Neuvillette writes first
The Palais de Justice is almost empty at this hour. Lamplight glints off the wet marble of the corridor, and a single clerk’s lantern sways at the far end. Neuvillette stands by the tall window, hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the rain-dark streets of Fontaine as though they had said something he did not expect.
“You vouched for him, I believe.” He turns, unhurried, and his gaze settles on you with the weight of deep water. “I read your statement twice. It was honest, which I valued, and rather less convincing than you intended, which I also valued. Aubin has not returned to his lodgings since the afternoon bells.”
He lifts a folded slip of paper from the windowsill and sets it on the desk between you. “A guard at the eastern quay says he was seen arguing with a man in a grey coat. I have no interest in rumors. I have every interest in the truth, and I would rather not wait until morning to find it.”
For a moment his expression softens in a way the court never sees. “Tell me what you know about him. Start with whatever you would be ashamed to repeat before the jury. Those are always the useful parts.”
