Vivian felt the first true pangs of exhaustion as she observed Liam Wright from the opposite side of the table. They were back in another interrogation room with yet another suspect. It was exciting because, for all they knew, they now had three members of the murderous thieves in custody. But that excitement and all of the adrenaline she’d been feeling was causing her to crash a bit—not helped at all by the abbreviated amount of sleep from the night before.
The overhead lights cast harsh shadows over Liam’s hunched figure. He sat at the bare metal table, his large hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening under the strain. He’d pushed his long, scraggly hair behind his ears, making him look even younger.
“Mr. Wright, I have to thank you for taking the easy route on this,” Sterling said as he settled into the only other chair in the room, pulling it over to the table. Vivian admired the cool detachment he maintained, even though she could sense his underlying anticipation. “Could you tell us what time you delivered flowers to Mrs. Amelia Hankins’ house today?”
Liam’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and rimmed with red, the whites stark against his sallow skin. “I… I didn’t deliver any flowers today.” His voice wavered, betraying his lack of composure.
“You’re certain about that?”
“Yeah, absolutely certain.”
“The van sure did smell like flowers,” Vivian commented.
Sterling pulled up the screenshots he’d texted himself from Amelia Hankins’s phone. He then slid the phone across the table toward Liam. The screen depicted crisp images of Liam’s van outside the Hankins residence, a van identical to the one they had just chased down. Watching Liam’s reaction, Vivian caught a flicker of something unexpected—an almost gleeful recognition.
“Oh, I see the confusion now,” Liam said, leaning back in his chair, which creaked under his bulk. “You see, I sometimes rent my vans out. It’s a side gig.” His admission hung in the air, thick with implications. “People pay good money for a bit of… discretion. That’s why I charge them so much.”
“Vans? Plural?” Sterling’s eyebrow quirked up.
“Yep.” Liam chuckled dryly, a crackling sound void of humor. But Vivian could see in his face that he knew he was likely on the verge of getting out of whatever trouble he may have been in. “Got another one just like it. They’re both pretty popular for freelance delivery work.”
“Freelance delivery of illegal goods, you mean?” Sterling prodded, his tone remaining even.
Liam shrugged, his muscular shoulders rolling beneath the thin fabric of his orange jumpsuit. “I don’t ask questions, so long as they pay upfront. Keeps things simple. But I’m not naïve…so yeah, I think sometimes there’s illegal stuff being moved.”
Vivian felt a cold shiver travel down her spine. She knew this type of criminal—opportunistic, detached from the consequences of their actions. He could plead ignorance to the deeds of those who rented the vans to make himself feel better, but he could also keep himself from getting into any real legal trouble.
As she watched Liam’s defiant display, she sensed that while he might not be directly responsible for the murder, he was certainly entangled in the web that led to it. And to her…that was just as bad. It was a strange and alien concept to her, having lived the last few years as a dedicated thief.
“Who rented the van you were just in earlier today, Liam?” Sterling asked. “And what for?”
“Wait…I mean, am I in trouble here?” Liam asked, still looking conflicted.
“You sure as hell could be. It depends on how helpful you are.”
Liam considered his options for a second before answering. “The guy didn’t give me a real name. Told me to call him Lionheart. I was expecting my van to reek of something foul when he returned it, but it smelled like flowers. Weird, right?”
“And what did you charge for this Lionheart character to use the van?”
“Two grand for a two-hour joyride.” He let out a short, mirthless laugh.
“Two thousand dollars cash, just like that?” Sterling probed, maintaining eye contact with Liam, searching for any flicker of deceit.
“Yep, cash. No names, no receipts. That’s how these clients like it.” Liam’s gaze held steady, but Vivian thought she saw the slightest glimmer of guilt in them.
“Can you describe him?” Vivian asked. “This Lionheart character?”
“Late forties, I’d say. Guy had this handsome look about him, you know? Gray at the temples, the sort of guy older age looks good on.” Liam squinted slightly as if trying to bring a clearer image of the man into focus.
“Accent?” Sterling interjected, his interest piqued.
“Accent…” Liam’s eyes darted to the side, thinking. “Yeah, he had one. Not quite sure if it was British or maybe Irish. It was subtle, but definitely from that side of the pond.”
“Did you notice anything else about him?” Vivian pushed.
“Nothing much. But the way he carried himself—confident, you know? Like he didn’t have a care in the world.”
“Handsome, graying, possibly British or Irish,” Sterling recited, writing the details down. “And he paid in cash, so we can’t trace it.”
“Right,” Liam confirmed.
“Thank you, Liam,” Sterling said. “You’ll have to stay here a bit longer for us to confirm all of this. An agent will be in soon to get alibis for the last few nights. But so long as you’ve been honest with us, I don’t think you’ll be in too much trouble here.”
Sterling left the interrogation room, Vivian following closely behind. She glanced back at Liam and could see a bit of relief in his posture. She figured if he was guilty, he might still be agitated with the idea of more people coming to speak with him. Still, even if Liam wasn’t one of the members of the group they were after, they now had another piece of the puzzle—even if it was as useless and flimsy as the moniker Lionheart.
“That name mean anything to you?” Sterling asked. “Lionheart?”
“No. But thieves working in groups often use code names. Sometimes their partners don’t even know their actual names. It’s a good way to make sure you keep yourself safe.” Then, smiling, she added: “It makes me wonder how Caldwell and Belmont would react to hearing the name out of our mouths.”
Sterling chuckled and clapped his hands together a single time. “That’s damn good thinking, Fox.”
Their attention turned further down the hall toward the other interrogation rooms. They found Jenna and Marcus still occupying the same room, still wearing the same sullen expressions as before. Vivian could almost smell their fear mingling with the stale coffee scent that lingered in the hallway. Jenna looked tired more than anything, and Vivian wondered if this might work in their favor.
“Your little operation is unraveling,” Vivian started without preamble. “We found the van your team used this morning.”
“What van?” Jenna asked.
Interesting that she didn’t bother correcting me about an operation, Vivian thought. Not a confession, but pretty close.
“Used to deliver flowers, rented from a fellow in an interrogation room just down the hallway.”
Belmont sat across from her, his silver hair catching the light in a way that seemed almost regal. His lips were a flat line, giving nothing away. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me that finding a van is enough to pin anything on me?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
“Depends on what you’re willing to share,” Sterling replied coolly, playing along with the ruse. “The person who rented this van called himself Lionheart. Ring any bells?”
Jenna’s eyes flickered momentarily, a crack in her otherwise stoic facade. Belmont shifted in his chair, the faintest glint of fear in his eyes. But neither said a word, choosing to swallow whatever information they held.
“Time’s running out for both of you,” Vivian warned, letting her words hang heavy in the room. “Better to be a witness than a defendant, don’t you think?”
For just the briefest of moments, Vivian thought Belmont was going to talk. But in the end, he simply inhaled deeply and shook his head. That was fine with Vivian. If she’d seen the recognition and slight alarm in their eyes at the mention of Lionheart, surely Sterling had. Even by being stubborn, the duo was pinning themselves closer and closer to the group.
“Have it your way,” Sterling said, giving a half-hearted little wave as he headed back for the door.
Back out in the hallway, Sterling allowed himself a moment to lean against the wall and collect his thoughts. “So now,” he said, “we narrow that list down. Antiques dealers and collectors with a penchant for expensive blades.”
“Right,” Vivian agreed.
Sterling seemed happy enough with that approach as they headed back down the hall, but Vivian couldn’t help but feel slightly defeated. More hunting, more digging, more hoping. At some point, there had to be more action, right? She’d gotten a taste of it when Sterling had cornered Liam in the van, but surely that couldn’t be it.
Not as long as the killers are still out there, she thought. And with that nugget tucked away, she followed Sterling, hoping for another lead in whichever location the case led them to next.