He pulled out a single evidence log. The financials. Elena had been a part-time bookkeeper for a shady real estate developer named Marcus Vane. The prosecution had dismissed it as irrelevant. But Leo noticed a pattern: every two weeks, a small, irregular transaction flowed from Vane's shell company to an account listed only as "Maintenance Services."
Which meant she couldn't have seen anything.
He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the anonymous tip line. But his old training kicked in. Always verify the third alibi. The first alibi was Julian's text. The second was the hair. The third was the neighbor.
Leo's blood went cold. He heard the squeak of a shoe on the freshly mopped floor behind him.
Leo knew. He was holding the third alibi—the real one. And the real killer wasn't Julian Croft. It was the man who had everything to lose: Marcus Vane. And Vane had friends. Friends like a detective who worked the night shift. Friends who paid "Maintenance Services."
Leo dropped the mop handle. It clattered against the floor—loud, echoing through the empty corridor. It was a small sound. But in a thriller crime movie, small sounds are the ones that save lives.
He turned. It was Detective Mora, the night-duty officer. Mora smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.