Her outlook had become purely defensive.

She wanted her hope back. Her optimism. She wanted her freedom. It was an epiphany that might have come at exactly the wrong moment in her life.

The clock on the wall ticked and Darby felt the inexorable passage of time with each quiet click. What happened if she wasn’t released? As in, ever…

Her mouth parched.

Elliot pulled on his jacket and straightened his tie. The set of his jaw suggested he was preparing for battle, and she was suddenly extremely glad this man was on her side. Haley wouldn’t have hired anyone but the best. Darby needed all the help she could get.

She glanced at the mirror, wondering again what Eban was thinking. She knew he was on her side—at least, she assumed he was—but would his need to follow the rules mean he stayed away from her so she couldn’t taint his career? Had he insisted on a lawyer in part to protect her from the damage he could do to her in a court of law?

“So…” The detective began, drawing Darby’s attention back to her.

“I’m right here, Darby,” Elliot murmured reassuringly into her ear. “I won’t let her railroad you, but if I tell you to stop talking, you stop talking. Immediately.”

She nodded in understanding.

The detective watched their interaction with a narrowed gaze. “Before we were interrupted you were telling me how you and Martin left the party together last night.”

Instant anger snapped along Darby’s nerves. “That’s not what I said. I said I couldn’t remember leaving the party.”

“You remember dancing?” Torgerson asked.

Darby could hear the detective consciously trying to moderate her tone. She nodded. “With lots of people. The ‘Dashing White Sergeant’ and ‘Strip the Willow.’”

“Pardon me?” Torgerson sounded confused.

“They’re Scottish country dances. Ceilidh dances.” Darby scrubbed her hand over her face, so tired she could barely think straight. “You dance in small groups. It’s fun. We all had a great time.” Her voice dropped away. “Martin loved it. We all did.” Now Martin was dead.

“Who else was there?”

“My friends, Jacqui, Davis, Mohammed who I share an office with.” They’d been at the crime scene this morning and would surely think the worst.

Darby laid her hands flat on the table and wished, inanely, she was the sort of woman to get her nails done. Even at the spa with Haley over Christmas she’d refused, thinking it was too frivolous for a serious scientist like herself.

What was truly frivolous was a life half lived. That was the real waste.

Add manicures to the list of things she wanted to try if she was ever let out of here. And waterskiing. And making love… She glanced at the mirrored window again.

“Martin was there with many others from the Institute. When I arrived, he was sitting with Stef, Lenny, Inga.” She answered the detective’s question, taking her time to get the details correct, less intimidated by the woman now. “Pretty much all the grad students went, plus various faculty members, some undergrads and people from town. It was organized as a fundraiser by the grad students from UAF. They asked a local pipe band to pipe in the haggis.” The detective looked bemused as she wrote something down. “There were a couple of hundred people at least.”