It was a pure bluff guess, but it all happened because Sir Edward's earlier punch to his jaw had knocked the necklace swinging out from the killer's half-buttoned shirt.
Hanging there beside the iron pendant was a tiny cylindrical whistle, a limited edition merchandise from the "Little Chicken" fast food brand.
The way his face drained, like he'd seen a ghost, pulled a slow smirk across my lips. I'd guessed right. He had kids.
He tightened his expression fast and chuckled low. "What's this bitch rambling about?"
"How dare you! Watch your mouth!" Sir Edward reared back to smash his face again, but he froze at my raised hand.
"You're willing to kill for loyalty to your master," I said. "You must love your kids even more. He still doesn't know Rafael's identity, right? But you've been off the grid since the hit for…"
"Thirty-nine hours, ma'am," Rodrique cut in quietly.
