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</div>"Defective Baines. Such a shining wit. Unfortunately for you and fortunately for females everywhere you will never be a cunning linguist." Jazire put as much scorn into her words as she could. "Actually, I'm here to help you. And fuck knows you need all the help you can get..." She paused then as a droid arrived with a bottle of Islay 2195 Single Malt Scotch Whisky. The genuine article all the way from a small island of the North West coast of a somewhat larger island , it's self of the North West coast of the single largest contiguous land mass on that insignificant little blue-green planet that was the home of the most troublesome species in the Galaxy. Namely her own. The droid placed the bottle and a glass on the table. Jazire rolled her eyes and said "Two glasses please?"<br/><br/>The machine paused and removed a second glass from its built-in storage rack.<br/><br/>"You will join me in a drink, of course." It was not a request. Jazire broke the seal on the bottle and poured two reasonably generous shots into the wide, low, flat bottomed whisky glasses. She treated the fine old spirit the same as a fine wine or cognac, swirling it around the glass to appreciate it's rich amber colour, the holding it to her nose to take in the aromas of woodsmoke and peat, then the first slow sip, swilling it around her mouth, feeling the alcohol, tasting the woody oaken flavour, the hints of tobacco and mahogany, then letting the rich liquid trickle down her throat, burning a path of alkaline destruction and warming the cold place where her soul should have been.<br/><br/>"Not bad for five thousand creds a bottle, wouldn't you say?" She smiled and allowed some of the alcohol to work its magic on her. She needed to relax. "Quite honestly, Cade, I'm not really in the mood for sparring, so let's get down to business. You are investigating the death of Ser Aramand." Again, it was a statement of fact, not a question. "I'm sure you are aware that the deceased was involved in, shall we say, less than whiter-than-white business transactions from time to time. The hit was carried out by a pro, and before you ask, no, I had nothing whatever to do with it. My sources are still working on whether Sera De’Vire was an actual target or just someone who got in the way, like the poor sod in the elevator."<br/><br/>She paused for another sip, this time holding the alcohol in her bloodstream so it didn't cloud her judgment. Watching for a reaction form Baines. "But you know all this, of course. What you don't know is who ordered the hit. Well, the thing is, I do. And I have sufficient evidence to get you probable cause. Basically, means, opportunity and..." a pause,  "... motive. Of course that won't get you a conviction, but it might get you a warrant to subpoena some bank records."<br/><br/>She took another sip while she wated for Baines to digest what she had given him for free. Of course any real information would come at a price. "The question really is, what's it worth to you?"