"Flags are being lowered on the Houses of Parliament for the passing of Defence Minister, Bradford Aitkens." With suitable reverence and tone, the reporter stood outside, Parliament Buildings in the background, a breeze whipping her long hair across her face. "At eleven-fifteen, doctors pronounced the Minister dead, his heart unable to recover from a relatively long period of decline."

"Have you been able to reach any of the members for comment, Haley?"

"Nobody has appeared for comment yet, Sonia, and there have been no official announcements from the Press Secretary." The hair swirled about her eyes.

"What about the doctors, do we have anything from them? Did he suffer? Is his wife with him?"

"Bloody ghouls!" Lawrence snapped the TV off and fumed silently before acknowledging his strategist. "What have you heard?"

"As I suspected. Deputy Minister Edwards is stepping in. He could prove troublesome. The House won't be sitting now until after the funeral, and there's a chance he might lie in state for a day. Rotten as the old bastard was, he had a lot of powerful friends."

"That's not all is it? You have that, brace yourself, look about you."

"Turn on the twenty-four-hour news station."

Lawrence sat with his head in his hands after listening to another newscaster bemoan the loss of the Minister, then report on the local killing of a man and the brutal maiming of another by a couple identified as Lynne Kirk, a local taxi cab driver, and Warren Daly, a copy editor for Premier Publishing. The couple were found at the scene after police received a report—"

"Shut it off. Jesus, Rod, what is happening to this world?"

"I think we both know they're innocent."

"So what? If they're forced to reveal their contact with us, we could become accessories after the fact along with them."

"We don't know what this was about, Lawrence. Let's just walk carefully until there's more news. Meanwhile, I'll sound out Edwards."

Rod left and Lawrence turned the TV back on.

****

Warren picked at the edge of the table and gazed about the space he was in. He knew about interrogation rooms, many of the police stories he edited depicted scenes like this. Drab walls. Three hard backed chairs. Wire covered window, and the inevitable, two-way mirror. He wondered if Lynne was in a similar setting.

The door opened and two men came in, one from the crime scene and another that looked like he'd never seen the sun.

"Mr. Daly, we met at the scene, Detective Southall, and my partner, Detective Lewendowski. Would you like a coffee? Water?" He sat down, indicating if Warren did want something, he wouldn't be getting it.

"No thanks. I thought I was just here to give a statement. This is an interrogation room."

"Nah, we're just pressed for space."

"Where is Miss Kirk?"

"She's being looked after, don't fret."

"Fret. Right. Okay, ask your questions."

"Be better if you tell us your story from the beginning – and we already have Miss Kirk's."

The look said they thought they would be catching him in a trap, and Warren worried a little about that himself. Lynne would tell what happened without any extras, he was sure, and clearing his throat, he began.

Southall interrupted several times, checking a file he had open in front of him. Warren suspected it was Lynne's version, or a bluff to upset him. He told them everything except the bit about the papers. His version said the man was looking for something, convinced they had it, but they had no idea about what he wanted. That would be his statement – live or die.

The two detectives had a brief, whispered conversation then got up from the table.

"That's it, Mr. Daly. We'll of course check as much of this as we can and you may be back for more questions. Right now, you're free to go."

"And Miss Kirk?"

"We're going to take her statement now."

"You said—"

"I lied, Mr. Daly. It's allowed." His smile was grim as he ushered Warren out the door.

****

The wooden bench made his backside numb and the desk officer, giving him the fish eye the whole time hadn't helped. Warren checked his watch and frowned. Lynne had been at least thirty minutes longer than him and he began to worry.

When she came out of the room, he was on his feet instantly, looking for any sign of trouble; her quick smile lassoed his heart and slowed it back to normal. Detective Southall, had a hand on her elbow as they approached, and Warren gave him a disapproving glower.

"I can get you a ride home with one of our officers."

"If he could drop me at my cab company, I'd like to pick up my car and prepare to get back to work."

"What about you, Mr. Daly?"

"We are together, Detective."

The hand came off the elbow. "All right, there will be more questions so . . ."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't leave town." Warren led Lynne toward the door.

"I was about to say, If you think of anything else, please call me."

Outside, an officer waited beside a cruiser, and they climbed in the back, relieved, tired, and anxious to hear what the other had said.

****

"What do you think?"

"The stories are damn close. Just the usual personal perception of the events. The two Turkish guys puzzle me. What were they after and why?" Southall tilted back in his chair, arms over his head in a bone cracking stretch.

"The one in the hospital should be able to give us some answers tomorrow. Did you see his legs, Jesus, that must have hurt like a bitch."

"Forensics are scouring that computer room now, so we should have those results tomorrow too."

"It all looked pretty sophisticated and intricate." Lewendowski remarked.

"A yo-yo looks intricate to you, Lew," Southall yawned. "I'm off home, my back, my feet . . ."

"I'll book an ambulance." Lewendowski waved good night.

****

Lynne retrieved her cab after a long debate with the dispatcher, complaining about lost revenue over the idle taxi. She drove to Warren's place and they trudged upstairs and collapsed on the sofa.

"That Southall lied to me. Said he already had your statement when he asked for mine." His yawn muffled the last of his words.

"He said the same to me, but I knew not nearly enough time had passed for you to tell what happened."

"Oh, is that so."

"But I did know you would tell it just as it happened, and that you would omit the papers."

"Oh, is that so . . . how?" Surprised.

"We might not have a long history, Warren, but I have a pretty good take on your character." Lynne rubbed her eyes and sighed.

He compressed his lips and nodded. "In that case, Miss Smarty Pants, we need to have a history lesson. He leaned over, pinning her arms and planting a kiss on her mouth. The action was hurried, quickly slowing, and in a few short moments, before achieving anything, they were both asleep, propped against one another on the sofa.

Word Count: 15,960 Microsoft Word