The Tailor's Razor

10. A Call Home

10:12:47½ PM
A rather lovely hotel suite, Manhasset

Taylor hummed to himself. Madison was showering, trying to scrub herself clean of the filth she imagined, while he had been doing a spot of research. As a pack of red-breasted varsity jocks, reeking of apple-pie-flavoured vodka, passed underneath their window Taylor scrolled through Tomas' latest article on the assassination. Apparently his suit, Tomas identifying it as Miu Miu purely out of his great love for fashion, was found to be slightly radioactive. Rather than being second-hand, however, the fabric itself was found to contain an isotope of Curium with a dizzyingly long half-life.

This follows a worrying trend in at least four other high-profile political assassinations over the past eighteen months, each found with radioactive clothing. France's Minister for the Interior, Gerard Santclair, Germany's Transportation Minister, Charlotte Woss, Japan's Finance Minister, Kazushi Kenji, and Estonia's Vice-President, Sulev Kuusik, have all been murdered in suspicious circumstances.

Taylor followed up a few of the reports; Kazushi and the Vice-President were difficult to work out, but the other two definitely had Curium in their clothes. An online gossip-rag even revealed that Woss' pantsuits were invariably designed by Versace. There were conspiracy theories plastered all across the web, with proponents of a lizard-man coup standing shoulder to shoulder with a league of fashion-houses marking out targets for assassination. That source in particular listed the murders of a few more public figures, each with tenuous links to a 'crusade against fashion'. Apparently Billy Hourman had refused an invitation to New York Fashion Week, a declaration of war to any self-respecting haberdasher. Nevertheless, each target wore high-end Italian prêt-à-porter, the brands listed exhaustively in the post.

It was all so intangible. He needed a window into the fog, ideally where he could cast his net widely as possible; he had neither the time, patience, nor the money to follow up every lead individually. A big event would be perfect, Tomas informing him that he should look for upcoming fashion shows in Milan. It was probably time to call his editor.

"Hello, Tirunesh Kibebe speaking?" answered the phone.

"It's Will."

"Will!" she exclaimed in her beautiful, rolling accent that trilled every R, "Where have you been?"

"A bit all over the place-"

"The Governor of New York gets shot in the Virgin Islands and you drop off the face of the Earth."

"I'm actually..." he laughed, "You won't believe me, but I'm in a hotel room with his daughter."

"You got an exclusive?"

"I think we might be exclusive," he said coyly, "We're on Long Island."

"How did you get-" she laughed, "Oh, I love you. No-one else! No-one! So tell? What story have you got for me?"

"I've got one, but..." he looked at the door to the bathroom, listening to the shower cascade over Madison's body, "I couldn't tell it. Not ethically. This is twisted stuff. I couldn't do it to her."

He heard Nesh sigh, "You're too compassionate. You wear it like a chain round your neck."

"Yeah it kills me," he chuckled, "But I've been looking into things. This murder's linked to a whole heap of other high-profile assassinations over the last couple of years. It sounds silly, but... I need to go to Milan."

She scoffed, "We can't afford to fly you round the world whenever you jump at a shadow! We could barely cover the Virgin Islands trip and you've given us nothing."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that Nesh-"

"It's not good enough!"

"What do you want me to do?" he snapped, but lowered his voice to a whisper, "Look, this is big. I just need a press pass for Milan, and tickets there."

Nesh was silent for a moment, "I can... we can send you the press pass but there is no way we can shuffle funds at such short notice. Can you cover it yourself?"

"Jesus! Barely!"

"Well why don't you pay for it? Then if you find anything we'll reimburse you... partially."

"Partially?"

"No more than sixty percent."

"Come on!"

"We might be able to give you the rest as a Christmas bonus."

"We only ever talk shop these days."

"You called without even asking me how I was!"

"All right, well I would like to know!"

"I'm well," she said with grace, "We should all have dinner when you come back. Lucky and Joe were talking about you at lunch."

"Oh yeah, what were those roosters going on about?"

"Lucky said he missed having someone to make fun of," she laughed.

"Oh, well I'm glad I'm missed!" Taylor indignantly declared, Nesh giggling on the other end, "Hey, sounds like Madison's finished in the shower. I'll talk to you later, Skipper."

"Have fun," she said, hanging up.

He didn't use the word lightly; she was a damn fine Captain, one of the best he'd worked under, and he'd had some tough bosses back in the day. She had the fury that coursed through Madison's veins, but the poise and self-control that the girl had lost, or perhaps never really had. He told himself to forgive the girl's fits of rage but they just reminded him that she was, after all, only a girl. She'd mentioned she was twenty-three, which is a cruel age because you've lived enough to believe you're grown, but not nearly experienced enough to realise how little you know. Standing in the bathroom doorway with her jeans, shirt and bedraggled hair she was the picture of youth-cast-adrift. The defiant stance, the set chin and lost eyes. She wanted to lay in the man's arms but couldn't bear to feel any weaker than she already did.

"I heard you on the phone?"

"Yeah that was work; they want me in Milan. They found a lead in a fashion show in Milan."

"To do with Dad?"

"Yeah."

She sat down on the floor with Mahdo, rubbing his tummy, "Hope they're paying for your flight."

"Yeah," he nodded, "Thanks again for paying for us to fly here."

"Any time," she smiled, "Don't... don't feel bad about... Will... can I come with you? No, I mean... do you think you'll find how all this happened?"

This was going to extremes in the search of closure, they both knew it, but when Will told her she already knew how it happened she set her jaw on edge, "I'm going, Will. You've already gone above and beyond. I wouldn't expect you to stay with me any longer, but I'll go with or without you."

"You throwing me out already?" he winked.

"Don't say that," she dropped her face.

"Girlie," he climbed off the bed and sat behind her, hugging her. That was better; she didn't have to seek it out, "Of course I'll stay with you," and she might even pay for his and Mahdo's tickets again. Last minute flights were so overpriced!

"Thanks for everything," she stroked the dog's head, her chest feeling like it was weighed down. She should say something, even if it was something stupid, but she let it slide, stretching the moment for ten minutes till Taylor said they should get to bed. They hadn't slept together since her father died and though she wanted him, deeply, she just couldn't. She felt dry and empty and everything else that goes with pain. Twisting her feet up with his beneath the covers her heart raced, but it was all she could do before the guilt came creeping into bed with them.

Could she just die with a bit of dignity? Was that too much to demand?

Taylor was already asleep, breathing into her face. She didn't want either of them to leave.