Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Rivalry

“You’ve got a strange idea of fun—stealing someone else’s cat.”

“Hey, I wasn’t stealing anyone’s cat. I just like cats.” He smiled. “I like to call them my Dieber Babes.” He gave Clarice’s fur a stroke. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

Clarice emitted a soft purring sound that Odelia had never heard her produce before. She looked different, too. Less mangy.

“How much do you want for the Persian?” asked Charlie now. “I want her. And what the Dieber wants, the Dieber gets.”

“I’m going to have to disappoint you, Charlie,” Odelia said, becoming indignant now. “Harriet is not for sale.”

“She isn’t, huh? How about the orange one?”

“That’s my cat,” said Chase, “and he’s not for sale either.”

“Oh, he’s a he, huh? My bad. Yeah, I don’t do dudes, only babes.” Charlie darted a quick glance at Brutus and Dooley, but didn’t seem to deem them worthy of inclusion in his harem either. “So I guess it’s ‘peace, out’ from me then, suckers.” He held up his index and middle finger, kissed them and stalked off, moving in an awkward swaying motion. He was wearing his cap with the bill backwards, and baggy pants that showed a good deal of crack. Odelia shook her head. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure if she still wanted to be a Bedieber.

Chapter 11

Odelia and Chase finally sat down with Carlos Roulston, the person in charge of security. Roulston was easily twice the size of Chase, who was by no means a scrawny chicken himself. Roulston’s head was shaved in an intricate pattern that reminded Odelia of Egyptian hieroglyphs for some reason, and his skin was tanned to a tawny leather, his broad features stoic and unsmiling. Here sat a man who wouldn’t be trifled with, she felt.

“Terrible business,” the security professional intimated. “Ray was a great guy. Real team player.”

They were seated in the coolness of the security head’s office on the first floor. Like the man himself, the office was no-nonsense—just a desk, a couple of chairs, a small salon with coffee table and two couches, and a wall-mounted cabinet that may or may not have contained the small arsenal Charlie Dieber’s security detail presumably had at their disposal. What struck Odelia was that there were no pictures of Charlie anywhere in evidence.

“So what can you tell us about threats?” asked Chase, leaning forward. “Has anyone made any threats against Charlie’s life in the recent past?”

“Dozens. There’s a lot of nutcases out there, Detective, I don’t have to tell you that. The moment you become famous and people write about you, the crazies come out in droves.”

“You mean, like, letters, emails, social media, what?”

“All of the above.” He opened a desk drawer and took out a file folder and placed it on the desk. Odelia opened it and found herself looking at a pile an inch thick of letters, cards, napkins, beer coasters, pictures, screenshots… She picked out a few and read the scribbled messages. ‘You’re a dead man, Dweeber.’ ‘I’m coming for you, singer boy.’ ‘We all hate you.’ ‘You’re Satan’s spawn and Jesus will wipe you out in the coming apocalypse.’

Roulston cracked his knuckles. “Like I said. There’s a lot of crazies out there.”

“Anything that sticks out?” asked Chase. “Anyone in particular you think might have come after your employer?”

“If you’re asking me if anyone has called in and claimed responsibility for the attack, no, they haven’t. And frankly I don’t expect them to, either. This is some loner crackpot. A loner crackpot with a gun. Have your people determined the type of weapon that was used?”

“Colt Cobra,” said Chase.

Roulston frowned. “The .38 special. That’s a short-range weapon. I would have thought he was shot from a distance. Sniper style.”

“No, it would appear that the killer was fairly close. Ballistics places the shooter at no more than ten feet.”

Jefferson brushed his hand across his bristly buzzcut, a confused frown on his face. “Ten feet, huh? That means the shooter was in the crowd. For some reason I thought he was on the roof, scoping us out. Did you talk to the people closest to where Ray was shot?”

“We’re still interviewing people. We also confiscated their phones and have downloaded all digital imagery taken at the scene.”

“And?”

“So far nothing.”

“That’s weird. Someone must have seen something.”

“There were dozens of people present, Mr. Roulston,” said Odelia. “It’ll take us a little time to talk to all of them, and cross-reference the witness reports.”

There was a knock at the door, and four more people entered, three men and one woman. “I want to introduce you to my team,” said Roulston, getting up. “Team, this is Detective Chase Kingsley—in charge of the investigation—and Odelia Poole. She’s like the Rick Castle addition to the Hampton Cove Police Department if you will.”

“Only I’m not a writer,” Odelia quipped.

“Too bad. You could have worn one of those bulletproof vests with the word WRITER written across the front and back,” said Roulston. “I want you to meet Luca Elrott, Toby Mulvaney, Jason Nugent and Regan Lightbody. They were all part of the close protection team this morning. I had more people out there, but they were in charge of crowd control.”

Odelia and Chase turned their chairs around, while the foursome took a seat in the small salon. They looked downcast, which was a big difference to the hard-partying star they were all hired to protect. These people clearly cared about the man who had died.

“So what can you tell us about what happened this morning?” asked Chase.

Regan Lightbody shrugged. She was small but wiry and looked more impacted than her colleagues. “Ray was a great guy. He didn’t deserve this.” She glanced up, her amber eyes finding Odelia’s. “You’re going to find out anyway, so it’s better you hear this from me. Ray and I were an item. We’d been dating on and off ever since we began working for Charlie.” She darted a quick look at one of the other guards, who looked away.

Now Odelia understood why Regan seemed so crushed. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly.

Regan nodded and wiped at her eyes. “He was a goof, no doubt about it, but the moment we were out there he got into the zone and was the consummate professional.”

“He was,” Roulston confirmed. “One of the best guys I ever worked with.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the others. “Yeah, Ray was a super guy. Fun to hang out with, and he always had your back,” said Toby, a red-haired guy with a ready smile. “We’re going to miss him.”

“Did any of you catch a glimpse of the killer?” asked Chase. When they all shook their heads, he added, “Anything unusual happen? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“The shot came completely out of the blue,” said Jason Nugent, a tough-looking guy with a busted nose and a sliced eyebrow. “The moment it happened we just bundled Charlie into the car and took off. I was in the car with him, so I didn’t see a thing.” He turned to Regan. “You stayed behind. Did you see anything?”

“Nothing. It’s almost as if this guy is a ghost. All I could see were those same teens that come out every time Charlie steps out—nothing that set off any alarm bells.”

“I didn’t see nothing, either,” said Luca in somber tones. “The thing is, when you enter this field you know that one day something like this might happen. You prepare for it, mentally and physically. But when it actually happens, like it did today? You realize nothing can prepare you.” His face hardened. “We lost a friend today—a comrade. So promise me one thing, all right? You catch this bastard. You catch the bastard that did this, you hear me?”