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Yes, I was ready to talk to Faran Ashton.

Chapter 25

Ashton glared across the metal table at Gunnar and me. He’d turned up in his pyjamas: either it was sheer laziness on his part or it was a power move to show he wasn’t taking us seriously.

‘Thank you for coming in,’ I said pleasantly. Gunnar was letting me take the lead; he was mostly there to observe and intimidate.

‘You didn’t give me a choice,’ Faran bit out.

I smiled. ‘I didn’t, did I? We’re here today to discuss the murder of Alfgar Simonson.’

He stared blankly. ‘What is there to discuss? The hag killed him.’

‘That is not a foregone conclusion,’ Gunnar rumbled.

‘Well, she’s the one that keeps taking heads! And Alfgar’s head was removed. Seems a pretty obvious conclusion to me!’

‘The most obvious answer isn’t always the right one,’ I stated.

Faran snorted. ‘No, it usuallyis, that’s why there’s a name forit – Occam’s razor. Your education was lacking.’

I smiled. ‘I am familiar with Occam’s Razor, and my education was excellent. I have a degree in philosophy from a prestigious university in the UK. But beyond that, do you know what else I have?’

He didn’t answer.

‘I have this badge,’ I tapped it. ‘And that means you’re the one answering my questions.’ I paused a beat to let that sink in. ‘How well did you know Alfgar?’

‘Not well,’ Faran admitted grudgingly. ‘We were on different shifts. We crossed paths in the locker room is all.’

‘Tell me about your altercation.’

‘Which one?’

‘Did you have so many altercations with the deceased that you don’t know the one that I’m referring to?’ I asked mildly. He shifted but didn’t answer. ‘You had an issue with him having a human wife, didn’t you?’ I persisted.

‘Of course I did. Any self-respecting dwarf would. He was polluting the bloodline. Disgusting.’ He sneered. ‘Dwarf purity is sacrosanct. I’m not the only one that thinks that way, far from it. Alfgar was the aberration, not me. Baldred is too soft, insisting that love conquers all – including species divide.’ He snorted. ‘Things will be differentwhen he’s gone.’ He pounded a finger on the desk. ‘Mark my words.’

‘Marked,’ I said dryly. I was less interested in dwarven politics and more focused on my victim. ‘When Alfgar was murdered, what were you doing?’

‘Sleeping.’

‘Any witnesses to that fact?’

‘No, I live alone.’

I stifled the urge to point out that he couldn’t even secure ahumanwife. ‘You’ve got red hair,’ I said instead.

He did a sarcastic slow clap. ‘Congratulations on your powers of observations.’

I bit back a retort; my powers of observation were top drawer. ‘A red hair was found on Alfgar’s body.’

‘So?’ he sneered. ‘He probably picked it up from his human bitch.’

‘His what?’ Gunnar growled.

Faran swallowed hard and shifted in his chair, but he didn’t dare repeat himself in the face of Gunnar’s glower.

‘Can we have some of your hair?’ I asked. ‘To cross-reference it with the one we found?’