Page 119 of The Librarians

From what she’s heard from Jonathan, Detective Shariati will receive the bulk of the credit for solving the murders of Perry Bathurst, Jeannette Obermann, and the homeless patron Manny Vasquez, used and discarded by the mercenaries. Hagerty’s prestige in the department is further eroded due to the mistakes he made with regard to the entrapment operation, insisting on fewer officers and then letting the female accomplice leave his sight too easily.

But his weakened position makes him not less dangerous but more. If he can successfully pin Jeannette Obermann’s death on the quiet librarian, what is Sophie’s—and Elise’s—future compared to his glory and success?

A warm hand clasps around her shoulder. “Breathe, Sophie,” says Jonathan quietly.

Sophie looks up to see concrete floor and concrete pillars—they’ve arrived in the parking garage and she has scarcely any memory of the drive.

“You’ll be fine,” says Astrid from the back seat.

Sophie stares for a moment at her bright lemon manicure—Elise’s favorite, for its beaming cheerfulness. “Yes, I’ll be fine,” she concurs.

She has no choice but to outsmart Hagerty.

The interview room is cold, sparse, and smells of stale coffee. The metal desk in front of Sophie has a disconcertingly deep scratch along its right edge.

Detective Hagerty wastes no time. “Ms. Claremont, you lied to me.”

To the side, Gonzalez, his partner, looks accusingly at Sophie.

The back of Sophie’s head rings, as if she’s been hit with a baseball bat. She prays desperately that muscles at her temple will not leap—Hagerty must not sense her state of abject terror.

She lifts the corners of her lips in approximation of a sheepish smile. “I know. I’m sorry, Detective, but in my place, wouldn’t you have done the same thing?”

She can’t bring herself to bat her eyelashes, and that is probably a good thing. She would not want to disrespect the law.

“No, in your place I would have told the truth,” Hagerty says firmly. Harshly.

Is she grimacing or smiling placatingly? She can only hope it’s the latter. “Well, Detective, I hate to bring it up, but my people have had less than stellar luck where the law is concerned—the law has always tried to bind us but has rarely attempted to serve us. Would you declare aloud and in good conscience that perfectly innocent Black people have nothing to fear from the police?”

This is a gamble. She has no idea what Hagerty will say.

His jaw moves. He frowns. But in the end, he only says, “You had nothing to fear fromme.”

“But I did not know you, Detective. I only know the directive handed down from my grandmother and my mother—and my own experience living in this skin—that I should always, always have as little to do with the police as possible, especially if I’m innocent.”

Her throat burns. Her nape burns, too. But she forces herself to smile again. “I was wrong, of course. And I apologize. I’ll tell you the whole truth today, but you’ll see that the whole truth would only have sent you down a fruitless path.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Very well.” Sophie adjusts the cuffs of her navy blazer—she is dressed more formally than anyone else in the room. “My daughter spoke to Ms. Obermann Saturday before last, when they happened to be both standing in front of some graphic novels. But I never saw Jeannette Obermann until she arrived at Game Night with the third eye on her forehead.

“During the event, my attention was on my daughter—and how the evening progressed as a whole. It was as we were leaving that Ms. Obermann approached me and asked if she could have a word in private.”

If only she’d known…if only she’d agreed to Jeannette Obermann’s suggestion to talk again on a different day, then the woman would have gone home at an earlier time, missed the Russian mercenaries, and lived.

“You told me—and your daughter—that she was interested in volunteering at the library.”

“For which there is a whole process to follow, starting with an online application form. No, what Ms. Obermann expressed was a personal interest in me.”

Hagerty’s right brow lifts up half an inch. “As in…”

Sophie sits up straighter. “As in a romantic, or perhaps solely sexual, curiosity.”

Hagerty reschools his expression into one of impassivity. Sophie has the sensation that he’s restraining himself from looking her up and down. “Are you queer, Ms. Claremont?”

“I am. People might know me for years without knowing that, since dating hasn’t been a priority for me, but I’ve never misled anyone about it.”

“Then how did Ms. Obermann know? Surely she wasn’t shooting darts in the dark?”