Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Revenge

“Is it just me or is he singing awfully out of tune?” asked Chase.

“It’s not just you. Damien isn’t exactly the world’s most gifted vocalist.”

“I’ll say. My cat sings better than this guy.” Damien squeaked some more and Chase shook his head. “Give me Garth Brooks any day over that clown.”

She was surprised. “You’re a country and western fan?”

“Yes, I am. At least those guys can sing. And write a decent song.”

“Don’t tell him that. Or the interview will be over before it’s started.”

He leaned in. “That’s the beauty of being a cop. You can ask whatever the hell you want, and they have to answer, whether they like it or not.”

He was right. As a reporter she was always treading a fine line, especially with these big ego stars. Cops didn’t have to worry about that. In fact it was probably good tactics to rattle a suspect’s cage a little. Get them to confess.

“I’m starting to like this police stuff,” she said. “It beats being a reporter.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Well, I get to ask all the tough questions and I don’t have to worry about the interviewee walking out on me or threatening with a defamation suit.”

Chase grinned. “We’ll make a cop out of you yet, Poole.”

A sudden thrill of happiness shot through her. It actually felt pretty great to be partnered with Chase. They made a great team. Like Cagney and Lacey. Okay, so maybe they were more like Lady and the Tramp. She could imagine sharing a plate of spaghetti with Chase. Or some meatballs.

Damien had finished recording his new song, if that’s what it was, and exited the soundproof booth. The door made a soft hissing sound as he did.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions, Mr. LeWood?” asked Chase.

“That was one of my best takes yet. Did you appreciate the exclusive?”

“Oh, yes, Damien,” said Odelia. “That was… just great.”

“The track’s going to be on my next album. I’m dedicating it to Shana.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d record a song for her while I’m still feeling the pain, you know. Throw all my agony into that one song. Make it count.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said blithely. No, she didn’t.

“Fire away, detectives,” said Damien, straddling the mixing console.

“Oh, but I’m not a detective,” said Odelia.

“She’s a consultant, which amounts to the same thing,” Chase said.

Damien spread his arms. “Like I said, fire away. I’m an open book.”

“Is it true you and Mrs. Kenspeckle were facing some marital issues?”

She saw what Chase meant by not having to tread lightly. As a reporter this type of question would have been on the publicist’s list of taboo topics.

Damien nodded. “It’s not a great secret Shana and I were seeing a marriage counselor. It was on season seven, and again on season nine. And front and center in the new season. You a fan of the show, Detective?”

“Can’t say that I am,” Chase confessed.

“Too bad. There’s a lot you could pick up. As a cop, I mean. It’s all about the human condition and the different ways living in close proximity with other human beings can affect you as a person. A fascinating experiment.”

“I’m sure it is. So what about those marriage problems? We spoke to your sisters-in-law and they told us Shana was having an affair with Dion Dread?”

Damien’s lips tightened. “That scumbag. Bagging one Kenspeckle wasn’t enough for him, he had to bag two. But we were getting over that. She was finished with Dion, and we were working hard to resolve our issues.” He played with his wedding ring, an ornate gold band with a gigantic rock. “We were fighting for our marriage, and I can tell you that we were winning.”

“What about you, Mr. LeWood? Any affairs we should know about?”

There was a flash of anger in the singer’s eyes, but it quickly disappeared. “I can assure you there are no skeletons in my closet. I was devoted to my wife and my marriage. I’m a family man, and I was dying to start a family.”

“Can you think of anyone who would hurt your wife?” asked Odelia.

He shook his head. “Shana was the sweetest, loveliest person in the world. She was loved by everyone. I can’t think of anyone who’d hurt her.”

“She must have made some enemies over the years,” said Chase. “People she rubbed the wrong way. You don’t get to her level of success without stepping on a few toes along the way.”

The singer fixed Chase with an intent look. “There will always be haters, Detective, but we were keeping them far away from us. It’s important to keep negativity at bay. To focus on the positive. We shielded ourselves from all of that negative energy and didn’t allow it inside this bubble we’d created.” He gestured around himself. “We created our own reality, and anyone who tried to tear us down was placed firmly outside of the bubble. It’s a simple matter of choice. And we chose life and happiness. That’s all I can say about that.”

He had a lot more to say, but nothing that shed any light on the murder of his wife. When Damien offered to play his song again, so they ‘could look deeply into his soul, and find the purity within,’ they kindly declined.

The interview over, Odelia’s impression was that Damien LeWood was a nutcase. Still, he didn’t seem dangerous, and she couldn’t imagine him killing his wife. He might be a little weird, but he came across as a devoted husband.

As she and Chase descended the stairs, he said, “Oh, I got a text from the coroner. Turns out we were right. The killer did drug everyone in the house.”

“So both sisters, Dion, Damien…”

"And Shana. The film crew was fine."

She thought about this. It provided all the Kenspeckles with an alibi. Unless… “The killer could have drugged himself, then disposed of the chloroform in the morning.”

“Good thinking, Poole. You’re right. This doesn’t mean anything.”

They’d arrived on the ground floor, and decided to check Dion’s room, to see if he was holed up in there. He was next in line for an interview.

Very conveniently, all the rooms sported a hand-painted sign indicating whose room it was. The signs were all inspired by Disney movies. Shana and Damien were Cinderella and the Prince. Dion and Shayonne were Belle and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast , their faces nicely rendered by the artist.

“I wonder if they change these out every time someone rents this place,” said Odelia, as she let her fingers trail across the sign. It had been enameled.

“I hope they do. I wouldn’t want to sleep in a room with that on the door,” Chase grunted, pointing at the portrait of Dion Dread as the Beast.

An image of her and Chase’s faces superimposed over the portrait flashed before her eye. She’d be Belle, of course, and he’d be the Beast. Yum.

She made to knock, but Chase simply pushed open the door. “Another benefit of being a cop,” he said. “You can just barge in and nobody minds.”

Well, that remained to be seen.

“Hampton Cove PD,” he announced. “We would like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Dread.”

Dion Dread stood in the middle of the room, completely naked, droplets of water clinging to his body. It was obvious he’d just stepped out of the shower. He didn’t seem to mind being caught au naturel . “Oh, hi, detectives. Come on in. Excuse the state of undress. I’m a big fan of air-drying.”

Chase’s jaw tightened. It was obvious he wasn’t a big fan of Dion. “What can you tell us about your affair with Shana Kenspeckle, Mr. Dread?”

Dion languidly reached over, picked up a towel from the bed and draped it around his waist. He was built like an athlete, with sculpted muscles and great abs. He also had enough tattoos to keep a tattoo artist on a retainer.