Banville Book Of Evidence นิยาย & เรื่องราว

The crowd erupted in an uproar. Kenneth had not expected me to have a backup plan. He shouted angrily, "Don't believe her! She's a scheming woman who's always framing others!" "Really?" I shot back sarcastically. "The public isn't blind. Let them judge for themselves. Why are you getting so worked up all of a sudden?" As I spoke, I played the video on my phone. Burned once in my previous life, I had learned my lesson. This time around, I had befriended the banquet hall manager early on. Every move in the hall had been recorded from start to finish and downloaded onto my phone.

Inside, there were a bunch of papers stacked on top of each other, almost toppling off the makeshift tower. He scooped the stack of papers, slamming them on the desk in front of her. Ilana looked up from the sheaves of paper and turned around to see Calix leaning against the wall, a far off look in his eyes. She sorted through the papers, one by one, taking her time to read through both the highlighted parts and the fine print. All these years at the job, she’d learned the importance of the words written in those tiny letterings. It was a pile of evidence damning Adam Meyer of his wife’s attempted murder. Certain papers, bearing official stamps and signatures, were unmistakably authentic—far

“How exactly do we make doubt look strong? Asking as a man full of doubt and very little strength.” Sera looked at him. “Evidence.” Garran stepped forward from inside the tower. “We have testimony.” “Human testimony,” one Graymere wolf muttered. Garran’s eyes flashed. “Yes. From humans Damien claims to protect.” The wolf looked away first. Sera’s mouth twitched. Again, maybe liked her. Althea appeared at the doorway with a bundle of papers clutched to her chest. Names and testimony had been written on everything we could salvage. Old supply slips. Torn ledger pages. The inside of a dried food sack. One account had been scratched into the back of a broken prayer board because paper ran out.

They were leather bound with gilt edged pages. She lifted them out and flicked through the pages. Matthew McCavendish’s handwriting was precise but florid and took Sally a moment to decipher. When she’d got the hang of it and was able to scan each of the journals, she honed in on the volumes she wanted—those that contained entries about the Beast and its origins.

Later that night, I sat in my private office staring at the tiny vial Dan had slipped into my palm: a few strands of Carl’s hair, a smudge from Sofia’s water glass, enough for answers. “She doesn’t have to know,” Dan said carefully. “She won’t,” I replied. Outside the window the moonlight carved silver patterns across the courtyard gravel where they had fallen. The image of Esther kneeling, hair spilling over her son, was burned behind my eyelids. Norman prowled. You already know. You felt it. “Feelings aren’t proof,” I muttered. “Proof comes in numbers and reports.” But my hands shook slightly as I set the vial into the evidence box.

She approaches with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Mr. Brennan, you claim you were framed. Do you have any proof?" "The fact that I'm innocent is proof." "That's not proof. That's denial. Do you have evidence of framing? Witnesses? Documentation? Anything concrete?" "No. But—" "No proof. Just your word that you're innocent despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary." Victoria's voice is sharp now. "You were found at the crime scene. Your scent was everywhere. Your hair was on the victim. A witness saw you in the area. The victim's blood was in your closet. Fifty thousand pounds is missing from pack accounts, traced to your offshore account. And your defense is 'I didn't do it'?"

The first page contained no financial records. No names. Only one sentence written in Damien Quinn's unmistakable handwriting. If this book is open, then the time for hiding is over. She turned the page. Rows upon rows of handwritten entries filled the paper. Names. Dates. Bank transfers. Company accounts. Political donations. Secret offshore corporations. Payments stretching back more than thirty years. Elias adjusted his glasses. "My God..." Victor slowly sat down. "This isn't a ledger." "It's evidence." Lucien nodded grimly.

“My weakness?” “Trusting people who don't deserve it. Believing in loyalty when everyone else is playing for profit.” Vivian took the chair across from me, her posture radiated control. “It's almost admirable, in a pathetic sort of way.” “Whereas you trust no one?” “I trust evidence. Documentation. Insurance policies that ensure people remember where their interests lie.” Her smile sharpened. “Speaking of which, I assume Killian told you about my files?” My pulse quickened, but I kept my expression neutral. “He mentioned you might have some concerns about disclosure.”

"Yvan, I don't know what you're talking about." Right after that, Michael placed all the documents containing evidence on the table. "Ms. Bailey, we have all the evidence of your actions. If you confess to us now, you may be given a second chance." Daisy instantly panicked after seeing the evidence. "Yvan, Yuna gave you all these things, didn't she? She came to you and lied about me, right? How could you believe what she says?" Yvan said coolly, "I was the one who found these."

Envious, he thought, "It seemed that all of Sean's bootlicking has paid off." "Mr. Barrett, do you not care about evidence at all? Let's say I make an outrageous claim right now. Are you going to arrest and charge me?" Julien took a step forward, smirking. Gabe swiftly clarified, "Our decisions are based on evidence. Sir, please refrain from making baseless accusations." "Really? Why don't you take a good look at this, then?" With that, Julien tossed an envelope onto the table. Gabe picked it up with astonishment and extracted the document from within. His eyes widened. "W-What is this?"