Sheppard paced back and forth, and then turned to face Sean directly. He walked toward him. “Those texts were for your girlfriend? Hmmph. That doesn’t fly, Sean. That doesn’t fly. You do not come onto this stage and lie to my face, Sean. Look behind me, you’re lying to everyone in this room. You’re lying to everyone watching this show, Sean.” Sheppard got in close, his face centimeters from Sean’s. The audience liked when he did this—it all seemed so primal. A hundred pairs of eyes trained on him. And beyond them, infinity. Always. “You know the worst thing, though? You’re lying to that little lady sitting next to you, right there. And you’re jeopardizing a relationship where a child is involved for some little fling with a babysitter? Think carefully before you answer that, Sean. Remember who you’re dealing with—” YES “—because now you’re dealing with Morgan Sheppard, and you know what?”
Sheppard smiled in Sean’s face before backing off. The audience erupted, nailing their cue. “Nothing gets past him!”
And it all fell away. Sean—Sarah—the set.
Just Sheppard and his audience—loved. And that was when he knew that he could never walk away.
Sign away his soul. Because he didn’t want to be saved.
17
He didn’t know where he’d gone, but he’d managed to convince himself it had all been a bad dream. So, when he opened his eyes to see the five faces of the people trapped in the room with him, his heart freshly broke. Strangers who almost felt like home—Mandy, Alan, Ryan, Constance and Headphones. A bizarre family.
The lights seemed too bright and his body ached with longing. Pills, drink—if he didn’t get one or both soon he was going to crash. Hard. And he wouldn’t be useful to anyone when that happened.
How long had he been out?
He tried to get up but couldn’t. Mandy held out a hand. He grabbed it, and she pulled him upright with surprising strength. The others took a step back as if he were contagious.
“Are you okay?” Mandy said.
“I don’t suppose anyone here is a doctor or a nurse?” Sheppard rubbed the back of his head. He was getting a headache, especially where he’d hit it on the way down.
The room was silent, except Ms. Ahearn, who was muttering something under her breath.
“You have a fever? Sit down,” Mandy said, gesturing to the bed.
Sheppard shook his head. “I don’t have time. I just passed out. It happens.”
“The rock ’n’ roll lifestyle, huh?” Alan said.
Sheppard couldn’t manage a retort. His body was shutting down...no, not shutting down. More like, going into SAFE MODE.
Where was he? Winter was dead and now what? He knew nothing of these people, but that would have to change. Right now, it was entirely possible that anyone in the room murdered Winter. Five people. Five suspects. A one in five chance of being the murderer. The fact that he had thought it was probably a man didn’t mean anything—at least not yet. He was no expert. Everyone was guilty until proven innocent.
You still haven’t told them...
He would have to. Winter’s identity was the only real clue he had. But at least, he could do it one by one, reduce the fallout. Maybe these people knew Dr. Winter too.
He looked across the room to the bedside table. The rule book was gone. Glancing around, he saw that Ryan was looking through it. Then back to the table. The timer. He had passed out for almost five minutes.
Five fewer minutes...
When the wheels started turning, five minutes could be the difference between life and death.
He needed to start talking. But with no evidence and no clarification, anyone could say anything. They could’ve all been lying to him already.
The woman still lurked in the background, in the red room. In Paris. As though, if he turned his head quick enough, he might catch her. To be back there, with all this just a bad dream. It was almost too much—to hope.
The others went back to what they were doing. Alan was still staring at the window. Constance was muttering and looking down at her Bible. Ryan was reading the rules. Headphones was in her own little world. Only Mandy remained looking at him, concerned.
Sheppard took her aside, into the alcove by the door. “I have to start interviewing people. Talking. Seeing if I can find anything that might give me a clue to who...who killed him. See if we can work out why we’re all here.”
“Interviews?”
“Yes. We should really do them in private, but—” Sheppard’s eyes skirted the bathroom door “—I think over here will have to do.”
“Okay,” Mandy said.
“I need to start thinking about identities, possible motives, time frames.” All things he had learned reading his crime books. “Everyone else should stay on the right side of the room. I need to try and make it so no one else can hear.” Even as he said it, he knew it was impossible. Alan’s ears were twitching on the other side of the room, and he wasn’t even facing them. Every single word any person said in the room could easily be heard by others—discounting Constance, who was spouting illegible nonsense.
“Okay. Who do you want to talk to first?”
“You?”
Mandy looked at him, and gave a smile. It was the same kind of nervous smile he saw on everyone who came on his television show. A smile that always looked like the smiler had something to hide. Under the spotlight though, everyone did.
Sheppard smiled too. And at that moment, he knew he was really going to try. He was a sham—a terrible excuse of a detective, hell, a terrible excuse of a man. But he was really going to do all he could to try to save them. To save the innocent ones.
Because they were the ones who didn’t deserve this.
And, if he had the time, he might even try to save himself.
18
“I never usually come into Central London, at least this side of the river, not if I can help it. When you just come here for a holiday, that’s all you want to see, right? But the second I moved here, it seemed like the last place I wanted to go. All those people just rushing around but not really looking like they’re doing anything—just there to get in your way. I hate it.”
Sheppard knew what she meant. It was always impossibly busy. He remembered going to Oxford Street for the first time as a child, when he didn’t even know there were that many people in the world. “You used to live somewhere else?”
“Manchester. It was much quieter. Even though I still lived in the city. I moved here for university and never moved back.”
“London’s expensive, how do you get by?”
“I have a job as a barista in a coffee shop in Waterloo. I’m trying to get into the television business. My degree was in journalism, so not like you—I’m trying for behind the camera. My job supports me, mostly. Also, my brother gave me some money and well, I had a wealthy aunt who liked me,” Mandy said.
She put enough emphasis on the had for Sheppard to discern what happened.
“Still, the money is running out, and if nothing happens soon I’m probably going to have to move back up north. To have some fraction of savings left. Not that I want to move back. The center horrifies me, but I love the quieter parts of London. The atmosphere of it, you know. Like anything’s possible.”
Sheppard nodded. “Where do you live?”
“Islington. A shared flat. I live with a struggling actor and a professional drug addict. Only one of them is great at what they do. I’m sure you can probably guess which. Times are tough, but we get by.”
“So what about today? Can you walk me through what happened?”
Mandy thought for a moment. He wondered if it was the same for her—like trying to recall a dream. The moment you thought you had it, it slipped through your fingers.
“It was pretty much the same as any other day. Number seventy-three bus to Waterloo at some stupid time. It was about eight
, but at this time of the year, it might as well be the middle of the night, you know. I work at the CoffeeCorps just inside the station. It’s like a little kiosk on its own. If you’ve seen that film with Matt Damon, he runs right past it. What’s it called?”
“Mandy,” Sheppard said, constantly aware of the timer over on the bedside table. He had a lot to get through.
“Sorry,” she said. “So, it’s a horrible little kiosk and it’s really cramped in there. There’s really only space for two people in the kiosk, but management always puts on three, because of first aid or something. Anyway, it was fine—as busy as you would expect—and it got to my morning break. I’ve always had this routine where, on my break, I walk down to the South Bank. It’s nice. People are a little slower down there because it’s just nice to be there. Looking out at the Thames, seeing the London Eye, seeing the rest of the city. Close but far enough for me. I go to this coffee place called Nancy’s—small place, independent. I get the irony of that, but I really hate CoffeeCorps. I’m not a big small-business warrior—I just don’t like the coffee.”
“The South Bank’s not far from here,” Sheppard said, more to himself than Mandy.
“No, it’s not. In fact I remember looking at The Great Hotel building. I never thought...” She trailed off.
“So this coffee shop?”
“Yeah, sorry. I went into Nancy’s as usual, and the guy who runs it has recognized me for a while so he knows my order and starts making it up for me. The place is always really quiet, which makes me sad. It’s a small café—nice though. There’s a few sit-in tables but they’re never usually full. I remember a few people were there this morning, but not many.
“While the guy’s making my coffee, I go in to use the toilet in the back. It’s a hot day, so I wanted to wash my face. I locked the door, put the toilet seat down and looked in the mirror. My hair was messed up in the heat, so I wanted to try and fix it. I propped my bag against the sink and was looking for a clip when...when something happened.”
“Something?” Sheppard prompted.
Mandy looked at him. She seemed to be rolling it through in her mind seeing if it made any sense before she said it. Sheppard could empathize, but wouldn’t really care either way. Nothing made much sense yet. “It was a smell—a weird smell. I started picking it up and I looked around to see... I don’t know...if I could locate it, I guess. It grew stronger. I remember it burning my nostrils. It was a chemical smell I think. And then my vision started going fuzzy. And then—I don’t remember anything after that. Not until I saw you cuffed to the bed.” Sheppard nodded. That was exactly in line with what he experienced. A chemical smell, a burning sensation, passing out. “This sounds like you were gassed. Like we were gassed.”
“The same for you?” Mandy said.
“Yes. But why gas? It doesn’t make much sense. Were they just waiting for someone to use that toilet and gas them? Or if they really wanted you, why didn’t they just drug your coffee? Gassing someone is a hell of a lot more work.”
“The horse mask said we were random. Maybe I was just unlucky?”
“Maybe,” Sheppard said. “I’m not entirely sure he was telling the truth though. At this point nothing’s certain. You said you go to that coffee shop a lot?”
“Yes. Three or four times a week at about the same time. Ten thirty.”
“People know you go there? Can identify you?”
“The guy knows my order.”
Sheppard sighed. Gas—in a public place. How would they get her body out of there? How would they get past the people in the café—let alone the people outside on the South Bank? Back up a truck to the shop maybe? But that would draw attention? This made no sense. “We both experienced the same thing. This sounds like a plan, not random. They could’ve gassed you through the vents, like they did to me. I think someone knew you were going to be there.”
Mandy looked puzzled. “But even I didn’t know I was going to use the bathroom. I’ve never once used it before.”
It didn’t make any sense at all. “You had ordered coffee.”
“Yes.”
“And who else was in the café? Do you remember anyone?”
“There was hardly anyone in there, like I said. There was just one guy.”
“Had you seen him before?”
“The guy? No.”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t know? Normal I suppose.”
Mandy taken. Mere miles from The Great Hotel. Sheppard had to have already been taken at that point. The night before all this. So where was he as this was happening? A shiver. Not something he really wanted to know.
“Was there anything out of the ordinary?”
“There was something, I suppose. But it could be nothing.”
“I’ll take what I can get at the moment.”
“From the moment I stepped in there, I felt eyes on me. You know that feeling when you’re convinced you’re being watched? Yeah, it was like that. And I didn’t really place it until I passed the guy sitting down on my way to the toilet. As I passed the guy, I saw that his eyes were almost locked onto me. He sort of smiled when I looked at him and I smiled back—like an automatic response during work hours. But he was creepy. I don’t know what it was—I can’t put my finger on it. Anyway, I just passed him and that was that. I didn’t really feel it at the time, but looking back...it was kind of weird.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Like I said, he was just—normal. Um...he was thin, wiry. He had short brown hair. Wore these thin glasses. He was a looker, pretty handsome. Probably about your age. He was wearing a black suit, with a red tie. He looked like some kind of banker or something.”
“It could be nothing,” Sheppard said. Or it could be everything. “You said you were on your break? So people would know when you don’t come back?”
“Yeah, definitely. And I’m not the kind of girl who slacks off—I’ve never missed a day in my life and I’m proud of it.”
Mandy was now officially missing. But a young girl disappearing in her break wouldn’t be any cause for any real panic. There would be no calling the police or sending out a search party. Not at this stage anyway. People would just think she had decided to play truant. It was a lovely day after all.
Mandy seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “The girls I was on shift with will think it’s weird I’m gone. But they’ll probably cover for me. We’re friends. I’d do the same for them.”
No. There would be no rescue party. And even if the police did become involved, they would have no idea where to look.
Sheppard lowered his voice. Scanned the room to see no one watching. But how many of them were listening? “You’ve seen the body, right?”
Mandy seemed to take his cue. Lowering her voice too. “Yes. But only from the back. And I don’t want to see it again.”
“No, you don’t have to. Even from the back, did you think you recognized the man?”
“No.”
Sheppard frowned. He took out Winter’s wallet, flipped to his driver’s license and held it up to Mandy. “Do you recognize him now?”
Mandy looked at the picture for a long time. “Simon Winter,” she said. Barely audible. “No, I don’t recognize him. But...”
“But what?”
“I work with an Abby Winter.”
Sheppard’s brain turned over. Abby Winter. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time. Simon’s daughter. Around the same age as Sheppard. Sheppard remembered the first time he’d seen her. After a session. He left Winter’s office. They were kids—just kids. She was sitting on the stairs.
“I know you,” she had said.
Little Morgan had smiled and sat down next to her.
“Sheppard?” Mandy said.
Abby. Now she was an orphan—because of him. “I... Do you know this Abby
at all?”
“She’s—I like her, but she’s a bit of a mess. I think she’s an addict of something—I don’t know what—but she shakes a lot and she gets like that weird kind of slick sweat over her face. You know?”
Sheppard nodded. He did. More than she knew. But he was only half hearing her. His mind was on Abby—a girl he had cared about once. Now she was a drug addict, working a dead-end job. How long had it been since he saw her last? He remembered her as a bubbly, fun person, with one hell of a smile. And now—
“It’s kind of sad—you know. She’s a nice enough person, but she has her demons. I think our manager only keeps her on because he feels sorry for her... Are you okay?”
Sheppard nodded again. “Okay,” he said, changing the subject, “now what about the masked man? The horse mask? Did you recognize his voice?”
“No, not at all. Although...”
“Although?”
“I don’t know, it’s just—I might be wrong but the mask looked familiar.”
“The mask?”
“Yeah. I don’t know why but I think I’ve seen it somewhere bef...” Her eyes searching and then... Something snapped into place. “The theater. The show. Rain on Elmore Street.”
“Constance Ahearn’s play?” Sheppard said, looking into the room. Constance had backed herself into a corner again, and was silent. Her eyes met Sheppard’s and he looked back to Mandy. “Are you sure?”
“No...not sure exactly. I saw it like a year ago.”
“Okay,” Sheppard said. “Now I need you to think about that coffee shop—think of everything that happened this morning. If you think of anything else weird or out of place, you have to come and tell me straight away. I also need you to try and keep everyone calm—I need someone I can count on to try and keep the peace.”
“I can try,” Mandy said, and smiled that small sweet smile again. Almost too sweet.
There was something behind her words—something in the shadows. Sheppard thought it was fear, but what if it was something else—something with a slightly more ill intent?
Guess Who Page 7