Chapter 22: The Dock Camera

Marlene put her folder on her knees and arranged her pearls.

She did not look at me.

Dean's lawyer stood beside her, and he asked the questions in a careful, gentle voice.

"Mrs. Lansing, did Mr. Stancliffe threaten you on Friday afternoon?"

"He cornered me at the loading dock behind his office," she said. "He said he'd ruin me and my daughter. He grabbed my arm."

A murmur went through the rows.

"And again on Saturday?"

"On the front steps of the Marlowe. He took my arm again, in front of everyone, and he told me I'd regret it."

She dabbed at one dry eye with a handkerchief.

"I'm a widow, and I'm fifty-seven years old. I am frightened of that man."

Maggie had come in at the back, still in her scrubs, and I heard her say, very softly, "Oh my God."

The CEO folded her hands on the table.

"Mrs. Lansing, is there a camera at the loading dock?"

Marlene's handkerchief stopped.

"I wouldn't know."

"There is." The CEO turned to the man from IT. "Please play it."

He opened his laptop and cast it to the wall screen.

It was grainy gray footage from the camera above the roll-up door, with a timestamp in the corner.

Friday, 12:21.

A woman in pearls came down the steps with a phone.

She pointed her finger at a man standing very still with his hands at his sides.

She stepped closer.

She jabbed the finger at his chest, once, twice, three times.

The man did not move.

Not once in four minutes did his hands leave his sides.

"No audio," the man from IT said. "But there's no grabbing either."

Somebody laughed in the back, and the laugh was cut off.

"The steps at the Marlowe," the CEO said. "I asked the hotel to send us the footage."

The side door opened, and the venue manager walked in, still in her black blazer, with a memory stick in her hand.

She handed it to the man from IT without a word.

It showed the front steps on Saturday afternoon.

A bride sat on a marble step, writing, while a woman in pearls stood three feet below her and shouted.

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