Chapter 7: Connor's Eleven Seconds
Connor was sitting in a chair outside the security office when I found him, still in his groomsman's suit, his bow tie loosened, a paper cup of coffee going cold in his hands.
He looked up when he saw me.
"How is she?" he asked.
"She'll need to see a doctor tomorrow.
But she's okay." I sat down in the chair beside him.
"Thank you.
For going to find Patricia."
He shook his head.
"I should have done something sooner.
I saw him go into that coatroom.
I knew which jacket was hers — she'd been wearing it earlier, I saw her put it in there with her little backpack." He stared at the paper cup.
"I told myself I was imagining it.
That there had to be another reason."
"Why did you change your mind?"
"When he pulled the phone out of her pocket." He looked at me.
"The way he smiled.
I've known Gareth for six years.
I know what that smile means." He paused.
"It means he already knew it was going to be there."
I let that sit for a moment.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"He mentioned tonight — he said he had something on me.
Something from four years ago.
Do you know anything about that?"
Connor was quiet for a moment.
"The property thing?"
"You know about it?"
"He told me about it once.
At a bar, maybe two years ago.
He'd had a few drinks." Connor set the cup down.
"He said his sister had tried to take advantage of their father when he was sick.
That she'd manipulated him into signing documents." He looked at me.
"I didn't know you then.
I had no reason not to believe him."
"And now?"
He was quiet again.
Then: "He also told me, that same night, that the best way to handle someone who knows too much is to make sure everyone already thinks they're a liar." He said it flatly, like he was reading from a manual.
"I thought he was talking generally.
I don't think he was."
I felt something settle in my chest.
Not relief.
Something quieter.
The particular feeling of a thing being confirmed that you already knew but couldn't prove.
"Detective Reyes is going to want to talk to you," I said.
"I know.
I already told the officer outside I'd give a full statement." He picked up the cup again, looked at it, put it back down.
"Gareth called me while you were in with the detective.
Told me to think carefully about what I said.
That I hadn't actually seen anything clearly.
That the lighting in that corridor was bad."
"What did you say?"
"I said the hotel's CCTV probably had better lighting than I did." He almost smiled.
"He hung up."
I stood to go.
Connor looked up.
"For what it's worth," he said, "she was the best-behaved kid in that room all night.
She sat next to you the whole time.
She didn't go near the head table.
She didn't go near anything." He shook his head.
"He chose her on purpose.
Because she was small and she was yours and he thought no one would look twice."
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
Back in the staff room, Nora had fallen asleep in the chair with her head against Ruth's arm.
Ruth had her own cardigan draped over Nora's shoulders and was reading something on her phone, careful not to move.
I stood in the doorway for a moment.
Ruth looked up.
"She went out about ten minutes ago," she said softly.
"Poor little thing."
"Thank you," I said.
"For staying."
"I've got nowhere to be." She said it simply, without performance.
"You go do what you need to do.
We're fine here."
I went back out into the corridor.
Through the ballroom doors I could hear the reception winding down — the band quieter now, the energy different.
Two hundred people who had watched my daughter be publicly accused and hjt, now finishing their dessert and their dancing, going home to their ordinary lives.
Detective Reyes was waiting near the front desk.
Beside her stood a second officer I hadn't seen before, and beside him, looking smaller than he had all evening, was Gareth.
His solicitor had arrived.
A man in a dark coat, silver-haired, the kind of expensive that announces itself without trying.
He was speaking quietly to Gareth, one hand on his arm.
Gareth saw me across the lobby.
His solicitor kept talking.
Gareth wasn't listening.
He was looking at me with an expression I had never seen from him before.
Not anger.
Not calculation.
Not the smile.
Something that might have been, in another life, the beginning of understanding what he had done.
Detective Reyes walked toward me.
"Ms.
Calloway.
We're going to need you to come to the station tomorrow morning to formalize your statement and provide those emails.
Is nine o'clock workable?"
"Yes," I said.
"We'll also be requesting the full CCTV archive from the hotel for the evening." She paused.
"Your brother has been advised not to leave the city."
I looked at Gareth one more time.
His solicitor had steered him toward the door.
At the threshold, Gareth stopped.
He turned back.
And he said — quietly, across the lobby, just loud enough for me to hear:
"You're going to regret this, Marissa."
It was the last card he had.
I could hear it in his voice.
The bluff of a man who had already lost and hadn't admitted it yet.
May you like
I didn't answer.
I let the door close behind him.
