by Jay Allisan
I knot my fingers in the bedsheets, afraid to ask but desperate to know. “Is that why you left?”
He nods. “We were going to run. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I thought you left because of me,” I whisper. “Because you were afraid I’d hurt you.”
Presley takes my hand in both of his. “We left because you weren’t there.”
I blow out a long breath. “How’d you end up at the hotel, then?”
“We were intercepted,” Presley says. “As we were leaving for the train station, a car pulled up in front of the cathedral and Cheyanne stepped out. I told Robin to go back inside and lock the door. Then Anton—that’s James’s bodyguard—got out of the car too, and he showed me his gun. He came over and took Robin to the car. I tried to follow but Cheyanne stopped me. She showed me a photo of a girl floating face-down in the harbor and said it was Luisa. She said unless I did what I was told, Robin was next. So I got in the car and they took us to the Orchard.”
“To the penthouse suite?”
“No. We were on the eleventh floor, registered under false names. The first day we didn’t leave the room. The second day I was told to come to the Speakeasy prepared to dance.”
“That’s the day I was arraigned,” I say. Also the day I was fired and ready to eat my gun. “When I got home and realized you were gone, James expected me to come looking for you.”
“I danced for the next four nights,” Presley says quietly. “Robin never left the hotel room. On the last night, after I danced, James took me into his office. He said he was sorry he had to scare me, but that he’d been trying to help me. He said someone was looking for Robin and killing people to get to him. He showed me a photo of Anton with a bullet through his head. He said everyone who’d died had been trying to help us, but now there was only one person who could stop the killer. You.”
Presley closes his eyes. “He said he’d been sent the photos as a warning and he’d tipped off the media to help the police, but the cops were too far behind. He said if I wanted to save Robin you were the only way. You were the only one who cared enough to save us.”
He shakes his head, his mouth trembling.
“It’s already happened, Presley,” I say. “Just tell me.”
“I knew James was lying,” Presley whispers, “but I knew he was right. Whatever was happening, whatever I’d done to get you caught up in it, you would try to save us. James gave me instructions. He told me to go to the hotel and give Robin my phone and a message to call you. After that I was supposed to go to the cathedral, but the next thing I remember is waking up on the floor with a gun pointed at me, and you…”
Tears streak down his face. “James wanted us all to die, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And I led you right to him.”
He covers his face with his hands. I ignore the protests of my ribs and sit up, get both arms around him, hold him while he cries.
“It’s okay, kid,” I murmur. “It’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay.”
“I love you,” he whispers, and then I’m crying too.
“Me too, Presley. I love you too.”
He wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand. “What’s going to happen now?”
“We’re going to get you a deal. You were coerced, so we’re going to try to keep you out of jail. I want you to go to rehab, Presley. Get clean. Put this behind you.”
“And Robin? They won’t deport him, will they?”
“He’ll be looked after, I promise. He’s a victim. There are laws to protect people in his circumstance.”
“What about you?”
I give him a wry smile. “I’m going to jail. I killed a woman. And I did some other things that are frowned upon. But it’s okay. The important thing is we’re all alive, and we’re going to nail that motherfucker James for what he did.”
Presley glances over his shoulder at Paddy, then leans close to whisper in my ear. “Remember how I said I cut back on the coke after meeting Robin? I saved what I didn’t use.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s at the cathedral,” I hiss.
“It was, but I moved it. I hid it at the Speakeasy when James called me back to dance.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did.”
“Did you really?”
He nods.
“So if the police search the place they’ll find drugs.”
“Yes. It’s backstage, in a ceiling tile behind the surveillance camera.”
“How much?”
“A couple of kilos?”
“Jesus Christ, Presley. How much were you using?”
“A lot.”
I sigh, but I run my hand over his bristly hair and kiss his forehead. “Good job, kid.”
“Done with your statement?” Paddy says abruptly. He stalks over and hauls Presley off the bed. He tucks the recorder under his arm and makes for the door.
“Wait,” I say. Paddy mutters under his breath but pauses. I look at Presley. “I don’t know if I’ll see you again before I go to prison. Probably not. But I want you to cooperate, okay? Tell the police what you know. Try not to worry about Robin, and don’t worry about me. It’ll be okay. I love you.”
Presley smiles. Paddy drags him out the door.
48
I GRIP the staircase railing tightly, hissing between my teeth. Left foot. Right foot. Ten steps done.
Only a thousand or so to go.
The stairs from the basement are steep and slick, polished over the decades by rampant foot traffic. Every step I take is a test of my fledgling coordination. Paddy’s trudging up the stairs beside me, his arm hovering behind my back, in case I fall.
“You’re not ready for this,” he says.
I suck in air like it’s in short supply. “How can I not be ready? You’re interrogating. I’m just watching.”
“I mean you shouldn’t be exerting yourself. You’re gonna pop a stitch.”
“James is getting arrested today. I’d belly-crawl up the steps to see that.” I pause, gasping. “Though it’s high time this place installed an elevator.”
We make it to the main floor. The precinct’s empty this early in the morning, the lobby dark but the grand staircase illuminated. I take a couple minutes to catch my breath, staring forlornly up all those steps.
“Want to carry me?” I ask. I’m not even joking.
Paddy shoots me a glare.
“Never mind.”
One foot up, then the other. Then the other. Then the other.
“It was nice of you to not put me in handcuffs,” I say.
Paddy grunts. “Shape you’re in, you’re not exactly a threat.”
Another stop when we get to the landing. I want to sit, but I’m afraid if I do I won’t get back up. I lick my lips. “I should’ve packed water for this hike.”
“I’ll grab you a bottle when we get to the second floor.”
Up we go. I’ve got both hands on the railing now, dragging my right side behind me. My injuries are concentrated on that side, probably because Layla assumed I was right-handed. I’m not. Good thing.
My foot misses the next step and I stumble. Paddy catches me under the arms, stopping the fall but wrenching my wounded shoulder in the process. There’s a white flash behind my eyes, and the next thing I know I’m down on the landing, flat on my back. Paddy’s leaned over me, seething.
“What the fuck did I say?! I told you you weren’t ready for this!”
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “Just a slip.”
“Fuck this. We’re going back down.”
“We’re halfway there.”
“And it’s easier to get you down the stairs than up them.”
I plant my hand on the ground and push to sitting. “I don’t care what’s easier. I gave you what you need to put James away, and the deal is I get to see it happen
. Now would you help me up? Please?”
Paddy pulls my good arm across his shoulder and lifts me onto my feet. He puts his other arm around my waist and practically propels me up the steps. We reach the second floor in no time. I sit on a bench while he gets me a bottle of water from the vending machine. I drain it, tossing the empty bottle into the recycling bin. We head for the last flight of stairs.
My breathing’s magnified in the empty stairwell, echoing claustrophobically. Aside from his footsteps, Paddy makes no sound. He’s angry. With me. But also himself.
“It’s not your fault,” I tell him.
He makes a guttural noise deep in his throat.
“I’m the one who screwed up,” I say. “You’ve done so much for me—”
“I don’t wanna talk about this. Not now.”
“But later?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Then for now I’ll just say thanks.”
We’re silent the rest of the way to interrogation.
WHEN JAMES sits in the interrogation room it’s of his own accord. He doesn’t have legal council. He probably thinks he’s above it. His expression is patient. Chastising. He’s already played this game, and he thinks he’s won.
I can’t help but smile.
“Hey Mordecai, is that your breakfast?”
Josie bounds into the viewing area with a wicked grin, plopping down in the chair beside me. She raises an eyebrow at the pills I’ve got splayed out on the table in front of me.
“Space food,” I say. “Didn’t I tell you I’m going to become an astronaut?”
She nods sagely. “Good choice. I’m ready for a change of pace myself.”
The door opens and Whale comes in. He goes to the back of the room and speaks quietly with Paddy, who’s putting in his earpiece.
“I have to tell you something,” Josie whispers. I glance at her but she’s staring straight ahead. I do the same.
“Tell me what?” I whisper back.
“When we were talking a couple days ago? When we told you what we knew, and you told us what you knew?”
“Yeah?”
“We left a part out. A big part.”
I feel a niggle of worry. “It doesn’t change anything for James, does it? He’s still—”
“Oh, he’s toast, don’t worry about that. But when it comes up in the interview, don’t freak out, okay? Everything we’ve been through, you, me, Paddy, Whale, it was all real. There was just… something extra.”
“Could you be a little more cryptic?” I say, but Dixon enters the room then, Scarlett on his heels, and Josie shakes her head. I pop a handful of pills into my mouth and guzzle some water. I guess I’ll have to wait.
“You ready?” Dixon asks Paddy.
Paddy’s eyes flash darkly. He picks up a folder and leaves the viewing room, appearing on the other side of the one-way mirror a moment later. James frowns at the sight of him.
“Detective O’Reilly,” he says, his voice dripping with disappointment. “I must admit, I was hoping for the redhead.”
“She had her turn,” Paddy says. “Now it’s mine.”
He sits across from James, angled so he doesn’t obstruct the view. James straightens his silver tie.
“My condolences on the loss of your partner,” he says.
Paddy pops his knuckles like fireworks.
James smiles.
“I’ve already given my statement,” he says. “I have nothing further to add.”
“Then why are you here?”
“This may come as a surprise to you, but I’d like to see this matter resolved. I have business to attend to.”
Paddy says nothing. James waves his hand. “Can we get on with it?”
“No problem. Wouldn’t want to waste your time.” Paddy leans back in his chair, propping one ankle over his knee. He flips through his folder. “Let’s go over these details again, just for the record. Starting with the photos.”
“As I have stated repeatedly, I knew nothing about the photos. You searched my phone and my computer and found no trace of any photographs.”
“So you didn’t take them.”
“No.”
“Didn’t get somebody to take them on your behalf.”
“No.”
“Didn’t receive them.”
“All evidence would indicate I did not.”
“And you got no idea why someone was whacking your employees and sending pictures of their corpses to the media.”
“It would appear someone had a vendetta,” James says coolly.
Paddy flips the page. “You lost a lot of people. Sonny Carpenter. A young girl we pulled from the harbor that you can’t seem to identify. Czechkov. Cheyanne. Presley. Plus we got a girl with Sonny’s DNA on her you claim you’ve never seen.”
James sighs. “We’ve been over this, detective. I do not handle the hiring, nor the day-to-day management of my employees. That was delegated to Cheyanne Woodsworth, who, as you said, has passed.” He frowns. “It’s an unfortunate loss. She had a very diverse skill set.”
“Yeah, you seem real choked up about it.”
“I assure you, I grieve each and every tragic death, whether I knew the victim or not.”
“You knew Sonny,” Paddy says. “You know about his drug habit?”
“I had no indication of any drug use in the workplace, and what my employees do on their own time is their business.”
“What about you? You got any dealings in high-grade cocaine?”
James narrows his eyes. “I most certainly do not, and I resent any implication to the contrary.”
Paddy smirks. “Just a question. Nothing personal.”
He and James stare at each other. Paddy blinks first and shuffles his papers.
“Anything you can tell me about Czechkov? Gunned down in his own apartment, by a woman, it looks like. Anybody special in his life?”
“My employees’ personal relationships were none of my concern,” James says. His flat expression gives way to a smile. “Though I understand young Presley was a close friend of Shirley’s. Very close.”
I can feel the temperature drop, even one room removed. Paddy straightens. “So let’s talk about Presley.”
“I don’t know what more I can tell you,” James replies lightly. “His employment at my club was brief. We had little reason to interact.”
“So you didn’t know him well.”
“Not as intimately as your partner, I’m sure.”
I grit my teeth. Paddy ignores the jab. “You’d only met about a month ago when he came looking for work.”
“That’s correct.”
“He came in with another boy. Robin.”
James tilts his head. “Did he? I don’t recall.”
Paddy slides a photo of Robin across the table. James considers it, then shakes his head. “He does look familiar, though I can’t quite place him.”
“Let me help you out. He was up on stage, wasted as shit the night Sonny died. Matter of fact, you insinuated knowledge of his relationship with Detective Mordecai. You also insinuated knowledge as to Robin’s background.”
“That was several weeks ago. I don’t recall the conversation, insinuations or otherwise, and you don’t seem to have a record…”
“But he was your employee,” Paddy says. “And he’s been missing for ten days.”
“Well, I’m afraid I have no insight there.” James doesn’t look pleased by the thought.
“What about the reporter getting the photos, Benny Afternoon? You know him?”
James bares his teeth in what could pass for a smile. “The one you’ve squirreled away for protection?”
Paddy gives him a flat look. “Seemed like the smart thing to do.”
James rolls his shoulders, a disinterested shrug. “I spoke with him once, following your recovery of the girl in the harbor. I had not met him prior, nor have I seen him since.”
“You know anything about his editor?”
It’s like Padd
y flipped a switch. James leans forward, cold intrigue spreading across his face.
“That is a mystery, isn’t it? How a tabloid editor, an exotic dancer, and a former police officer all wind up dead in a hotel room.” He lifts a hand. “Again, my deepest sympathies.”
Paddy stands. He goes to the water cooler in the corner, fills a paper cone and takes a sip. James looks at Paddy’s empty chair with a cruel smile.
“What a bastard,” I mutter.
“He’s been playing that card all week,” Josie says quietly.
I take a sip of water myself. “At least we know he believes it.”
Paddy returns to his seat. James waits, smoothing his suit jacket. Paddy removes a photograph from his folder and slides it in front of James.
“This is the editor, Layla Hernandez. You sure you’ve never seen her before?”
James slides the photo back. “I would remember a face like that.”
Paddy puts the photo side by side with the one of Robin. “Yeah, I bet you would.”
There’s a flicker in James’s demeanor, a blip in the facade. Paddy grins at him. “Pretty lady. I know I’d remember her. She looks like she’d have a story to tell. Too bad she’s dead, her and everybody else that could tie you to this thing. Funny how that works.”
James rises from his chair. “If we’re finished here—”
“Sit down.”
James stays standing. Paddy stands too. He walks around the table and stands behind James. He doesn’t touch him, but from the way James eases forward I know he feels him.
Paddy’s voice rolls low as thunder. “Don’t make me put you in this chair.”
“I am here of my own volition—”
“And the BRPD thanks you for your cooperation. Now sit your ass down.”
James sinks into the chair.
Paddy moves beside James, laying his palms on the table. “You’re consistent, I’ll give you that. The classic I don’t know anything. Boring, though. Couldn’t come up with something better?”
“I’m sorry if you find the truth to be a bore, Detective O’Reilly.”