7 Crows

Chapter Four | 07:55

Chapter Four

07:55 am. New Year's day.

Heavy, sloppy footsteps approached closer.

Loxley spun on her heels and caught sight of a willowy figure of an average height escorted by a policeman. The final subject to be interrogated. Her keen eyes trailed the man until he passed through the maple door.

"Well, back to the salt mine." Ebony sighed, squaring his shoulders and shoving his hands in his pant suit's pockets. Though, Ebony's tone was exasperated, Loxley easily recognised the hidden shadow of exhilaration in his voice. The thrill of his job has never abated him.

"Come on, Blaine," She said, her legs already moving towards the interrogation room.

Reaching out, Loxley turned the handle and pushed the door open. Her eyes darted, following the pattern of the man's pacing.

The man's head snapped up like a cobra when disturbed. His burnt umber eyes widened for a fleeting moment and then narrowed to a penetrating stare. 

"Good morning," Loxley said, stepping into the room.

The door clicked shut behind Ebony.

The man stood rooted to the spot, almost leaning on his right leg and gazed at them without speaking.

He bore a rugged worn face that Loxley surmised had been full of life and smiles at some point in his life. With an unkempt dark-brown hair that framed his face and a scraggy salt and pepper beard, he looked to be in his late forties. The stormy-sky-coloured shawl cardigan barely clung onto his left shoulder. A charcoal-grey T-shirt dangled on his body, and an ashy sweatpants that had sprinkle of lint balls clad his legs. He struck Loxley as someone who hadn't looked in the mirror for a long time.

"The morning is far from good." He said, at last, his voice a deep resonance with a hint of Scottish brogue. "Why am I still here?" He raked his fingers through his hair, showing off a bit of his receding hairline, and then mumbled almost to himself, "I thought I was done with this already!"

"Don't worry. We just want to ask a few questions." Ebony affirmed, a kind smile on his face. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Shouldn't there be a lawyer present during these kind of interrogations?" He asked, ignoring Ebony's polite question. The man's eyes were still red and watery from the hangover and there were dark circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation.

"Blaine, please get him a cup of coffee. He drinks coffee." Loxley told Ebony, judging by the coffee stains on the man's teeth.

Ebony grabbed the half-drank glass of water that still sat cooly on the edge of the interrogation table. He gave Loxley a pointed look that she knew meant they were tiptoeing on broken glass with this man before exiting from the room.

"Jacques, is it?" Loxley said, taking a step forward. Considering the man focus his attention on her at the mention of his name, she continued. "We're private detectives and you're not detained, Jacques. We'd appreciate if you could cooperate with us." Her voice was soft but clear-spoken.

Loxley stood face-to-face with the man from across the table. "Please sit down, Jacques."

The man stood behind the interrogation table, unmoved. Loxley noticed tiny beads of perspiration formed on his temples and the way the muscles on his jaw clenched and unclenched. All signs of agitation.

"It's going to be fairly innocent interrogation. No beating around the bushes." She emphasised, remaining calm. "We'll talk frankly, like friends."