“No.”
“Can you see Martin’s hands?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Is he carrying his briefcase?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Martin struck the door once with the flat of his hand.
“Audrey, this is absurd. Open the door.”
The familiar authority in his voice almost worked.
For seven years, Martin had been the person Audrey called when a case turned dangerous. He had defended her budget requests, challenged senior officials who dismissed her, and sent flowers when she and Julian lost their first pregnancy.
He had once told her she was the best investigator he had trained.
She had believed him.
“Why did you ask whether I had regained consciousness?” Audrey called.
Silence.
Diana did not speak.
Neither did Martin.
Audrey’s throat tightened.
Finally, Martin said, “I was given incomplete information.”
“By whom?”
“A member of the estate team.”
“Which member?”
“That is not relevant.”
“It is relevant to me.”