Chapter 7

The convention board review was scheduled for 2 p.m. on the third day, in the meeting room behind the registration office. It was a small room with a table that could seat eight, a whiteboard that hadn't been erased properly since the previous spring, and one window that looked out over the parking lot. By the time Priya arrived, the seats were full.

Warren Cole was there, with a thick folder under his arm. The grey-bearded saddle-maker was there, sitting at the back with his arms crossed over his chest. The woman in the cream linen jacket was there, and the skinny kid in the vendor's apron, and the stocky man in the denim apron from the threading booth. The capo table's senior leatherworkers had come — two of them, old men with weathered hands and patient faces.

The board consisted of three people: the convention director, a woman in her sixties named Margaret Ellison who ran the hall with a precision that bordered on military; the finance officer, a nervous man who kept checking his watch; and a third board member Priya didn't recognize — a man in a grey suit who sat at the far end of the table and cupped his hands around a cup of water he never touched.

Dane was not in the room.

His lawyer was. A thin woman with sharp cheekbones and a briefcase that had been polished to a mirror sheen, she stood at the board's table with her hands flat on the surface and her voice pitched for a courtroom Priya had never been in.

"My client denies any involvement in the incident three days ago," the lawyer said. "He was a visitor to this convention, a guest of the vendor whose booth he was helping to staff. The complaint you've identified as originating from his account was submitted in error by a summer employee who no longer works for the family business."

Warren didn't interrupt. He waited until she'd finished, then he opened his folder and slid a single sheet of paper across the table to the board.

"That's the sign-in sheet from the vendor registration desk," he said. "It shows Dane Colman checking in personally at 8:47 a.m. on the morning of the incident. It also shows a timestamped account login from the vendor booth at 9:14 a.m. — the same booth from which the anonymous complaint was filed."

The lawyer's mouth tightened. "As I said, the login was—"

"The login was made using a passcode that the booth's summer employee testified under oath she was never given." Warren pulled out a second sheet. "This is her sworn statement, taken yesterday evening. She states that she had no access to the vendor account, that she never filed a complaint, and that the only person who used the booth computer that morning was Dane Colman."

The room went still.