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“You got something you need to tell me?” I calmly ask, then slap a manila folder onto the table. She jumps as she looks meekly up at me.

I open it, printed photos of Tim’s body and bloodied kitchen unraveling before her wide eyes.

“What is this? Why am I in here? I’ve got work to do,” Sherry replies in a trembling voice.

Tassia stands close by. Silent. Watching. Analyzing.

“Your boyfriend,” I say.

“What about him?”

“Where is he?”

“He should be at work. I dropped him off this morning.”

I point to Timothy’s body in one of the photos. “Dante did this. Is Timothy Jackson’s place where you picked him up from?”

“What? No! That’s insane!” Sherry exclaims. “Dante was with me all night. We woke up this morning, he realized his bike was busted, so I gave him a ride to work.”

“Where does Dante work?”

“The Shipton Warehouse,” she says. “He’s a courier. A hard-working man. Whatever this is, Dante had nothing to do with it.”

“Dante isn’t at the Shipton Warehouse,” I bluntly reply. “We checked.”

“Then why ask me where he works if you already knew? What’s going on here?” Sherry is trying the innocent approach, but I can tell its horseshit.

“We were hoping you’d tell us the truth,” Tassia calmly says.

Sherry gives her a sharp look. “Iamtelling the truth.”

“Dante left last night, didn’t he? Likely after midnight, after he got a call from an unknown number,” Tassia says. “You would’ve checked. Just to make sure he’s not cheating on you. That’s the thing with Silver Stallion prospects and newly anointed members—they get a lot more attention from the barflies where they hang out.”

“Dante is loyal. He was with me. All night.”

“You probably asked him where he was going. His reply was something along the lines of: ‘don’t worry, baby, it’s just work for the club,’” Tassia continues with the same even tone. “Promised to be back before you woke up.”

“No.”

“Then he called you at some ungodly hour. Said his bike finally broke down, that he should’ve had it checked weeks ago. You must’ve told him, more than once, to get the damn thing looked at. But Dante’s had so much on his plate lately, especiallysince Trevor Callaghan came into town. He must be putting the Stallions to work, right?”

She stares at the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But she does. It’s written all over her face, and Tassia is asking all the right questions. I’m beyond impressed.

“You picked him up in the dead of night. Probably right outside Tim’s place, or at least a couple of blocks down,” she says, her eyes searching Sherry’s face. “Was there blood on his clothes?”

Sherry looks up. Bam. There’s our answer.

“No,” she lies. “Like I said, Dante was with me all night.”

“You must’ve asked about the blood.”

“No.”

“Did you ask him about it, Sherry? Or did you just ignore it and obey, like a mindless little lemming.” Tassia tilts her head, as if confused. “I thought you were an independent woman. I thought you had a mind of your own. But you nodded, didn’t ask any questions. You simply said, ‘yes, sir, I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.’”

“No, I asked!” Sherry finally snaps. “I asked, okay?”