Free Murder at the Kinnen Hotel by Brian McClellan Page B

deserved.”
    “Perhaps he did,” Adamat said. “But even nobles often have to wait weeks to see a judge and weeks after that for their sentence to be handed out. You must have powerful friends indeed to receive such swift treatment.” He looked over at White, who stood against the opposite wall, watching Genetrie through the bars. She didn’t look to be in a patient mood.
    Genetrie stiffened. “I don’t have any friends. If I did, do you think I would be facing the guillotine tomorrow?”
    “Family, then.”
    “My family doesn’t care about me.”
    Adamat looked up at the prison ceiling. Black stone, cut in immense slabs, weighty and oppressive for anyone unlucky enough to be put in these lower cells. Genetrie’s swift execution was no doubt phrased as some sort of a gift, so that she wouldn’t have to rot in the cells, when in fact it was convenience for the Kemptin family to get her out of the way so much sooner.
    “I’m a policeman, you know,” Adamat said.
    “Yes, you told me that when you came in.”
    Adamat climbed to his feet. “I do have some powerful friends,” he lied. “Your situation intrigues me. I believe I can have your execution put off for at least six months.”
    There was a sound inside the cell as Genetrie scrambled to the bars. “No,” she said, pressing her face against them. “I cannot live like that. Please don’t do it.”
    “It’s for your own good,” Adamat said. “It’ll give you another chance at life and give you more opportunity to think about what else you have to tell us.”
    Adamat had never seen so much anguish on a person’s face before, and he knew it was going to keep him awake for many nights. But he needed to do this. For his own career, for Ricard’s life, and to find justice for Melany.
    “There’s nothing else,” Genetrie said, the words coming out a whimper. She slid down the bars and rested her face against their base. “So be it,” she whispered.
    White suddenly stepped forward, looking down on the woman clinically. “The child,” she said.
    “What?” Genetrie lifted her head.
    “There’s a child, isn’t there? Probably a bastard, someone with no one else to care for him or her.”
    “You know nothing of my son,” Genetrie said quietly.
    “No, but I will.” White produced her card and held it down where Genetrie could see it. “This is my card. It marks me as a servant of the royal cabal of Adro. If you don’t believe me you can describe it to your lawyer. He’ll know of it, or know someone who does.” She put the card back in her pocket. “Your parents were disgraced, no longer members of the Kemptin clan. Someone must have come to you and told you that if you were to kill Viscount Brezé that your son would later be quietly adopted back into the family and given the opportunities that you never were. Whimper once if I’m right.”
    Genetrie let out a low moan.
    Adamat almost stepped forward. White’s voice was unnecessarily cold, her demeanor cruel. He found himself transfixed.
    “You’ll tell me who this was,” White continued, “and you’ll sign a confession which names the relatives that put you up to this crime.”
    “I can’t!”
    “If you don’t, I will find your son and I will see that he goes to the guillotine in your place tomorrow. I don’t care if he’s nothing more than a babe. I’ll make it happen, and I’ll force you to watch. Then I will deposit you back in this cell where you will spend the rest of your life remembering that you could have saved your child.”
    Genetrie pressed her face to the floor of the cell, and her whole body was wracked with sobs.
    “White,” Adamat said, hearing the cracking of his own voice, “that is really too far.”
    White looked over her shoulder at Adamat. Her eyes were distant, a fire to them he had not yet seen. He thought for a moment she would turn her cruelty on him, but the fire slowly drained from her face.
    She hunkered down on her haunches and reached