Lila tried to grab at her friend’s shoulder, but Alex brushed her off, nearly knocking her off balance.
“Let me go. I have to go clean something before I’m the next one sent to Bullstow.”
“Alex—”
Alex turned, red-faced, and poked Lila in the chest. “I said not to call me that again. Not ever. I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just waited until my mother died. Do you and your mother really need the money right now? Did you have to frame Patrick to get it?”
“I didn’t frame—”
“Oh gods.” Alex breathed in. “Your family really did kill them, didn’t you? Lizette and Madeline. I was in that car too, Lila! I heard them cry out. I watched them bleed and die waiting for an ambulance. I almost died, too. Were you there when it happened? Did you watch?”
“Gods, no! I had nothing to do with it, and you know it. They were like sisters to me. If I thought for one moment that anyone in my family was involved, I’d bring them to Bullstow myself. Alex, I—”
“I said don’t call me that!”
“You saw your mother’s compound. You know that what I’m telling you is the truth!”
Alex’s fists bunched at her side.
Lila knew her friend was far too close to the edge. “You should probably go now before you say or do something you’ll regret.”
Alex bowed low to the ground. “Of course, madam chief. Whatever you wish. I’ll consider myself dismissed.”
Alex turned on her heel, marched from the room, and slammed Lila’s bedroom door.
Chapter 29
Lila sat in Chief Shaw’s office three days later, out of uniform, sipping a mug of chocolate at six o’clock in the morning. He’d zoomed the map on his wall to East New Bristol, centering on the Wilson-Kruger estate. Lila followed the lights as they zoomed down the streets. Shaw did the same. He seemed unwilling to look away, as if it might erupt into fireworks if he took both eyes away for more than a fraction of a second.
“How are your hands?”
Lila slid the sleeves of her sweater over the bandages. Only her fingertips poked from the gauze. “They’re fine. It was just a spill on my Firefly. I was going too fast.”
Shaw leaned back in his desk chair with a squeak. “I’m sorry that I haven’t had a chance to meet with you before today. We’ve been busy resettling the highborn into public housing until they can find servant’s contracts. Our tech department has been digging through the security footage, or at least what’s left of it, and processing those who were arrested. Governor Lecomte is demanding trials for anyone responsible of violence. Seven dead, four of those highborn. A dozen more in critical care. Scores injured. It’s a nasty bit of business.”
“I knew three of the dead through Alex.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. Hers too. I hope she wasn’t close with the child.”
Lila shook her head. A boy of fourteen had caught a bullet in the shoulder, bleeding out on the way to Randolph General. A son of a third cousin with few dividends, he likely would have spent the first few years of his adult life as a slave, for his parents had frittered away what little money they had on clothes and cars.
His anger had led him to the riot.
His anger had gotten him killed.
“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Shaw said, shaking his head. “Just like the rest. What a waste.”
“He was part of a riot. They all were.”
Shaw shifted in his chair. “Highborns do not riot. Neither do lowborn. The workborn mob dragged them from their apartments. We have witnesses.”
“You have stories from highborns who were injured during their own foolishness. What they claim and what really happened are two different things. With the exception of the militia, I didn’t see anyone who didn’t want to be there. They were angry at Bullstow, angry at everything and everyone in their compound. Your own men can confirm that. I’m only surprised more weren’t killed.”
“Well, we’ll let Dr. Booth and his team finish their medical reports.”
“You and the press both. I’m just glad your men were wearing vests. How many got shot?”
“Over a dozen. They should all pull through, all except for Captain O’Bryan. His funeral is this afternoon.” Chief Shaw scratched his mustache. “I don’t want to sound uncaring, but New Bristol isn’t coming out well in the media. We’re the leading topic on every newscast in the Allied Lands, every front page, every conversation. We look like violent heathens after the bombing and the riot. Several of the matrons have already contacted me, fuming about the expected dip in tourism.”