King of Crime ✔️

The Second Interrogation

Agent Laghari separated from his partner and I to go to his office. He was really an avid man, even though he worked until so late, I wouldn't be able to do it. 

After he left, Agent Thomson gave me my phone back, and I learned it was nearing half past nine. No wonder I was so hungry. While I was checking whether I had any missed phone calls- I had 2, from my roommate-, the Special Agent pushed open the heavy entrance doors. Was he going home too?

"Samantha?" he called, already outside. I looked up. "I'll bring you home, if that's cool. I still have some things to ask you." 

A warm summer breeze reached me, sending a shiver down my spine. Still? I thought, sending him a quick nod and a smile. He held the doors open for me and when I passed, I felt strangely flattered.

"Yeah, of course," I complied. 

He nodded and reached for his keys in his bag. While we walked through the parking lot, I enjoyed the fresh air and the last rays of sunlight of the beautiful august day.

"Did you get here by train?" he queried, reaching his car. 

It was a black Range Rover. Of course, it was a black Range Rover. 

While I told him yes, he opened his car for me, and I sat down. The car smelled of his aftershave and faintly like cigarettes, like he just quit smoking, and it made me think of my first boyfriend. The guy smoked like a chimney, so at first it was incredibly unpleasant riding in his car. Now I was quite used to the scent. 

The Special Agent also sat down and started the engine. It was quiet for a while, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. The man next to me was just busy getting his car out of the parking lot, which was way too cramped. It was clear that many agents worked way overtime here. I couldn't imagine being the girlfriend of one. 

I loosened my hair from the rubber band and noticed Agent Thomson glancing at me. We reached the highway.

"Alright, now it's the time I ask of you to tell me what you couldn't under recording," he said, out of nowhere. 

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I'm sorry?" 

He rubbed his thumb over the wheel.

"Well, people tend to close off when they're being recorded. I know you did that too. You can tell me anything here, because it can't be used against you, but will help me with my investigation," he explained, devoid of any emotion. 

I snickered, "But I'm not obligated to."

"No, you aren't. But I would very much appreciate it." 

We disappeared into a tunnel. It was fully dark now, and the silhouette of his side-profile made a very handsome picture.

"Special Agent Thomson, do you smoke?" I queried, completely unrelated. He looked at me, surprised, then checked if he left any packs out in the open. He did.

"No, not really. Sometimes." 

He rested his crossed arms on the wheel, waiting the traffic in the tunnel to move forward. I lived in the outskirts of Washington DC, so it was a pretty long ride from the FBI-headquarters to my apartment. I wonder if he knew that, taking advantage of that time to question me further. 

I exhaled. Such a tireless man, didn't he have anything better to do? 

The light turned green.

"Can I turn on the radio?"

"Ah, yeah, go ahead." I reached for the dashboard at his approval, covered with sticky notes with names or phone numbers on them, noticing there was a cd inserted. Wondering what kind of music he'd like, I pressed play. Immediately the man next to me reached out and paused it, before it even started.