Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(69)
From a rational standpoint, it did come together quite neatly. If Mila had used a real weapon, it would have been impossible to frame this as an accident.
“And then you smacked him with the coat rack so he would go down,” Benedikt added. He pointed a warning finger. “That was the one inconsistency I almost couldn’t explain, you know. If anyone looked closer, they would realize that the mark on his head runs the other way. He couldn’t have gotten it by tripping onto the stand.”
Mila brought her shoulders up, covering her ears in a manner that almost resembled embarrassment.
“Sorry.”
Benedikt almost laughed. Here she was, apologizing for making it hard to cover up the murder she had committed. The compartment fell into silence. Then Mila leaned up against the wall, fiddling with the curtains.
“Will you turn me in?”
“Why would we do that?” Marshall asked.
A shrug. “Because it’s the moral thing to do?”
“Milyena,” Benedikt said simply. “We were probably killing people before you were born. We are well and truly the wrong people to expect some moral compass from.”
Mila suddenly snorted. “How old are you?”
Marshall folded his arms over his chest. “Twenty-four,” he answered for the both of them. “Practically ancient.”
“I am eighteen,” Mila said, holding back the twitch at her mouth. “I am having a hard time imagining a gun-wielding six-year-old.”
“Imagine it, all right,” Benedikt said. “That was our childhoods.”
Despite his crack at a joke, he did feel terrible for the girl. To be so young and to have suffered so much; to be so young and to have to take her safety into her own hands by playing vigilante.
He cast a quick look at Marshall. Marshall was already glancing back, the same faint distress in his dark eyes.
“What are you planning to do next?” Marshall asked. “Go home?”
“No, not yet.” Mila hesitated for a moment. She must have figured that Benedikt and Marshall already knew too much anyway, because she continued: “There are two more board members located in Vladivostok. Once they’re gone, then I will go home. I miss Yulun a lot.”
Suddenly, Marshall’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, wait, you’re not off to kill Lourens, are you?”
“No, of course not,” Mila answered, sounding offended that he would even suggest it. “Lourens was never a part of the board. He fought Mr. Pyotr at every turn. Roma even said that he was the one who invented the cure, but Mr. Pyotr took it away from him.” She sighed, hugging her arms to herself. “I do wonder where he is now.”
Marshall lifted a single brow at Benedikt, asking if they ought to divulge their knowledge. Subtly, Benedikt shook his head, communicating that there was no need to bother Mila with the details of their mission in case they only complicated things.
“All right,” Marshall said. “Two more murders in Vladivostok to go. That means you’re riding to the end with us.”
Benedikt smacked his arm hard. Marshall flinched in protest, mouthing, What?
Why would you phrase it like that? Benedikt’s widened eyes said. Out loud, he added, “And we’re around if you need us. Until then… I suppose we will leave you to it.”
“Thank you.” Mila had snorted a little at Marshall’s remark, but she still kept her arms wrapped around her middle, like she was bracing herself to remain steady. “For everything. Really.”
Benedikt nodded. Wordlessly, he and Marshall took their leave, figuring there was not much more when, at last, they had finished getting their answers.
They didn’t speak even once they got back to their own compartment, utterly drained by the day’s events. Marshall tossed his jacket off. Benedikt slumped onto the chair. No less than a minute passed before he got up again and took something out of his luggage case.
“One moment. Something just occurred to me.”
Benedikt walked back to Mila’s compartment. When she opened the door again to his knock, he gave her his pistol, handle-first.
“Vladivostok doesn’t make the news much anyway,” he said. “Just use a weapon instead of concocting mysterious deaths. It’ll be faster and less work for you, I promise.”
* * *
Vladivostok came into view like a mirage in the distance.
“I cannot believe we spent seven days on a train,” Marshall remarked. “It feels like time went by in a blink.”
“Only because we were fretting and sweating half the time,” Benedikt replied. They were bundled back into their coats, ready to brave the cold of the elements. “You have everything?”
“Yes.” Marshall rammed his shoulder into Benedikt’s. The woman standing behind them sniffed in warning, jostled by the movement. “I have everything right here.”
Benedikt rolled his eyes. He bit back his smile.
The doors opened. A whistle screamed outside. “Final stop! Vladivostok, final stop! Everyone off!”
They moved with the crowd, shuffling forward within a mass of winter coats and fur throws. Benedikt inched off the metal steps first, his boots coming down on solid ground. Marshall was close behind, lugging his bag after him with abandon, almost hitting the passengers behind him as he threw his arms back to embrace fresh air. Out of the corner of his eye, Benedikt caught movement—what seemed to be someone waving at him—and he turned to see Mila making her way down the stairs on the next carriage. Benedikt waved in return, nodding firmly in her direction to wish her luck. She flashed a brief smile and, holding her luggage case close to her chest, hurried off, disappearing with the crowds in a blink.