In his Aubade apartment, Lucas sat back in a leather armchair, the only light a small map behind the chair. The Seattle Times lay open on a table next to him, glanced at and then cast aside. Lucas slipped a cell phone from a drawer in the table and flipped it open. He had a call to make to close out this little affair for now. When someone received a favor from Mr. Prince, there never was closure. Lucas liked to always leave them owing a little bit more.
"Mr. Holt," he spoke into the phone at the sound of another voice. On the other end, the boy's father would hear an altered voice as did everyone Mr. Prince dealt with, but the few he trusted. "You see that everything has come out as I promised with your son. You did well to come to me."
Lucas listened to the man's thanks with a look of disdain. Lucas would be happy if his son murdered again, frankly, or he would if it wouldn't speak poorly for his political campaign. But he didn't think this would be one of those cases. Because of what the boy said, his story.
"Tell Desmond to let you know, to let me know, if he sees that woman again." Lucas was intrigued by the boy's story, by the woman, the true killer, he described. Lucas believed every word of it. He knew a liar when he heard one. The woman, she sounded like just what Seattle needed. He'd be keeping an ear to the ground for that one. Indeed.