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“They’ve been charged,” I said, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Formally?”
“Affirmative. Multiple counts of murder. The degree is still in question, along with whether it’s reduced to manslaughter. However, with the number of victims, the sentence would far exceed either of their life expectancies.”
“Are they being kept apart?” he asked.
“Affirmative,” I repeated.
“Where are they being held?”
“HMP Brixton.”
“That’s what? Two or three miles?” asked Blackjack.
“Yes. Five kilometers.”
The three ofus were silent for a time. I had no doubt the two Americans in the car with me were as deep in thought as I. However, I was equally certain the subject matters were entirely different.
As much as it shouldn’t or that I didn’t want it to, my mind continually wandered back to the kiss Ares and I had shared prior to his departure.
It hadn’t shocked me. The attraction between us was no secret, even though he alone had owned it. Nor had the timing been a surprise. There was danger inherent with every mission, and thus, the possibility an agent or operative may die in the line of service.
I couldn’t say I would’ve done the same if the situations were reversed, but I still hadn’t even mustered the guts to admit I shared his feelings.
“I’d like you to question Josif Jacov first,” I said when we were getting closer to the city.
“The one who’s claiming to be a last-minute substitute for the dead guy?” Blackjack asked.
“Which reminds me, I haven’t received the ME’s report on the man’s cause of death.”
“Do we have a name?” Atticus asked, pulling out his mobile.
“It’s in the transcript from the first interrogation,” Blackjack told him.
“Got it. Melvin O’Kirk. I’ll see if I can get an update on the COD.”
“Who handled their intake questioning?”
I glanced at Blackjack. “Cayman and Puck. I was able to observe a portion of it.”
“Was it recorded?”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to review it before we begin.”
“According to the ME’s report, O’Kirk died of heart failure,” said Atticus. “Forty years old. Seems odd, but it happens. Also, just to confirm, the background check shows no significant priors for either man?” asked Atticus.
“Correct.”
“Bit players?” Blackjack muttered.
“I’m not so sure. My instincts are telling me there’s more to them than meets the eye.”
“Always trust your gut,” said Atticus from the backseat.
“Regardless, both are facing multiple murder charges,” I said.
