Jason King is perfect. Whether it's the British accent, his flawless fashion sense or having been able to pick up life again after having been through trauma as a result from his kidnapping, everyone agrees that this man is immaculate.
However, thin...
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IT WAS 3.50 PM. The interrogation was still ongoing and Jason was in the observation room. His focus had shifted from the men within the same four walls to the conversation in the neighboring room.
"Here is a letter," Langdon said, and out of the folder laying in front of him he pulled a single piece of paper, which he slid across the table.
Lucas Samuel Anderson just nodded. It was a slow nod, his head going up and down just once, in a way that was slightly noticeable if you weren't paying attention. Even that hadn't changed.
"Can you tell me what it is?"
Anderson analyzed the letter briefly, his head slightly turning while his body remained still. Two eyes following him from the other side of the room made Jason nervous to execute his plan. Those eagle eyes would see everything and he wouldn't go by unnoticed or unpunished if he decided to go through—but not trying wasn't an option. "I believe this was sent to the Abbington or King family," Anderson replied. "We sent two identical letters."
There was a small moment in which the kidnapper turned his head away from Jason, and in that same moment, Jason kept his eyes on him, thinking this would be the only chance he'd get and being surprised he'd even got it.
Jason's eyes widened. He didn't know about a letter; it had never been mentioned before. Not by Langdon nor his parents. He guessed Emily must not have known about it either; they weren't kept up to date when they had been locked up, and afterwards, no one talked about it.
"That's right," the officer said. "Can you read it aloud to me?"
Anderson pronounced the words without seemingly any interest. "'We have Jason. If you want a safe return of him, drop one million dollars in a closed garbage bag underneath the Bay Farm Island Bridge before tomorrow, midnight.'"
"Don't expect to be saved," the kidnapper growled. His head was still turned away and he was staring at the plain gray walls as he said this. "They're not even looking for you yet."
"How do you know?" Jason asked. The guy was better informed of the events in the outside world than he or Emily was.
"To clarify, this letter arrived November sixth of 2015, and 'tomorrow' was referring to November seventh of 2015. Lucas, did you write this letter?"
Anderson shook his head.
"Can I get a verbal response?"
"No, I didn't write that letter."
"You should write a letter," the man said then, his eyes still staring dreamily while his mind was clearly in the present. "Both of you."
Jason frowned but didn't move. Not to execute his plan, not to show his excitement and not to show his suspicion. Suddenly, the guy was nice—too nice.
"Who wrote it?"
"I can't remember."
"You know, Lucas," Langdon said. His voice hadn't tired one bit since the beginning of the interrogation and was still as powerful and demanding as six hours ago. "Can you confirm you weren't working alone?"
