Barrett stared at him a moment before he grabbed the cigarette pack from his breast pocket and strode to the outer door. The wind was whipping across the balcony, and the saplings in the planter boxes were arching their trunks against it. The plexiglass walls that surrounded the balcony were only three feet tall, and he had to hunker down behind them to keep the flame burning long enough to get the cigarette lit. Inside, Gutman flopped on one of the sofas. Barrett stayed outside, leaning against the stainless-steel ledge and puffing on the cigarette in quick sharp inhalations.

The door from the outer office swung open. “Detective Riley,” Marcia announced, and stepped aside to admit the old man. He ambled in, looking around appreciatively. “Mr. Gutman,” he said with a nod.

Barrett took one last drag and chucked the butt over the glass wall and down thirty stories to the street. “Detective,” he said as he came back inside. He went straight to his desk chair and sat down. Riley took one of the chairs facing the desk, and Gutman, looking pained, got up from the sofa and did the same.

“I’ve been out of the country,” Barrett said. “Elliott brought me up to date on what occurred during my absence, and I have to say, we both have a lot of questions about just what the hell you think you’re doing.”

“Dismissing the charges against Shay Lambert, you mean.”

“Yes.” Barrett rolled his eyes at the obviousness of it.

“Yeah, it was bad,” Riley said. “Watching our case crumble like that.”

“What do you mean?” Gutman said. “You have plenty of evidence against her.”

“Yeah, we thought so, too.” Riley turned to speak directly to him. “Turns out Mr. Barrett and Mr. Culligan doctored that surveillance video.”

“What?” Gutman’s eyebrows knitted.

“Get out,” Barrett scoffed.

“The time stamps were altered to make it look like Ms. Lambert visited your wife’s office that Sunday night. But in fact, that visit occurred on December nineteenth of last year. There’s no evidence that she went to your wife’s office on the night in question.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Barrett held up a calming hand to Gutman.

“And there’s no evidence that your wife terminated Ms. Lambert’s employment. The termination documents that Mr. Barrett produced were also tampered with.”

Gutman looked to Barrett. “Barry—?”

“He’s lying.” Barrett pulled off his glasses and chucked them on the desk.

“Then there’s the supposed fraudulent résumé found in Ms. Lambert’s apartment. Her husband has now admitted that he was paid thirty thousand dollars to plant it there.”

“Barry!”

“That’s a lie! Marcia!” Barrett roared at the ceiling. “Where the hell is Jack Culligan? He’s supposed to be in this meeting.”

“I can’t locate him, Mr. Barrett,” the woman replied.

“Oh, that’s because he’s in the Metropolitan Correctional Center,” Riley said. “Pending sentencing. As part of his plea deal with the government.”

“The government?” Gutman looked confused.

“That would be the U.S. government,” Riley clarified. “On a charge of conspiracy to engage in human trafficking.”