Through the narrow glass slit in the door, Lena caught a glimpse of her accuser. Evelyn Marrow was a vision of controlled elegance in a cream-colored coat that seemed to repel the grime of the city. She stood in the hallway, gesturing sharply as she spoke to a ranking officer. She looked devastated, but underneath the grief was a hard, cold fury that made Lena shiver.
Evelyn turned, and her eyes met Lena’s through the glass. For a second, the world stopped. Evelyn pointed a gloved finger directly at Lena, her mouth forming words Lena couldn’t hear. That’s her. The certainty in that gesture was more damning than any evidence. Lena wanted to scream, to pound on the glass and demand to know how Evelyn could be so sure.
Harlan returned, dropping a thick file on the table. “Mrs. Marrow is very certain of her timeline,” he said. “She says she was robbed near the fountain at 2:15. You claim you found it at 2:35. That’s twenty minutes, Lena. Twenty minutes to hide eighteen thousand pounds.” Lena realized with a sinking feeling that Evelyn’s status was a weapon, and she was currently standing on the wrong end of it.