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In the Reading Room, things were not going as Madame Perrault planned. She recounted her suffering, telling the two FBI agents how much she hated her unfaithful husband, especially after he beat her. She cursed him, praying to the Gods to punish him, and when no deity answered, she decided to kill him herself. “Why…

“Madame, with all due respect, may I ask—” Report Man began, his doubts visible, but Madame Perrault cut him off. “I shall tell more to the FBI, not to you.” She stood up. “I will change clothes first, then I will plead guilty to the FBI. I hope they’re still downstairs.” They all stood, ready…

“It can’t be. She’s kind to everyone,” Ali shook his head firmly. “In fact, she’s a good friend of Madame Perrault.” “Even so, she might have seen something. We need to talk to her,” Spion insisted. “Where is she now?” Trevor asked, trying not to sound too demanding. “She’s in a private room on the…

Ali wasn’t standing at the door of the Reading Room. “It’s locked,” Report Man said, trying to push the dark ebony macassar door. “They must be done with interviews.” “He might be in his office. Let’s go to the basement,” Spion suggested, leading the way. The lights in the basement hallway flickered on, responding to…

Trevor stared at the video clip on his phone. It was only 86 seconds long, recorded by a static camera in the left corner of the Premium Zone. There was no audio, and with so many people passing, it was hard to see them clearly on the phone’s small screen. Trevor zoomed, moving the frame,…

The Reading Room was bathed in a soft, quiet glow. Two tables stood in the middle. Agent Mulder sat opposite an empty chair at one, and Agent Scully sat at the other, a laptop screen illuminating her face. Mulder’s table held papers, a notebook, a pen, and a used coffee cup. “Relax,” Ali whispered to…

No more than ten minutes after Snow’s prediction, the summons began. Lady News was the first of their group to be interviewed. She was back in less than ten minutes. “They only asked two questions: did I see anything strange, and who did I suspect? Then they let me go. Barely a minute,” Lady News…

“Who sounds like the FBI?” a new voice interrupted. A waitress with mid-length chestnut hair and a round face approached, carrying an empty silver tray. “Hi, Snow,” Spion said, turning to her. Trevor looked at her too—she wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but attractive with a quiet, mysterious vibe, especially in the Dressrious Salon’s charcoal and red…

The music—Swan Tiger’s new album, I’m A Showgirl, Show, Show, Show—was back on in the party room, a deliberate attempt to drown out the anxiety. Talk and laughter filled the hall. It looked as though people were trying hard to forget the Ambassador’s death, even with the FBI agents still working in the room. What…