"Do you own an amulet with a red stone? Did you lose it recently?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No! No, I don't own any such thing. Are you mad? Why are you even asking me this?"
"What are you trying to hide?" she demanded. "You know about the killings, don't you?"
Marcel glared at her, his breathing ragged. "I don't know what you're talking about," he spat. "What killings are these? I thought you wanted to ask me about the Foundation and that bunch of losers. Now you're bringing killings into it? Get out of my house!"
Abruptly, he flung his weight back, using his bigger build to try to knock her off balance.
Cora stumbled back, taken by surprise, but in a moment, she recovered, twisting aside and yanking him all the way forward. If he wanted to use his momentum to try to get out of this, she could only help him.
Now, he was the one who ended up stumbling, falling down onto one knee. Cora grabbed him by the back of his neck with her other hand, finding a pressure point, digging in.
She didn't want to break his bones. The fair was fair. She had gotten into his house without his consent. But he was being obnoxious and obstructive, and she didn't have time for this behavior.
"There have been murders at the foundation," she explained. "The last one, very recently. So instead of trying to knock me onto the floor, which is not going to work for you, why don't you tell me where you were last night."
"Why should I tell you?"
She dug her fingers harder just to remind him.
"Because it's nice to be cooperative," she said, teeth gritted.
He was breathing hard now, his shoulders rising and falling.
"Look, I was home last night. Home! I was here. Where else would I be?"
"Anyone with you?"
"Yes. My friends were there. We were playing cards, drinking, relaxing. We were having a normal evening. Now stop squeezing my neck."
"Tell me what time they left?"
"Two of them slept over in my living room. We got to bed at about two a.m., and I was up at six because one of them set the alarm off and then had to leave."
That would put him outside the time window for the killings. So, despite being a thoroughly unpleasant person, it seemed that Marcel was not the murderer.
"Give me proof," she growled. "I'll let go of your neck, but I want proof of what you were doing."
"What the hell proof do you want?"
"Messages? Did you confirm this game? Anyone text you afterward?" She let go of his neck. "Find the proof. And don't try anything. I'm not in the mood to break your bones, but I will if I have to."
He glared at her, but he didn't try anything.
Cora stepped back, giving him some space. She watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through messages, his face growing more and more frustrated with each swipe. Finally, he pulled up a text conversation with his card-playing friends. Cora leaned in to read it.
The message timestamps aligned with what he said. He wasn't the killer.
"Okay," she said. "Next time, try cooperating. It ends better."
She turned, walked back the way she'd come, and vaulted out of the window.
Gabe was waiting for her. He looked relieved to see her approach.
"I'm guessing, since you came out alone, he's not the killer?" he asked.
She shook her head. "He has an alibi for last night. I confirmed it, and it's solid. So it must surely be Lucas Schubert. He must have come back from Germany."
