He slowly walked to the kitchen. He wanted to make sure he had heard the right voice or his ears were deceiving him, but there was Richard Pickford, wearing an apron and making what he could only assume to be soup.
Igram scooped some with the spoon and offered it to him; "Have a taste, I think there is no salt."
"Erica, can I talk to you in the other room?" Michael requested, ignoring the soup and Igram. He furiously walked to the bedroom, with Erica following from behind.
"Shut the fucking door!" he yelled at her.
"What the fuck is Erica?"
"I can explain," she replied, but he interrupted her.
"Are you okay in the head? Are you sure you do not need psychiatric help?"
"He is willing to sell out the mayor," she quickly spoke up.
"And you believed him..." he asked as he turned, but the wall with all the pictures of the missing girls grabbed his attention. He moved closer to it, his mouth agape.
"Seriously?"
