CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT #2
“I can’t imagine you can do that to a person and not mentally crack.
It’s one thing to kill someone, it’s another thing entirely to endure the visual memories of the burning, the stench of burnt tissue, the cauterized skin, the carbonized musculature…
” James stopped himself before he finished his sentence.
His eyes widened. “I think he immediately regretted it. I’ve done my part to make peace with it and, yes, I’d drink a beer with him to clear out the past.” He smiled.
“An alcoholic beer, admittedly. I turned twenty-one last September.”
“You’re wealthy. You could’ve hired a contract killer.” Pritchard refused to entertain the notion that Lucien was forgiven by him. The moment he saw James press his mouth against Elliott’s temple, he called it for what it was–a homicide.
He knew by James’s darkened expression that James would murder Lucien. Not right then and there, but eventually, he would kill for the idealist, heterochromatic young man he slept beside at night. It all fit.
There was simply the lack of concrete evidence.
“Hire a killer?” James thought about it.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start, really.
Not to mention, the killer would’ve barely had time between when I hired them after Elliott’s name was announced and when Lucien was reported missing.
That’s if they were already in-state and if they were prepared enough.
I wouldn’t even have time to vet them. What if they were in another state?
Does southeast Connecticut have that many contract killers open for hire at the last minute?
I can’t even imagine a nuptial caterer could be that quick during the busiest holiday season. ”
“You might’ve–”
“I went home for Yule.” His father’s kitchen staff attested to it.
The house manager even went out of her way to send a mass email notice that James had returned and to prepare Christmas Eve dinner with his favorites that year–salted cod, champagne-drenched Arroz Natalino, rabanada, panettone, and a hard Caipirinha with cachaca.
James had a fondness for English Christmas meals as well, a predilection inherited from his English grandfather, and on Christmas morning, he indulged in a full English breakfast. He’d made sure to take plenty of holiday photographs with the estate staff around the annual roasted ham, mince pies, mulled wine, scalloped potatoes, sautéed Brussel sprouts, and Christmas puddings.
His alibi was air-tight. For the most part.
They’d exhausted their lines of interrogation, and he knew it. It was only a matter of willpower at this point, the detectives capitulating first, or himself.
James moved to check his watch for a fifth time, a habit he couldn’t quit since the moment he was traumatized, concerned there wasn’t enough time to rescue Elliott, when their next question jarred him.
Pritchard leaned forward. “There’s something strange that’s happening at that college, isn’t there?”
“Why do you ask?” James was grateful his voice sounded even.
“The provost has written on your behalf.” Pritchard leaned even further.
“Hell, the secretary of state has sent in a formal letter as some sort of character evidence to you. That’s not even counting a line of U.S.
representatives that have personally made a phone call.
I was invited to play golf at a private members-only society club with the Montana congressman in regards to you. ”
“That makes sense, I’m innocent.”
“You’re well-connected.”
“I’m mostly just innocent. However, I do come from a lineage of congressmen and the former governor of Connecticut. It’s a random coincidence.”
James didn’t dare expose the truth.
In the system of the Oxlade Cabal, there were three concurrent archons in every state in the United States of America–the archon eponymous, the polemarch, and the archon basileus.
In ancient times of Athens, the archon basileus held the power over religion and priesthood. In the cabal, the archon basileus was charged with the political affairs of the state. Congressman Pittman was the archon basileus of Montana.
The current governor of Connecticut was the archon basileus of Connecticut.
In Athenian history, the polemarch was the war leader, the commander of the army, and head of the military.
In the cabal, the polemarch was charged with the extortion of political enemies, character assassination of diplomatic opponents, actual assassination approval, and belligerent propaganda campaigns against dissenters and protesters of candidates sponsored by the cabal.
The political strategist of the Republican Party, Caine Murdock, was the polemarch for Connecticut.
The remaining six archons were the thesmothetai, who presided over legal matters, judicial verdicts, and trial processions.
In the Oxlade Cabal, the thesmothetai were high-powered lawyers, federal judges, lawmakers, and International Court of Justice members.
There were even United Nations members raised in Connecticut for global power.
In the past, the archon eponymous was the sovereign ruler of the city-state.
They held the highest political office of the three.
The provost of AEscwulf College was the archon eponymous of Connecticut, which could only be inherited, not elected, unlike the rest of the cabal positions.
Provost Tytheridge’s lineage extended throughout the centuries to the very origins of the pagan rituals.
James was hand-chosen at sixteen by the archon eponymous, exactly like his forefathers before him, but to speak of any of it was a death order.
“Your father is a U.K. diplomat who was born in Hammersmith, England. Do you two keep in contact?”
James knew if they had his flight records, then they certainly had his phone records.
They would know that James hadn’t called his father in years.
There were no heartwarming, congratulatory messages on his cellphone or voicemails from the high commissioner about the political climate in the United States and the United Kingdom.
Their line of communication was as dead as roadkill.
Therefore, James had to articulate carefully, “He’s busy with international relations. There are tensions abroad, and he’s concentrated on economic resolutions in a foreign country. No, I haven’t spoken to him. But we love each other immensely, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“He could’ve pulled strings for you.”
“He wouldn’t have needed to.”
Not when the Oxlade Cabal made him a member that winter.