“I have something of pertinent interest to everyone–but you all, in particular.” Her dark brown gaze moves to appraise them all–August and Geneviève, her tentative comrades despite the secrets that shackle them together, and Nikhil, the whip-quick mind that commandeered even Julian’s tempestuous adoration. It was quite a crew the viper had assembled– the last prodigal son, the art dealer, and the chess-master–and they waited now for her word to set them alight. Would she deign to give a spark, or damn them to ignorance and darkness? She likes to think Julian would have been proud.
Were the matters not so grave, she thinks she’d have held them in suspension just a bit longer, but she knows of the target etched on her back after her interview with Detective Domingo.
Amirah clears her throat, stilettoed-nails clicking the iPad’s screen off as she allows it to fall in view of the three–without information, and yet…“I have access to his original autopsy report.” She doesn’t elaborate beyond that–no clues as to how, or why, or for how long she’s had it. None of it’s important, nor is it being offered. “…I want to share it with you, because there’s more in it than has been released and I think it would be better for you all to know then myself and Domingo in light of these last few days, but I can’t do so without some sort of assurance.
“Geneviève, August–I know the detective wasn’t so kind as to only offer me the chance to say something off the record. I want to know what you told him, if anything.” She smiles, and it’s nearly genuine. This is, perhaps, the kindest thing she’s done for them yet. “Anything you say to me will be off the record and protected under the highest level of confidentiality. I don’t take well to liars, either.” She will not hesitate to throw them to the wolves, should she find out she was duped in a moment of her generosity.
“And, Nikhil,” Amirah says, turning to him, “I understand that you’ve not yet spoken to the determined detective, leaving you the opportunity to offer him something off-of-the-record.” It is clear she believes that anything is off-the-record for as far as she can throw Rafael–which is to say, not even an inch. “I want something to assure that our knowledge of this won’t find its way to the investigation. And if it does, well, I want something with which I can ensure I can return the favor. You know, collateral damage.” Reassurance, at its finest: assured destruction.Â
There’s a certain truth in all that Amirah says. He admires her for that, the way that she weaves words like spun gold and turns patchwork half-lies into beautiful tapestries. It’s an art form and Amirah has perfected the delicate nuances of such an intricate craft. Yes, he admires her, but in the same breath he fears her.
She turns to him, a look of knowing caught in the center of her gaze.Â
“For what my word is worth, I am an attorney, and I’m not in the habit of incriminating myself, nor others when none of us are legally being charged with a crime.” It’s the truth, he didn’t say much to the detective, but he wonders if anyone else would have. He looks at Genevieve and wonders if their shared bond among the immortal made a difference in her reply.
“I do, however, have something I wish to speak with you about in private. A quid pro quo so to speak. This is not to say however that I do not trust, or wish for the rest of you to be involved, but as this is a rather personal matter,” his attention is drawn to the doorway, a look of faux longing settles neatly onto his countenance, “I believe the other party would be more comfortable with someone they know.”
Geneviève studies August carefully as he speaks, keeping her posture aligned and trying not to move, to fidget, or to behave in any way that might seem suspicious or nervous to any current people in her company.
It doesn’t surprise her in the least that he’s kept his lips firmly sealed to Domingo. Sanctimonious he may be at times, sure, but she would never say August isn’t admirably canny.
Once he’d finished, she coughs slightly, and attempts to follow suit, “Sorry to disappoint, Amirah dear, but I didn’t give our new friend anything to chew on either. You should know by now,” she says, with a sickly sweet, smug smile, “whatever you think of me, I’m not so monstrous as to sell out every single one of my friends like that. However much I might be entertained by the drama of doing such a thing, there’s no chance.”
“Dreadfully boring, isn’t it?” she says with a giggle. “Protecting each other.”
Though, of course, she’d never considered doing anything else.
“What about you, though?” she says, creeping slowly towards Amirah until their faces are centimetres apart. “Did you tell him anything?”
“Come on, it’s only fair if you asked us. Fess up, and then we can have some fun with this autopsy business.”
Was there anything in it? That was the question. It wasn’t strange for Amirah to enter into a dramatic bluff, after all.
Nikhil had no intention of doing something as foolish as giving anything at all useful to the police, but he was just as certain that saying that would do little to convince Amirah. All too often, since he has arrived here, has he found himself backed into corners, making concessions. It wears on him, and yet the autopsy is simply too valuable a resource to let slip through his fingers. Knowledge is power, Amirah knows it. He knows it.Â
“You have a deal,” Nikhil says, matter of fact, and slips his phone from his back pocket. Sure to angle himself to conceal the screen from the group, he types a simple, two sentence text message. A secret he’s kept for years, a night never once spoken of aloud. Not entirely damning, but enough that it should satisfy her, if only for it’s value in gossip. Amirah will have questions. Depending on the value of the autopsy report, he might even deign to give her answers.Â
nikhil: I slept with Julian de Cervantes.Â
He waits for the telltale sound of a text notification, and then slips his phone back into his pocket. “That should suffice,” he says, looking to Amirah with the slightest raise of an eyebrow.Â
“Now, the autopsy report?”
