"A cold-blooded murder, you say? How? Chap?" Jack lit another cigarette, taking a long drag as if he needed all the nicotine to endure my heavy words.
"Why do you care, Jack?" I asked. "Weren't you on bad terms with him?"
"Bad terms or not," he said, his voice hardening, "he's my brother."
"So, you're curious?" I goaded, a smirk playing at the edge of my lips. "Cheater Jack."
"Enough," he growled, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot. "Hasn't your parents taught you to be sensible when talking about someone's death?"
I fell silent, a chill running through me, but there was a spark of elation too. I'd struck a nerve. A raw one.
"My parents taught me many things," I said quietly. "But did I follow them? None."
He chuckled—soft, almost frantically.
The case file had noted that Noah Dawson was around 5'7". But then there was Jack—6'2", muscular, athletic. It was hard to believe they shared the same bloodline. The only thing that marked their kinship was his distinctive green eyes.
"Oh, Hoffman?" Jack's gaze shifted to me, eyes narrowed. "Impressed by my muscles?"
"Yes, quite a distraction," I said, my voice calm but teasing. "Must be hard to maintain… as a restaurant owner."
"I'm a side-butcher too," he said matter-of-factly.
"A side-butcher?" My eyes widened, intrigued. I had his full attention now. "The profession really suits you… your looks."
He laughed, a low chuckle. "My boy, you look like a delinquent yourself. You're quite lucky to be a detective, don't you think?"
"Yes, I am. Very," I replied, leveling my gaze at him.
"I thought I'd never say it… but I think I quite like you," Jack admitted, his voice hesitant, almost reluctant, like the words didn't come easily.
"Infamous but respected," I added, my tone flat, letting the implication linger between us.
"Can you help me with this Noah Dawson? His close friend…" I asked carefully, leaning in slightly, my gaze sharp. "You know what I mean."
Jack reached for the disoriented cigarette on the ashtray and picked it up, absentmindedly rolling it between his fingers. Then, without hesitation, he grabbed a fresh one from his pack, slipping it between his teeth. The motion—a calm, calculated action—distracted me for a moment, leaving me watching his every movement.
"Yeah, his friend… someone who might know something about him. Something that connects to our most notorious lady of all time—Cassandra Cottingham."
I arched a brow, intrigued. "Oh? I'm not much of a news person, but my other woman—she says Cassandra was her biggest fan. She has this weird habit of collecting eyes in jars, doesn't she?"
Jack's expression shifted slightly—something dark behind his green eyes. "Yes," he muttered, his voice low. "People say she's just a noble, intelligent woman with a scientific mind… but it's pretty strange, don't you think?"
"Such a psycho," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Mad scientist."
He laughed—harshly, almost frantically. "People who believe in her psychic traits are fools themselves. What man on Earth collects eyes in jars? Ha! Fools!"
"Woman," I corrected, my tone steady, cutting through his mockery.
Jack's gaze sharpened, his features tightening in distaste. "To be slain by a woman?" he sneered, shaking his head. "Such a pathetic death."
I looked blankly across the other building, my mind distant and wandering. I wasn't sure why I did that—watching the crows circling in the gray sky, the indifferent rhythm of life unfolding around me. Some people walked up to the terrace, absorbed in their own business—God knows what.
"I don't know about that," I snapped back, breaking the silence between us.
"This Cassandra thing," Jack said, his voice sharp, almost irritated. "I've never met her… not even once. But I know she's a real pain in the ass."
"Indeed she is," I agreed, my tone dry, matching his bitterness.
There was a brief pause, heavy with unspoken frustration. Jack crushed his cigarette between his fingers, exhaling slowly, the smoke rising into the air. I didn't look at him—kept my gaze fixed, as though staring at something far off would help me clear my thoughts.
"Careful," Jack said, glancing at me with sharp, knowing eyes. "She doesn't just play games. She plays with people's lives. If you get too close, she'll make you regret it."
"Then I'll just have to outsmart her," I replied, though my words felt hollow in the face of his warning.
Jack chuckled bitterly, a sound devoid of amusement. "Outsmarting her? You're not just dealing with a clever scientist. She's more than that. She's a manipulator—someone who knows how to get what she wants, no matter who gets hurt."
We both stood in silence, the city stretching between us, indifferent to our conversation. The crows continued to circle, as if watching, waiting for something.
"I don't know about that," I said again, my voice low and distant. "But whatever she's involved in… it won't end well."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "No. It never does."
And for a moment, we both stood there, knowing that this wasn't just another case—it was something far more tangled, something far more dangerous.
"So do you know any acquaintances?" I asked, briskly shifting the topic, my tone sharp and deliberate.
Jack chuckled slightly, his brow raised. "What's with the sudden change of subject?"
"I was born like that," I replied nonchalantly.
"Born like how?" he pressed, his curiosity piqued.
"Like this," I said, without further explanation.
He smirked, leaning back slightly, before reaching into his pack and pulling out a cigarette. He extended it towards me, a casual gesture, and asked, "Wanna join, buddy?"
I shook my head, holding up my hand in a clear 'no' motion. "No, I'm kind of starting to cut down on smoking. Almost everyone reminds me how 'smoking kills.'"
Jack leaned back, amused. "They're right," he said, with a sly grin. "Very."
We stood in silence for a moment, the air between us thick with unspoken thoughts. I could feel his eyes on me, assessing—perhaps wondering why I'd suddenly shifted gears in our conversation. But I wasn't about to let him dig deeper. There were things I didn't want to talk about, at least not yet.
"Anyway," I added, trying to steer things back on track, "about those acquaintances. Any leads on who might've been close to Noah?"
Jack's expression darkened slightly, his smile fading. "Yeah… I know a few people who might've crossed paths with him. Not friends—more like acquaintances, folks he did business with. Let me make a few calls. See what I can dig up."
I nodded, grateful for the change in focus. "Good. Keep me updated. And thanks."
Jack gave me a curt nod in return, his demeanor shifting back to something more serious. "Just don't get too involved. This thing's deeper than you think."
I met his gaze steadily. "I'm already in too deep."
"I know one name... he's been very chapy chap.," he added, "Jake Brooks."
I stood up and leaned to the terrace railing, excited but careful not enough to fall, "The present team leader, Jake Brooks?"