Jonas steered his visitor out of his office and into an empty corridor. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to know what happened, you never called."

"It wouldn't have been smart, Felicia, and neither is your coming here." He pulled at his chin and paced away a few steps. Growling with disgust, he eased her down the hall. Of course he hadn't called. Silly bitch. "You should get on to the insurance company. It's sooner than we planned, but just in case, you should get that settled. Those cops are too damned nosy."

"It's going to look rather mercenary."

"I'm sure you'll manage." He took her arm and steered her toward the exit. "I have to get back. Have you been to the apartment yet?"

"I couldn't, the police were there again today."

"They were? We need to act fast. Get in there and get it out." Jonas chewed his lip.

"You shouldn't have left it. When will I see you?"

"We'll just have to wait and see. And I told you why I did. You just take care of those things - fast."

The kiss was chaste as he held the door for her.

"Mr. Wales, two detectives are waiting in your office." The young secretary's eyes were wide with curious concern as he returned. 

Jonas breezed past into his office without acknowledging her. "Detectives, what can I do for you? I hope you're here to tell me I can have my apartment back." He moved by the two men directly to safety behind his desk. She could have been doing what I told her instead of showing up here, he fumed internally. A few items were adjusted unnecessarily, and then he sat, indicating chairs.

"Probably by tomorrow." Art said. "Everything alright, Mr. Wales, you seem upset?"

"Just business. How can I help you?"

"You told us the other night when you were interviewed that you arrived home at eleven." The detectives remained standing.

"Yes."

"We have CCTV coverage showing you arriving at your apartment at ten-forty."

"Uh- well, I meant when I got to the apartment itself."

"So it took twenty minutes to get from the street to the seventh floor."

"I, uhm, checked for the mail. Read the notice board. Why is this so important?"

"How well do you know Mrs. Harrison?" Gary asked.

"What do you mean, she has been with Reg at some social events I attended?"

"Has she ever been to your apartment?"

"I think maybe once or twice at the beginning. I wouldn't know if I'm not home." Wales clasped and unclasped his fingers, unsure of what to do with them. 

"You told us this was your company." Gary stared at him.

More fidgeting. "I meant it was my company where I worked." Colour rose above his collar. "What are you getting at?"

Art leaned forward on the desk, sending Wales back in his chair - uncomfortable. "We have some more CCTV footage showing Mrs. Harrison arriving at your apartment and leaving, the morning of the killing."

"I know nothing of that." Wales cleared his throat.

"Strange, because you were seen leaving shortly after."

"Impossible!" He sat up, hands on the desk as if to push himself up. "I was here at my office all night. You can check with my secretary . . ." His face flamed, and the two detectives gave one another a meaningful glance.

"Well, maybe it wasn't you. The images aren't always as clear as we'd like."

Wales saw the trap he'd stepped into, and now reflected on his direction to Felicia to press for the insurance.

"What's your secretary's name, Mr. Wales. We'll check on our way out."

". . . Crystal . . . Ms Banks. " He sank back down and missed the door closing as they left.

                                                   ❄❄❄❄❄

"That was mean but effective, partner." Gary shut down his computer and shoved his chair under the desk.

"The bastard did it, Gary. I can feel it. And he did it with Felicia Harrison. She just doesn't know she was used. Bet you dollars to doughnuts he's after the insurance, and her inheritance, to shore up his shaky business investments."

"Well, his alibi was true," Gary smirked. "Crystal broke like a dropped egg when you asked if she worked late."

Art swore and his shoulders slumped. "I'm losin' it, Gary. We never asked if he went out at any time. If we ask now, you can bet the answer will be a solid no."

"Okay, that was bad. Tomorrow we'll see how strong Mrs. Harrison is." He called over to Grace, "Did you get anymore from the camera?"

"Nothing useful. Wales only appears when he got home, and there's nothing since. There was only one other camera on the street nearby, and it didn't cover the entire street."

"That reminds me, did he let us know where he stayed while we had the crime scene on?"

"No, should I call him?"

Gary spoke up, "Call the hotel, and then call Ms. Banks. My money's on her." He smiled at them, shrugging. 

A few minutes later, Grace signalled a negative at the hotel, and another few minutes, she hung up grinning ear to ear. "That poor woman. What did you two say to her? She practically offered to come in and swear he's been staying there."

"Shit! We should have had you ask . . . aah, spilt milk. That kind of shines a light on the relationship between Mrs. Harrison and Wales."

"You think you were wrong?" Grace asked.

"No. I think we have an interesting motive salad."

"That did it. Angie's expecting me home for dinner for sure tonight. In-laws are coming. You stayin'?" he asked.

"Yeah . . . I've some stuff I want to look at."

"Don't knock yourself out, Art." Gary touched his partner's back, knowing exactly what the stuff was. "See you tomorrow."

Art dug out a well-used file from his drawer and opened it on his desk, flipping through the pages. His partner and her son had been run down in a hit-and-run, and he had spent the past year trying to find out who did it. The first twinge had appeared in Harrison's DUI arrest. He had been stopped and charged seventeen days before the hit-and-run, and when the drinking continued, he was dumped from the bank. He made a few notes about learning the vehicle's, proximity to the crime, and dates and times. Was he driven by a belief in the possibility of a coincidence, or was he just trying to stretch circumstances into facts for his own peace of mind?

He shuffled through the charge sheets he'd dug out, and saw that in each case Jonas Wales had posted bond, and had his company's attorney guide Harrison through the court proceedings. Somehow they'd managed to keep him out of jail and pay a couple of hefty fines, but his license was revoked. Another check through the files found Harrison had driven a 2022 black, CT5-V Blackwing Cadillac. He drummed his fingers on the desk. A search through the DMV could give him the disposition of the car – a history. He made a call.

"Jack Rogers here."

"Jack, it's Art Springer."

"Art, how the hell are you? Long time. Still catching the bad guys?"

"Still trying. Listen, I need a favour." He spoke his piece and hung up, jerking at the sound of a voice.

"Something new on the case?" Grace appeared from the break room carrying a coffee.

"Why are you still here?"

"You guys don't know the amount of paperwork you generate. I'm the one on this team that has to organize it all." She sat at her desk, legs stretched into the aisle. "So was that about the case?"

"Just something I wanted to clear up." He avoided looking at her, but the movement caught his eye and he turned toward her. She had shifted around and was reading something on her desk. Art took in the curve of her hip on the chair and the shapely legs crossed at the ankles.

Both of them had performed subtle flirting from time to time, never taking it further because of the department rules, but he often wondered. Usually it was the guilt over Bev that prevented any venturing down that road. Silly, he thought, there was nothing he could do, and he still had a life to live. Yet . . .

"You feel like that Chinese tonight?" She suddenly asked, rising to take her dirty mug back to the break room.

He was about to say no and stopped himself. What the hell, why not? "Are you asking me on a date, Detective Champion?"

"Nope. I'm looking for a free Chinese dinner. I figured you being such a gentleman, you'd insist on paying."

"It better be good food, Detective."