“Okay,” he agreed with a long exhalation. “Who was Lukas’s boyfriend?”

Maybe he was struggling with this one because Lukas had been the same age as Lawrence at the time of his death. He wasn’t just a vic.

Vassier smiled with superiority. “Bastien Hawthorne.”

Whitlock frowned. “That explains that. He found the body. Convenient.”

“And it would also explain the reluctance of the academy to assist with the investigation. The Hawthornes--” Vassier started.

“Yeah, they own everything this side of the mountain. But let me tell you this. They don’t own this precinct.”

Vassier shrugged. “And they don’t own me, either. If Bastien’s the perp, he’ll go down.”

“Be honest with me. Do you like him for it?”

Another shrug followed. “He’s worth looking into. Like you said, he found the body. Who’s to say he wasn’t the one who strangled Lukas and threw him to his death?”

Whitlock felt a surge of energy despite the sleep lost over the past days. Finally, a lead. Bastien Hawthorne had seemed aloof and heavily medicated when his interview took place; Whitlock couldn’t say whether the young man was capable of murder or not, but finding a reasonable motive was no longer farfetched, given the nature of his relationship with the victim. As for opportunity, that was also right there for the keen eye to see.

“Let’s see Lawrence,” he said, standing and grabbing his jacket. “Did you come in your car?” The boy – the young man – was always happy to see him. Even for someone as intelligent as him – or maybe exactly for someone as intelligent as him – studying could grow rather dull on occasion.

“Of course. But I’m not letting you drive,” Vassier replied, narrowing his eyes.

“You should, seeing I gave you everything you wanted,” Whitlock said with a grin.

“Convince Lawrence to play along, and I might. On our way back.”

“I thought you were sure Lawrence would say ‘yes’.”

“He respects you way too much. If he senses the slightest hesitation from you, he’s going to say ‘no’ just to make you happy.”

Lawrence did respect him. And Whitlock respected the odd boy just as much; it was as close as he’d ever gotten to a feeling like familial love. He hadn’t felt like that for his sister or their parents. But Lawrence deserved all the care and affection a parent could give him. Even if Whitlock wasn’t that.

***

“Yes.” There was no other answer he could give. Lawrence pressed his fingers against the edge of the table in an awkward position, close together like a barricade. Between him and the other people sitting with him, there were three cups of strong tea, three saucers and a sugar bowl with a teaspoon delicately set on the side. What would be the quickest move to make the whole arrangement crumble?

His uncle Jakob gave him a hard look. “Lawrence, take your time. You need to think about it before making a decision.”

Well aware of the tension in his large shoulders, Lawrence pushed the tips of his fingers into the hard surface until white crescents appeared under his nails. He’d never been one to kowtow to people to get what he wanted. People called him blunt because he spoke directly. He’d never expected his uncle to be the kind to require coaxing.

“It is the Veridien case,” he said simply, staring at the solitary leaf slowly circling inside his cup. The slight acidic taste of the tea made his throat feel dry. He wanted in. “I’m done thinking.”

“Isn’t he too cute?” the other man at the table commented.

Lawrence risked a furtive look at Marius Vassier. The man intrigued him to the point of making him feel a strange mental itch. Vassier had a quick wit but his reasoning didn’t always follow a straight line. If rules of politeness weren’t in the way, Lawrence would dissect his brain by means of subjecting him to a long string of questions about his methods.

Cute was the last thing anyone would call him. He had grown big, too big for his age – or any age, really, but his impressive stature, instead of engendering respect, turned him into a source of amusement among his peers. It was impossible to understand it. He appeared clumsy, yes – like a bull in a china shop, as a professor once said, earning him an appalling nickname – but he had never broken anything, nor hurt anyone by accident.

His uncle examined him at length. Lawrence could tell the detective was on the fence about his involvement, but he didn’t know what else he could do to convince him.

Vassier seemed ready to intervene in his favor, but Jakob put a hand up. “Let’s set the ground rules. You are there to observe, not to investigate. If things get hairy, you walk out. I don’t need you on my conscience.”

Lawrence nodded shortly. “I’ll keep track of everything and stay in touch. I’ll send you my notes every week. I won’t get into trouble.”

“Notes can be intercepted,” Vassier said, his gaze fixed on him. “You can’t use the phones at the academy without drawing unnecessary attention.”

“I’ll use shorthand and a key only my uncle and I know.”

“Ah, so you’re planning to keep things from me.”

Lawrence was aware Vassier was teasing him.

“My uncle will share everything with you, I’m sure. As for using the phones at the academy, you’re right. I’ll go down to the village. There’s a post office, and I can make calls from there. Anyone asks, I have a sweetheart who lives close by.”

“Lawrence, you stud.” Vassier grinned, giving him an assessing look. “What if anyone follows you?”

“I’ll secure a girlfriend of convenience to fend off any suspicions.”

“No, bad idea,” Vassier said.

Lawrence stopped. It was an idea, not necessarily a bad one. But he could see why it would over-complicate things.

“You will keep up a tight correspondence with your dear mother,” Vassier said.

Lawrence schooled his face to avoid grimacing at the mention of the woman who’d given birth to him. She had been adamant about not wanting to have anything to do with him beyond paying for his education – something she wasn’t doing anyway, because his uncle actually took care of that aspect, too. Discreetly, as was his style, but Lawrence knew the truth.

“All the correspondence will be redirected to us,” Vassier continued. “So, practice your homesickness because you’ll have to be seen writing these letters. Who knows who might peek over your shoulder?”

“It is a good plan,” Lawrence agreed.

“As for not getting in trouble, that remains to be seen,” Vassier said, exchanging a glance with Lawrence’s uncle.

“I won’t,” Lawrence insisted.

“He won’t,” his uncle said.

Vassier didn’t seem convinced but appeared willing to let it go. “Good. Let’s go shopping.”

“For what?” Lawrence asked. He knew he would be supplied with a uniform at the academy after sending them his measurements. It was the way they did things. The Veridien case had fascinated him enough to take a close look at the way the academy worked.

“Oh, young man, you have no idea. You’ll be surrounded by boys born with silver spoons in their mouths. We don’t need you to look like one of them. However, we do need you to seem well-off. You’ll be measured and judged by everything: the pen you use, the quality of your coat, even your socks.”

“The precinct can’t afford expenses like that,” Lawrence said, quizzing his uncle with his eyes.

“But I can,” Vassier said. “Come now. We’re on a tight schedule.”

TBC