At the mention of Rosa Marigold, Brendon felt his attention lock. Jessica Rosa — a performer with a burnished profile, reddish hair and a personality sculpted for drama. He'd heard of her. The name had come up in many controversies before. People who fed scandals knew which names got traction.
"Describe the feud," Brendon demanded. Bad cop had a voice like a door being kicked open. "Specifics."
Kelvin swallowed. "Rosa accused Whitney of stealing a concept — a ritual aesthetic — and using it to boost her own brand. Whitney pushed back. There were threats in the comments. R@pe threats, De@th threats, just name it. People said terrible things. Rosa's manager even posted that her legal team was considering action. But it was all threats and PR, not —" he gestured a circle — "not murder."
The lawyer cut in, sharply, "We insist on the right to counsel and to limit questions that are speculative."
Brendon's eyes were flat. "Speculation's we always need to do, Mr. Solicitor. Unless you stand up and say something concrete, I'll assume your client has something to hide. We can subpoena. We can seize records. We can—"
Kelvin interrupted, hands raised like a man surrendering to a weather. "I'll produce bank statements. I didn't fund that upload. I'll let my counsel coordinate. But I remember Whitney was in touch detailing a small photoshoot up in a rural estate. She'd been traveling. I thought it was for content. She told me she was on a location in search of a rustic vibe."
Jason caught that and leaned forward the way a rescuer leans. "Where? The estate. What's the name, any address? any contact that you can share?"
Kelvin's eyes darted. "I don't have the full address. She gave me only a PO box. I remember an agency — 'Halloway Creative' — a boutique production facilitator. They used to book indie locations. I can provide names of the agency managers if you subpoena them."
A small win. Not an arrest but a direction that had been absent for weeks. Brendon felt that rare, sharp pleasure: a line to pull.
"And the mask?" Brendon asked. "You said you recognized the design. Did you have any business ties to the prop maker?"
Kelvin tilted his head like a man considering the map of a city he'd once visited. "Whitney had a prop designer she commissioned for a series of ritual-themed shoots. I met the designer once at Eris Noir's studio. I don't recall a name, but there was someone who made custom masks. It was primitive theater — smoke, sound — she loved that stuff."
Brendon watched Kelvin for the twitch of a lie. There was none — or a practiced one. The lawyer's lip thinned.
"You'll provide contact information," Jason said. "If your counsel helps expedite, we'll take it as cooperation."
Kelvin's hands clenched on the tabletop minutely. "My counsel will coordinate the release of non-privileged materials. I'm entirely willing to help, officers."
The lawyer, whose posture screamed 'damage control' and whose eyes were tired with the old friction of hours, spoke more softly. "We are happy to cooperate insofar as the legal process allows. But we won't allow Mr. Richardson to be harassed in the press, right? So how about we keep this in secrecy."
Brendon glanced at Jason and, without breaking stride, asked the question no lawyer loved but every cop needed answered.
"Do you know Rosa Marigold's manager? Any transactional ties between Rosa's team and Eris Noir or Halloway?"
Kelvin hesitated. "Rosa is represented by Marigold Media, yes. They had a slate of gigs with Eris Noir before it dissolved. There were payments. I'm saying this as a fact — they were a client. Rosa's manager appears in accounting ledgers as receiving payments for talent acquisition. If you want specifics, subpoena the records. The trail exists evidently there."
Jason made a small note. "Name of the manager?"
Kelvin gave the name: "Ansel Mira."
"Good," Judith said behind glass; she was already visible, her pen moving over paper. "Ansel Mira. Marigold Media. Halloway Creative. That's three nodes."
Brendon felt a hum of motion in his chest. The net was closing. Or at least tightening to a neat opening.
The lawyer finally stood. "We will not give anything without counsel present, but we will have Mr. Richardson's office scan records and transfer them through our legal team. We expect copies to be made available through legal channels, given privacy requirements."
Brendon looked at Kelvin. "Your cooperation will be measured by the speed with which that information reaches us. You do that, and you speed up clearing your name."
Kelvin's face softened for a moment — a human expression under the corporate veneer. "I don't want my name to be associated with that video. I'll do what I can."
They closed the session. Kelvin and his solicitor left as cleanly as they'd arrived — lawyerly, polished, the kind of exit that left no scuff marks on the floor but left fingerprints in the ether.
---
After
Behind the one-way glass the team exhaled. Sofie was already flicking through a dozen search windows, cross-referencing names. Scott had a list of contacts he'd pinged for prop paint sources. Judith's notebook bulged with addresses and phone numbers. Robert, eyes tired, looked relieved to have a shape to chase.
Jason walked out of the room with that fragile, recovered composure. Brendon clapped him on the shoulder.
"You handled it well, rookie." he admitted. "You were good with the soft stuff."
"Sir, I am not a rookie anymore." Jason shrugged. "I already have one year of experience here."
Jason flushed but didn't let it show. "Guys, we got names. That's solid. We can follow them."
Brendon's satisfaction was tempered. Kelvin had provided leads — Halloway Creative, Ansel Mira, Marigold Media — but he'd done so while protecting himself with counsel and corporate structure. That tactic was by design: he'd toss them breadcrumb leads while keeping bank accounts and server logs under the lawyer's lock.
"Do you think he's hiding something?" Judith asked.
"If not he's surely delaying our investigation," Brendon corrected. "Delay is defense 101. He'll produce documents a week from now. We'll get the warrant for them if the lawyer drags his feet."
Scott stuck his head in. "Knife results will come in eight hours. Paint match coming back inconclusive so far but there's a partial lacquer match to a supplier in the north. I've pinged him."
"And Rosa?" Brendon asked.
Judith tapped a pencil on her pad. "Rosa's social feed is flame-laced. She posted an angry thread a month ago about content theft. She made threats, yes — but not the type you'd expect someone to publish as trial footage. Unless she's been radicalized by someone."
A thought crossed Brendon's mind, dark and patient. The jury was an online crowd: fans, followers — a thousand hands ready to make a myth. Someone could turn theatrics into murder and stream it like guilty satire. Or worse, they could use the performance to make a point about corruption. Was it what Ninja Fox trying to establish back then?
He looked at the names on the board and felt the net tighten: Halloway's location, Ansel Mira's agency, Marigold Media, the prop supplier. Jason's earlier strength — the negotiation skill he'd learned at the academy — was already proving useful. He'd coaxed names out; he'd kept Kelvin talking.
"Good work," Brendon said softly, more to himself than the others. "Lock down whatever is public. Start paperwork for subpoenas on Halloway and Marigold. Pull Kelvin's bank logs — through proper channels if the lawyer resists, but we have got them. Tighten the screws now."
Tyson's voice, flat and leaden with authority, carried the final command. "Do it. And somebody get me an update every three hours."
They dispersed.
Outside, the rain whuch started a while ago, now picked up into a steady, small hammering. Inside the station, the lights were mercifully stable. The world beyond the glass seemed to thin when names were put against facts — as if each contact was a stone dropped in a quiet pool, and the ringed ripples were the time it would take for the water to show the truth.
Brendon remained at the board a moment longer. He thought of Whitney — or the woman behind the mask — and the way she'd been staged and burned and uploaded to a million phone screens. He thought of Kelvin in his suit, in his car, in his lawyer's orbit. He thought of the sinister theater that had turned a life into a file name.
This case is shaping now. Two possible options are visible. They'd either been bitten — by a selfish, theatrical predator, or by someone who weaponized audiences into witnesses and executioners.
Either way, Brendon felt the weight of it press down like rain on a tin roof. And he stood up straight, ready for the next knock.