Harrow's personal record, partial, recovered from his traveling case after the conclusion of the investigation.
Day Two, Ashveil.
The woman is not guilty of murder. I have been doing this long enough to know the difference between a person hiding a crime and a person hiding a truth. She is hiding the latter. The distinction matters enormously and will be received poorly.
Aldric Voss is useful. More useful than I expected. He sees things. He also talks less than most people who see things, which is rarer than competence. I have hired him provisionally; I will decide what to tell him as we go.
Day Two, later.
Lord Fenwick Mael arrived at the Citadel this afternoon to offer his condolences and make himself available for questioning. He was the last person known to have dined with the Duke. He is cooperative to a degree that makes me deeply suspicious.
His account: He dined with the Duke from seventh bell to tenth bell. The Duke appeared in good health and good spirits. They discussed taxation and the provincial road expansion. Mael left at tenth bell by the main gate, confirmed by two guards. He was at his townhouse — a rented property in the Merchant District — by eleventh bell, confirmed by his household staff. The Duke was killed between eleventh bell and midnight, based on the healer's assessment.
His alibi is solid. This makes him more suspicious, not less. Solid alibis for crimes of this nature usually require advance planning.
Mael asks about Lady Caell. Specifically: has she said anything? He asks this three separate times across a forty-minute conversation, each time with a slightly different framing. The first time it seems like natural concern. The second time it seems like professional curiosity. The third time it feels like something else entirely.
I told him she had said nothing. This is true. His response was: "Poor woman. The grief must be overwhelming."
His eyes did not match his words.
Day Three.
Voss identified something I had missed. The letters on the Duke's desk — specifically, the interleaved pages. He was right about the sequence. I had the remaining documents analyzed by the Citadel's own scribe and confirmed: at least seven pages are missing from a document that originally ran to approximately twenty pages. The rest have been replaced out of order.
Who had access to the war chamber between the time of death and the time the guards sealed it? In theory: no one. In practice: the interior passage.
I found the passage today. The wax impression on the lock of the lower connecting door was old, but the lock itself had been used recently — fresh scoring on the interior pins.
Someone knew about the passage.
I have not yet told this to Voss. I am deciding how much of this investigation to share with a man who, however useful, is not under my authority and cannot be compelled to keep silent.
Day Three, later.
I visited Lady Caell for the third time.
She is housed in the Citadel's guest wing, not the cells — she is still a Lady of rank, and until formal charges are brought, she cannot be imprisoned. She has the freedom of two rooms and a small garden. She does not use the garden.
She was sitting at a writing desk when I entered. She looked up. She looked at me the way she always looks at me: completely present, completely closed.
I sat across from her. I said nothing for a long time.
She waited.
"I am not your enemy," I said, eventually.
She looked at her hands.
"I think you know more about your husband's death than you have said, and I think you are protecting someone." I paused. "I also think that the person you are protecting may not deserve your protection."
She looked up at that. Something moved in her face — quick and deep, like a current under still water.
I continued: "There are people in this city who want you convicted. They are not interested in the truth of what happened. They need a verdict that closes this matter before anyone looks too carefully at what the Duke was doing and who was helping him do it." I watched her face. "If you continue to be silent, you give them that verdict."
She picked up the pen from her desk. She looked at it. She put it down.
I said, "You are the only person in this investigation who was in that room. Whatever you are protecting — if you wait long enough, the truth will be decided for you by people who were not there."
I stood to leave.
As I reached the door, she reached for the pen again. She did not write anything. But her hand was around it — a grip, not a hold.
I left the door slightly open.