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“You know you can’t do that,” Marasi said from beside the window.

Reddi looked at her. “Don’t quote statistics at me, Colms. I’ve found I can make a man speak the truth, no matter what you claim.”

“It isn’t statistics this time,” Marasi said. “If you actively torture that man, you’ll ruin him for prosecution. His attorneys will get him off for sure.”

Reddi gave her a scowl.

“So send for his daughter,” Caberel said, glancing over the fact sheet they had on the man. “We threaten her in front of him, but don’t do anything to harm her. He’ll talk.”

Marasi rubbed her forehead. “That’s specifically illegal, Caberel. Do you people know nothing about Article Eighty-Nine? He has rights.”

“He’s a criminal,” Reddi said.

“He’s a suspected criminal.” Marasi sighed. “You can’t continue to act as you have in the past, Reddi. New laws are in place. They’re only going to get stricter, and the defense attorneys are increasingly clever.”

“The solicitors have sold out to the other side,” Caberel said with a nod. “She’s right.”

Marasi remained silent on that score. Of course it wasn’t really a matter of selling out at all—but she’d settle for the constables learning to follow the rules, regardless of the reasoning.

“I think,” Reddi said, “that it’s unfortunate we’ve got someone among us who seems to be more on the solicitors’ side than on the side of justice. She knows more about their ways than ours.”

“Perhaps she does,” Aradel said in a soft, stern voice. “And one might consider that to be exactly why I brought her in among us, Captain Reddi. Colms knows contemporary legal codes. If you paid more attention to the very laws you are sworn to uphold, perhaps Daughnin wouldn’t have gotten back on the street last month.”

Reddi blushed, bowing his head. Aradel stepped up beside Marasi, looking down at the captive. “How are you at interrogating hostile witnesses, Lieutenant?”

“Less practiced than I’d like to be,” she replied with a grimace. “I’m willing to give it a try, but we might as well wait for a few more minutes.”

“Why?”

Distantly, a door slammed. “That’s why,” Marasi said.

A moment later, the door into their observation chamber was flung open, Pushed by Waxillium as he approached. Couldn’t the man be bothered to lift a hand from time to time? He strode in, tailed by Wayne, who was for some reason wearing Constable Terri’s hat.

Waxillium looked down at the captive. He narrowed his eyes, then glanced at the bracers on the table nearby. One jumped, then fell off the table, Pushed by his unseen Allomantic ability.

He grunted. “Those aren’t metalminds,” he said. “This man is a decoy. You’ve been duped.” He turned as if to leave. Wayne slouched down in one of the chairs and put his feet up beside the bracers, then promptly started snoring.

“Wait, that’s it?” Reddi said, glancing at Waxillium. “You aren’t even going to interrogate him?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Waxillium said. “He might give us clues that will help find Winsting’s killer. But it wasn’t that man.”

“How can you be so sure, Waxillium?” Marasi said.

“It takes more effort to Push on real metalminds,” Waxillium said, pointing. “And that man is too obvious. Whoever did this has predicted our conjecture that one of Innate’s guards was behind the murder, and wants us to jump on this man as a suspect. They want us to assume we have the killer in custody. Why, though? Are they planning something tonight…?” Distracted, he walked toward the door. “I’m going to go talk to the prisoner. Marasi, I wouldn’t mind another set of ears.”

She started. He was asking her for help? That was a change from making her feel guilty every time she showed up at a crime scene. She glanced at Aradel, who gave her leave, and she hurried after Waxillium.

In the stairwell down, Waxillium stopped and turned toward her. He was wearing his Roughs hat. He only did that when he was in full-on “tough lawman” mode. “I hear you brought this guy in.”

“I did.”

“Nice work.”

That should not have given her the thrill that it did. She didn’t need his approval.

It was nice nonetheless.

He continued to study her, as if on the verge of saying something more.

“What?” Marasi asked.

“I spoke to God on the way over here.”

“All right…” Marasi said. “I’m glad you’re devout enough to say a prayer now and then.”

“Yes. Thing is, He spoke back.”

She cocked her head, trying to judge the meaning of that. But Waxillium Ladrian was nothing if not earnest. Rusts, often he was too blunt.

“All right,” she said. “What did he tell you?”

“Our killer is a Faceless Immortal,” Waxillium said, starting down the steps again. “A creature who calls herself Bleeder. She can change shapes by taking the bones of the dead, and she’s been driven mad. Even Harmony doesn’t know her purposes.”