, rows of desks filled the room, with officers working at some, others bustling back and forth with people in custody or stacks of scrolls and paperwork. The stone room echoed with footsteps and chatter and smelled of stale coffee.
I hung back a little as the woman looked up and grinned at Peter. “Hey, doll.”
My stomach sank, and I pretended to have an itch on my temple so I could hide behind my hand. I had definitely interacted with this lady years ago when I’d been a lawyer. I hoped she was bad with faces.
Peter grinned back at her. “Morning, Edna. How’d your night go?”
“Eh, you know.” She waved a hand with lavender nails. “The usual drunks and maniacs.” She blinked at Cid, then her gaze landed on me. “Who’re your friends?”
“We’re not friends,” Cid sneered. She reeked of booze.
Peter gave Edna a tight-lipped smile. “Are there any open interrogation rooms? I need
