By Regan Atlas for NYCMidnight SSC 2022

“Thank you for coming in.” It was an automatic phrase with no sincerity behind it – we were both aware of that. 

“Of course,” Mr Adler replied. “Happy to be here.”

He wasn’t. 

Game.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” I moved the fire report to the back of the folder, leaving the photos of the burnt ruins on the top, before finally looking up.  

Adler smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he held a styrofoam cup aloft. “Got one, thanks.” 

I nodded and sank into the seat opposite him, placing the open file on the table between us. I reached into my pocket and placed the recording device on the table, clicking it on, before leaning heavily back in my chair. 

“You’re looking better than when I last saw you,” I said with an approximation of a reassuring smile. The last time I’d seen Adler, he’d been relying on an inhaler to get him through a sentence; the time before that, he’d sat on the lip of an open ambulance, an oxygen mask attached to his face and a foil blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

His silver hair was now clean of soot and his wizened features were no longer defined by black lines of ash. 

And his smile came easier than mine. 

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Doctor has finally signed me off. Nothing permanent, thank God.”

I hummed, leafing through the file. “Smoke inhalation, yes?” 

I already had the answer: the file contained twenty-six full medical reports of all those who had attended the Latimer party – all but two were post-mortem reports.  

Adler took a sip from his cup, squeaking the styrofoam against the metal table. “Yes, but most of it’s cleared up now.”

“I’m pleased to hear.” It was sort of sincere – I didn’t wish ill upon the man. 

“Someone was watching out for me that day,” he continued, tapping the cup against the table.

I pulled the photos of the newly refurbished Manor. 

“Of course,” I said, politely engaged, before settling back in my seat. 

The folder was splayed out in a careful design of chaos, starting with the glossy photos of the newly renovated Latimer Estate, ending with the tabloid’s favoured shot of Adler in the foreground of the flames, the aforementioned oxygen mask to his face. 

The fire had caught the media attention, whipping the public into a frenzy. The public grief was palpable; the Latimers were an institution, a well established family with deep roots and deeper pockets. Their philanthropy was renowned, just as much as their exploits, making them the jewels of the banks and the tabloids. 

And now they were dead. 

All killed in their escape, trapped by the grand staircase. 

One surviving attendee: Mr Adler. One surviving family member: Philippe Latimer.

I met Adler’s expecting gaze. 

“I’m sure you’re aware of the news by now,” I said, trying to keep the irritation from my tone. It was never an easy task – particularly when the media developed an unfortunate talent for psychic premonitions, which must have been the case considering every member of the force swore blind they’d kept their mouths shut. 

Adler slowly dipped his chin, his expression dampening. “I have. Messy business.”

“That’s one way to put it.” I straightened in my seat and leaned my elbows on the table, careful not to disturb the display. 

Adler tapped his cup against the table again: a singular tap, the drip of an echo. 

“So it’s true then, what they’re saying?” His voice was gravel. “Arson?”

I gently pushed the thin report towards him with a single finger, making the red stamped ‘arson’ a beacon of intention.

“By all accounts,” I began as he read, “it was the perfect storm: the clear night, new timber on a hot day and a light breeze.”

Adler’s brow furrowed as he scanned the page. “But arson?”

“The fire service’s investigation found evidence of accelerants around the back of the east wing, near the library. There was nothing slowing the fire once it started.” Their hypothesis stipulated that once the flames caught, they spread into the library to feast on the books. By the burn marks, the fire had grown there, guzzling the available kindling before spreading through the structure of the Manor like poison through veins. 

I let the words hang between us. 

Adler looked up, his pale grey eyes meeting mine. “What does this mean?” 

I took back the fire service’s report, leaving the aggressive red stamp of the ruling visible. “This means the fire that resulted in the death of the Latimer family, and the attendees of their gathering, is now considered an active criminal case.” 

Adler released a long sigh through his nose and thumbed his cup. 

“How is Philippe?” he asked quietly.

I cocked my head, taking in his subdued manner. 

“Have you not spoken?” Philippe had taken the news that any transfer of the Estate would be frozen until the case was solved, poorly, but that wasn’t information that was necessary to share. 

Adler shook his head, his gaze focused on his cup. “No, he’s been busy.”

I nodded. “Ah yes, with the vigils.” A regular attendee in fact, leading the country’s grief for the family he had lost. He was young, charming, and had somehow perfected the art of capturing a single tear on his angular cheekbones, just in time to make the next day’s frontpage. 

I sucked my teeth, plucking the annotated floor plan from the file. 

“I’d like to go over this with you again.” I arranged it so that red-penned lines were visible between us.

“Me?” Adler said, straightening in his seat, the last of his easy demeanour diminishing entirely. “Why exactly am I here?”

“Because you are the only person who made it out of the Manor alive that night.” I leaned forward, placing my hands on the splayed photographs. “And I’d very much like to know how.”

Adler frowned, his expression darkening. “You can’t be serious? Are you seriously holding me as a suspect here?”

I smiled slightly, noting the strains of panic in his voice. “Everyone is a suspect until they’re not, Adler.”

“And Philippe?”

“What of Philippe?”

“He was there too that night.”

“He was,” I agreed. 

“He wasn’t supposed to be.” Splotches of red coloured his wrinkled cheeks. “He was supposed to be in France.” 

“I know.” Philippe hadn’t taken the news of his suspect status well either,  but he had the ever-reliable alibi of the unreliable transport system, to account for his whereabouts. “So why were you in attendance?”

Adler started, blinking in confusion. “I was invited – we’ve been over this.”

“Why were you invited?”

His bushy brows furrowed. “All the staff were.”

I nodded. “Have you worked for the Latimer’s long?”

“All my life.” He raised his chin slightly.

I pulled an accounting record forward from the dossier. “And you took over your late-father’s position?”

Adler paused a moment, before continuing. “After his accident, he was too ill to work on the Manor. I was his apprentice, so it was only natural.”

“The accident where the new section of the grand staircase crushed him?”

The pause stretched thin, hollow in the sterile interview room. 

“Yes.”

I nodded and tapped the floorplan. “Shall we?”

Adler pursed his lips, glancing down at the paper with a flicker of contempt. With a curt nod, he leaned back, loosening his posture in his seat. 

Set.

I tapped the red asterisk marked on the reading room in the West Wing. “Let’s begin here.”

His grey gaze snapped to the location, before meeting mine again. “We were gathered there for the celebration of the re-opening of the Estate after its renovation.” With a sigh, he crossed his thick arms over his chest. “It was just a quiet do: just the family and staff y’know. As I said, Philippe wasn’t there because of school, but all the other kids had made it back.”

I thumbed the red path from the room into the corridor, leading towards the main staircase. Philippe had said he’d intended to surprise his family with a late arrival, having managed to book a last minute flight.

“Mary – the Cook – got a bit heavy-handed with the wine,” Adler continued. “So I popped out to grab some fresh towels and salt before Lady Latimer saw. That’s when I noticed the smoke.” 

I nodded, looking between the Wings. A single corridor fed up either side, acting as a main artery for the thoroughfare.  “Which way would you have taken to get to the kitchens?”

Adler leaned forward and traced down the corridor, heading away from the centre hall, exiting through a servant’s cubby at the far end of the wing. 

“Very well, what happened next?”

His jaw clenched, straining the tendons in his neck before relaxing. “Well I alerted everyone, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know, did you?” 

He flashed me a withering look. “Yes, I did. We decided to try and find the fire while the others rang for help.” I watched as he moved his finger back up the corridor, tracing the red-penned line. “It was about here,” – he tapped three-quarters of the way along – “where we realised how far it spread.”

I hummed, judging the distance between the library in the east wing and the centre hall. “And there were no alarms?” 

Adler’s lips thinned as he levelled a cold stare. “Not a peep.”

I gestured to the floorplan. “What happened next?” 

Adler rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his eyes. “We realised there was no stopping it, so I tried to get everyone out the quickest way possible.”

I pointed back to the asterisks in the reading room. “And which way is that from here?”

He jerked his chin towards the centre hall. “It’s the main hub to the entire house. The other option was the kitchens, but that’s at the back of the house, and the quickest way there is –”

“Down the grand staircase.”

He nodded once. “Correct.” 

I pulled a collection of photos from the folder, laying them in order over the floorplan. “So the only way for everyone to escape from the fire was down this staircase?”

The photos depicted the grand staircase of the Latimer Manor – pre and post renovation and subsequent fire. Pre-renovation showed a sweeping structure with shallow steps and thin bannisters, separating into two veins that met the Wings on either side. Post-renovation showed a singular body, curling around and around, seemingly floating in the entrance hall. The bannister was thick and sturdy, each notch carved with intention and care.

The final picture showed where the staircase had collapsed in on itself, buckling the surrounding structure as it fell, ploughing through the lower levels where it had rested, becoming a burning cage for all those who had been dragged down with it.

“Your work?”

Adler started. “Pardon?”

I pointed to the post-renovation picture. “You finished your father’s work, correct?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Correct.” 

I rolled my lips between my teeth, scanning the floorplan. “You said previously that the fire was in the centre hall,” – he nodded – “but it was still clear enough to appear as a viable escape route?” 

“Yes.” His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. “There were flames and a lot of smoke, but it seemed clear enough.” He glanced at the picture of the ruins. “We couldn’t see the damage underneath.” 

I squinted at the post-renovation picture. “I’m no expert, but that looks like some heavy-duty wood.”

Adler raised an eyebrow. “Of course, it had to be. It’s not a supporting structure, and any free-standing feature has to be durable.”

I nodded slowly. “So why was it one of the first things to crumble when, as you said, there were only minimal flames and smoke in the centre hall?”

All the air left the room. Adler’s cold grey gaze locked with mine, not a sliver of emotion held in the lines of his face. 

“As you said,” I continued, “it was the main route in and out…durable. Wasn’t it reinforced?”

Adler leaned back in his chair, his hands splayed on the table. “I see what you’re doing.”

I cocked my head. “Oh?”

“You’re pinning this on me. Can’t have the golden boy’s name tarnished now can we.” Disdain dripped from every word. “Even as an orphan, all he cares about is when he can have his inheritance.” Adler snapped forward, his face twisting into a snarl. “Five per cent. That was the cut he’d have gotten before the accident. Now he’s got a hundred. And do you know how I know?” He laughed derisively. “He was singing it into a champagne bottle at their wake.”

I sighed, pulling the accounting report from the file. 

“Maybe so,” I said. The lack of love between the Latimers wasn’t a surprise; they had sent him to boarding school in France for most of his life, after all. “But you stand to gain more from their death.”

Adler’s barked laugh echoed in the interview room. “My family’s blood may be in the soil we worked, but that doesn’t make us Latimer blood. They’ll never give me a dime.”

“They didn’t give your father anything either, did they.” It wasn’t a question.

Adler tapped the table with the cup like a styrofoam gavel.  

“No,” he said slowly. “They didn’t.”

I pushed forward the accounting report, switching gears. 

“Can you tell me why you purchased three-hundred pounds of white pine? One of the more flammable types of wood, if I’m not mistaken.”

Adler shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face. “This is ridiculous. You’re actually going to frame me for this.”

“I thought it was rather clever actually.” I leaned forward. “Have you ever heard of the ‘But For’ test? As you stated, the grand staircase, which you worked on after your father was crushed by it, was the only way in and out – which you knew.” I tapped the post-renovation picture. “A fire was lit on a night where all the family was in attendance, bar one. Someone who had to have known the Estate well, deactivated all the fire alarms, giving the fire enough time to spread, surrounding the staircase you built – the quickest route of evacuation. And on this durable structure, the joints you made were weakened first.”

Adler’s lip peeled back in a snarl.

“‘But for’ the weakened joints, the staircase wouldn’t have collapsed and the Latimer family would be alive – correct?”

The only sound in the room was Adler’s heavy breaths. 

“You stood to gain something more valuable to you than money, didn’t you?” I pushed the picture of the destroyed staircase forward. “You laid a trap for revenge. You cornered them with fire and forced them down the weakened escape route you’d created, killing them with the thing that killed your father.”

Adler’s grey eyes held mine, cold fury burning through them. 

Match.