chapter six
“Sorry I’m late.”
Remus doesn’t spare James a glance. He slides forward in his chair to point to the computer screen. “It’s different. I don’t know if it’s worse.”
James drops into a seat next to him. His eyes track the photo Remus has pulled up, and Remus sees the bob in his throat when he swallows.
“Oh, fuck me. I was just there, Moony.”
“What?”
“Not there, specifically, but close enough,” James says, peering closer. His brows are pinched. Concentration that is only present in his work. “There’s a park a block away from that cafe—I was there. Why didn’t I see anything?”
Remus knows the code for that is why couldn’t I stop it?
He remedies James’ soon-to-be-destructive thoughts and says, “You couldn’t have known, James. There’s no possible way.”
“But—”
“Drop it. Look at the signature instead—it’s written in blood again.”
James sucks in a breath. “Two repetitions. Same country. Another of the same signature.”
The man in the photo is bleeding on a bathroom floor. He is not placed in any special way, Remus thinks, other than simply how he would have fallen. His eyes are open and wide with terror. There is a wound on his side, where the blood stems. Above his head are the fabled letters. RAB.
“He’s hardly pure.”
Remus turns to where Sirius has spoken, leaning over James’ shoulder. His bottom lip is captured between his teeth. Remus doesn’t stare at it. His eyes don’t wander.
“How do you figure that?” James asks, softly, as if speaking too loud will interrupt his thinking.
“I’ve seen enough business suit bastards to know what they look like. I’d bet my inheritance that this asshole’s record isn’t exactly squeaky clean.”
Remus finds the victim’s name, his story, and gives Sirius a baleful look.
Sirius’ grin is wide. His eyes glint with mischief and too much pride to know what to do with. “Hm? What’s the verdict, Moony?”
“Kirk Sampson. Top trader for his financial company, section chief, gunning for a promotion.”
“And?”
“Had an affair with his secretary, cheated on his wife at a bar uptown, and—shocker—doesn’t pay his child support.” Remus shakes his head. It can’t be articulated in a more effective way. “He is an asshole.”
“Was an asshole,” says James, snagging a pen to fiddle with between his fingers. “So what’s RAB doing now? Is he moving on to vigilantism?”
“I doubt it.”
“Maybe they knew each other?” Sirius suggests. “He wanted to get revenge?”
“He wouldn’t sign it if that was the case,” Remus says. “It would be too easy to link back. RAB’s too smart to kill someone he knew. There has to be some other reason.”
“Maybe he was bored?”
Remus and Sirius turn to stare blankly at James.
James shrugs. The pen twirls in his hand. “I dunno, maybe he wanted to think outside the box for once. Didn’t want to stick to the same pattern.”
Remus frowns. “He’s not reckless.”
“I never said that. It’s planned and meticulous, same as the others, but maybe he just… was in the area?”
Sirius scoffs. “Sure. He works for years, possibly, to perfect his technique, and then ditches it? For who? This class-A scum?”
“Fine.” James flushes. He drops his head low. “Forget I said anything.”
“We’ll have to call the others,” Remus says, after a moment. He stretches, reaching for the phone, but Sirius gets there first.
“I’ll do it!”
“You always get the numbers wrong,” Remus complains, and it’s entirely true. “I won’t have you messing this up with your stubby fingers—”
“Stubby? This is Black genes, right here, perfection. I can handle dialing a few phone numbers.”
“Alright. Then call Lily. Unless you don’t remember—?”
“I remember the fucking number!”
There is silence. A few beeps as Sirius dials. There’s a click, and a muttering of “fuck,” before Sirius looks up at Remus and has the audacity to smile.
“Moons?”
Remus is just about done.