Chapter Thirteen
T elfer resigned himself to not being able to whisk Laodice up the stairs for a quick bang. If a seriously injured woman and a distraught fiancé hadn’t been enough to dampen everyone’s desires after the naughty art sessions, the cops turning up had been a total cockblock.
Patrick flatly refused to speak to the detectives. He was polite about it, and Telfer figured he’d had a similar talk from his parents to the one Telfer had gotten from Uncle Burak, because he clearly didn’t want to give them cause for charges of obstructing justice or interfering with an officer in the pursuit of their duty. But he held firm, citing his right to remain silent, and asking, pointedly, if he was under arrest.
“We were hoping to avoid that, Mr. Orwin,” Detective Bernard said, equally politely. “It would help us a lot if we could speak to you. We’re trying to rule people out as much as anything.”
“So I’m not under arrest or charged with any crime?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I decline.” Patrick gave the others a long look, as if he wanted to warn them too, but wasn’t sure whether that was all right.
“None of us are obliged to speak to the police, but it would probably help if we did,” Xavier said, sounding pompous.
“Of course you’d think that,” Patrick said, and shook his head when Xavier opened his mouth. “Don’t— I’m heading upstairs. Samuel?”
Samuel hesitated, and Telfer winced at the momentary pain that flickered across Patrick’s face. But he went to join his future husband, and they went upstairs, talking quietly to each other.
Bernard turned to Xavier next. “Then you, Mr. Westlake,” he said. He didn’t look particularly enthusiastic. Finding out that Xavier and Yvette were lawyers had probably been as fun for Bernard as learning that Telfer and Laodice were journalists.
No one else refused an interview, but there was nothing to stop them going upstairs or chilling out in the hot tub while they waited. Instead, cowed by the silent expectations of the police, everyone waited in the lounge area while they were called in one at a time. Telfer was unavoidably reminded of badly organized job interviews.
He thought it was too late to stop people conferring on alibis or confusing their witness statements via conversation, but a uniformed officer sat with them, anyway, presumably in case anyone felt like letting something slip. Telfer desperately wanted to know what Laodice had gotten out of Sarah, but instead he had to pass the time trying to figure out how the interviews had gone by the expressions people made when they left.
Kyle looked annoyed, Sarah glassily unreadable. Xavier looked ruffled and Yvette upset. Danielle was in tears as she left, and the female detective had actually escorted her out, looking sympathetic. Carrick had been sweaty and uncomfortable. The detectives spent a long time talking to Britt, and then called Carrick back in again. They left together, Britt patting his shoulder, and Telfer hoped he’d come clean about the blackmail.
The detectives called Telfer in last. Laodice had looked thoughtful going upstairs, but made a flat-palmed gesture Telfer thought was meant to be reassuring.
The first thing Bernard said was: “Ms. Troiades has informed us that she’s undercover here for a story, and would prefer us not to advertise that to your fellow guests unless it becomes necessary.”
Right. They were setting the stakes for the interview. Now Telfer and Laodice had incentive to cooperate.
“Can you explain to me the nature of your relationship?”
“We’re co-workers.”
Bernard smiled. “With special benefits?”
Was he guessing, or had Laodice told him? No way to know for sure. “If you want to put it that way,” Telfer said. “Is this relevant?”
“We’re trying to get a feel for the dynamics.” Bernard checked a notebook. It had some scribbled notes on it, but Telfer wouldn’t lay any bets that they had anything to do with the next question. For all he knew, it was a grocery list. “You’re also friends with Carrick Balshaw, is that correct?”
“I’m not sure I’d say friends. We were friendly in college, and have reconnected here.”
“Ah. When was the last time you saw Jesse Heller?”
Since Telfer had already given Bernard this information, it seemed like an obvious test. He was asked several more questions of a similar nature (“And what made you decide to take that particular route on your walk? Mm. And how did you say Ms. Troiades happened to fall into the ditch again?”) and then Bernard, turning over a piece of paper, casually asked, “What did you think of Jesse?”
“I didn’t like him,” Telfer replied, and cursed himself when Bernard brightened and leaned in.
“Really? Why not?”
“He was a dick.”
“Any specific examples?” Bernard probed.
“Sometimes you just don’t like people,” Telfer said.
The female detective, who’d introduced herself but stayed silent up until this point, broke in then. “We’ve heard that Mr. Heller was aggressive towards his partner.”
“I heard him shout at her,” Telfer said. “And he said some unkind things, both to her face and behind her back.” He grimaced, remembering. “He also tried to make Elle—Laodice, I mean—drink to excess when she’d been clear she didn’t want to, and he told me that you had to keep a close eye on women because otherwise they cheated.”
“Do you think he suspected his partner of cheating?”
“I think he probably accused her of that as a way to keep her in line.”
“Do you think he was right? Was she cheating? Did you sleep with her?” The questions came rapid fire, so quickly that Telfer couldn’t control his response. He stared at the detectives, who were looking politely interested.
“I did not sleep with Hazel,” he said, slowly and clearly. “I don’t think Hazel would cheat, but you’d have to talk to her. I imagine you have talked to her.”
The female detective sat back. Detective Laurens, that was her name. “We appreciate multiple perspectives,” she said calmly.
“She’s a fragile little thing,” Bernard said. “Brings out your protective instinct.”
Telfer rolled his eyes. “I also didn’t try to be her white knight and murder Jesse for her, if that’s your next angle.”
“Or help her out, once he was dead?” Bernard asked, and waved off the stink-eye Telfer gave him. “Come on, Mr Terzi. You know how this goes.”
“So the body was moved,” Telfer said. Maybe Bernard thought the information gathering should all go one way, but he didn’t have to go along with that. “And by someone strong enough to move it, which rules out Hazel, and probably Patrick and Yvette.” He ran through the rest of his mental list. “And Danielle and Sarah, I suppose. Maybe Britt.” Although on further thought, Britt did look strong. She could probably fireman carry a body a reasonable distance. Alma was a nurse and used to moving bodies, even if they were usually alive. Erik, of course, would do anything for her.
“You don’t rule out yourself or Ms. Troiades,” Bernard observed pleasantly.
“Not physically, no. In terms of motive or opportunity, we didn’t have one.”
“What if he discovered she was a journalist and threatened to expose her?”
“Did he?” Telfer countered.
“Hypothetically, if he had, would she have reacted poorly? I understand she’s working towards a promotion.”
“Hypothetically, you would have to ask her,” Telfer said, and when the detectives went silent and looked at him expectantly, he sat still and stared back. He knew how silence worked. And unlike him, the detectives couldn’t afford to waste their time waiting out someone who couldn’t be a likely suspect.
“Right,” Detective Bernard said. “If we can go over your movements on Monday night, please.”
Telfer, who had been expecting a question like, “where were you between the hours of x and y,” mustered his reserves and detailed his movements as honestly as he could, given that he really wasn’t certain about many of the times. The lack of timekeeping at Halcyon had to be frustrating the cops.
Bernard asked him a few more questions about the other guests, poking in a desultory way at why Patrick might have refused to speak to them, but Telfer stuck firmly to, “you would have to ask him,” and the detectives cut him loose with polite and unenthusiastic thanks for his cooperation.
He went upstairs, thinking hard, and found Laodice wrapped in the feather and velvet hotel robe, tapping furiously on her laptop.
“Getting notes down?” he asked.
“Arguing with my sisters,” she said, face flushed, and snapped the laptop closed. “How was it?”
“I don’t think I’m a real suspect. But would I know if I was?”
Laodice grinned. “They asked me if I’d ever seen you get angry.”
“What did you say?”
“That I’d once argued with you for forty minutes about whether an article was too obvious a piece of SEO, but that the only thing you’d ever murdered were good pitches.”
Telfer sat down on the edge of the bed. “I think we should discuss your belief that I shoot down good stories without reason.”
“You have reasons. They’re wrong, but you have them. Did you get anything from Erik?”
Telfer refocused, thinking about that lunchtime conversation. “He said Jesse barely talked to him, much less asked about his secret identity. The first time he and Alma met Jesse and Hazel, Erik shook Hazel’s hand. Jesse made some joke about stealing his girl that wasn’t a joke. Erik avoided him and Hazel as much as he could after that.”
“You believe Erik?”
“He tried not to tell me about that first encounter, but he can’t lie worth a damn. I have no idea how he’s kept the author thing secret for so long.”
Laodice shook her head. “It must have scared Alma, when she could see he was lying to her, and didn’t know why. In other news, Sarah thinks I’m a gold digger marrying you for your money.”
“What?”
Laodice’s eyes were very bright. “But in the interests of women supporting women, she wants me to join her on a big job with my elite hacking skills.”
“Do you have those?” Telfer asked, trying to keep up.
“She thinks so. Also, that I used to be a getaway driver. I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth.” She paused. “I didn’t actually know you had money.”
“I have a trust, but it’s mostly invested in my uncle’s business,” Telfer said. His mind was busy with a vision of Laodice wearing something short, tight and red, driving her convertible at breakneck pace up a winding mountain road while hundred dollar bills flew away from the stacks piled behind the seats. “You’d be a very sexy criminal.”
“Thank you. But the short answer is I think she didn’t kill Jesse. She’s not particularly cut up about his death, but she’s mostly annoyed that it brought the cops in. And Alma seems to have been a genuine accident.”
“Bernard gave me the impression he’s looking for someone strong enough to have moved Jesse to that ditch.”
“Someone. Not two people?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe there’s crime scene evidence we don’t have, one set of footprints or something.”
“This is fun,” Laodice said, frowning. “Is it wrong that it’s so fun?”
“A lot of wrong things are fun,” Telfer said, thinking about Laodice as a criminal mastermind again.
“Speaking of,” Laodice said, and undid the belt of the velvet robe.
Underneath, she was wearing something hot pink and silky. There were ruffles. There were straps. There was…
“Is that crotchless?” Telfer asked, his throat tight.
Laodice propped one foot up deliberately. “For convenience. Now, if we narrow the list down to people capable of carrying Jesse, who does that leave us?”
“You’re killing me,” Telfer said, and she pouted and closed her knees. “Wait, no, I can do this. Ruling us out, Xavier, Carrick, maybe Britt, maybe Alma, Samuel, Erik, and Kyle.”
Laodice licked her lips. Telfer didn’t think they were dry. “Not Patrick?”
Telfer tried to summon some blood back to his brain. “I think he’s too small. Maybe Patrick murdered Jesse, and Samuel moved him—look. You’re insanely hot and I’m losing my mind but mixing murder discussion and sex feels wrong. And not the fun kind of wrong.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry.”
Laodice had wrapped the robe around herself again and abandoned the sex kitten pose. “Don’t be sorry,” she said earnestly. “You set a boundary. That’s totally okay. And we think no on Erik and Alma having a motive?”
“Yes.”
“And Sarah and Kyle are each other’s alibis.”
“Huh. Are they sleeping together?”
Laodice shrugged. “Maybe. So, Xavier, Carrick, Britt, and Samuel. Or Patrick and Samuel working together.”
“And as far as we know, Xavier has no motive either.”
“No.” Laodice was silent for a moment. “I don’t like who we’re left with.”
“Me either,” Telfer said.
“Sarah thinks it was Carrick.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Vibes, probably.”
Telfer grimaced. “I’ll try to talk to him after dinner.”
“I’ll talk to Britt.” She paused. “So…are we done with the murder discussion?”
“I think so.”
“Great,” Laodice said cheerfully, and untied her robe again. “Because I’ve got all this lingerie I haven’t been wearing, and I’d like to get some use out of it.”
“I’m not sure how long you’ll be wearing that,” Telfer said, and started taking off his shirt.
***
Despite his suggestion, Telfer seemed to be happy for Laodice to keep wearing the teddy, especially when he discovered that playing with her nipples through the satin made her eyes roll back in her head. For her part, Laodice thought it was fair that she put more work in this time, and Telfer’s reaction to her mouth on his cock was extremely satisfying.
He made a strangled noise as she hollowed her cheeks and dragged up, letting his cock spring from her lips with an obscene popping sound. She watched the head swell and darken, then teased it with the tip of her tongue.
“Get up here,” Telfer demanded.
“But I’m having so much fun,” Laodice said, pretending that the order didn’t turn her on.
“If you keep—” Telfer said, and then groaned as she bobbed down his cock again, taking him as deep as she could manage. Pretty deep, actually, and if she had more time and was a little more patient, she could—
“I’m serious ,” Telfer said, sounding like a man on the edge, and she let him slide out of her mouth and hovered, looking up at him. She was aware that her mouth was swollen and her hair was tumbling wildly over her shoulders, pooling over his belly and thighs.
“Hello,” she said, and touched her top lip with the tip of her tongue.
“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” Telfer said, and it wasn’t playful banter, he meant it, and that slammed straight into the pit of her stomach.
She accidentally-on-purpose let his cock drag between her breasts as she slithered up his body, and he groaned again, and then she was kissing his mouth, and he was grabbing her, muttering delirious nonsense between kisses as he got the condom on and guided her hips back and onto his.
They both gasped when she took him inside her body, and Telfer’s eyes were riveted on the pink fabric between her legs, the gap he was splitting open. Laodice bounced a little, getting used to the stretch. “Tell me how much you want me,” she invited.
“Fuck,” Telfer said, which was probably more of an exclamation than an instruction, but she settled a little deeper on his cock anyway. “What do you want to know?”
“You said you’d wanted me for years. What did that look like? Did you fantasize about me?”
“That would be wrong,” Telfer said, his eyes locked on hers. “Us working together, me thinking that kind of thing…”
“Mm-hmm. Did you, though? Did you see me walk around in a long dress and wonder if I was wearing panties?”
Telfer’s hips jumped up. “That one,” he strangled out. “Definitely that one. Sometimes, we’d argue and I’d think, this is why shouting at someone and then kissing them is a cliche…”
“It is!” Laodice said, delighted. “The worst cliche, so rom-com of you. What if I grabbed you by your tie and dragged your mouth down to my tits?”
“What if you sat naked in an office chair and I ate you out?”
“What if,” Laodice said, and lost track of herself for a second, as Telfer jumped his hips up and hit something really good . “What if we were both working late, and you—oh, that’s perfect.”
Telfer’s abs flexed as he sat up, his arms going around her. “And what?”
“Huh?”
“We’re both working late,” he said, punctuating every word with a thrust. “And I do what?”
“You sweep everything off your desk, and you say, that’s it, I can’t take it anymore, I have to have you.”
“And you’re into this?”
“It’s a fantasy ,” Laodice said, and wriggled, seeking the friction she needed. “I’m like yes, take me, right here, right now. Oh no, wait—”
“I absolutely can’t,” Telfer ground out, and she laughed, taking his face in her hands and kissing him, because he was funny and sexy and this felt so good .
“We do it on the top floor,” she said. “Hera’s office, only it’s my office, I’m the CEO of Olympus, and I tell you to strip me naked and turn me around and fuck me against that big glass wall. I look out over the whole city, and I can see you reflected behind me, looking at me the way you’re looking now, like you could just eat me up, like you could never get enough—”
“Fuck,” Telfer croaked, leaning his forehead against hers, his breath puffing over her lips. “Please tell me you’re close.”
“Nearly there,” she said. “Oh. Oh, there, yes, that’s it, please, please, that’s it, don’t stop, oh—” she broke, in long, quivering waves of pleasure, and he held her through it, rocking his hips in relentless rhythm, and before she could express her gratitude properly or even catch her breath, he closed his eyes and shuddered, and she felt him pulsing inside her.
They sat there, entangled in each other, while their breathing eased and their heartbeats slowed, then Telfer kissed her again, slow and gentle.
“I could never get enough of you,” he said, and then his eyes widened, as if he really hadn’t meant to say it.
“Oh,” Laodice said, and felt a prickling in her eyes, because all right, she was awash with hormones right now, so everything made her emotional, but that was actually kind of sweet . “Thank you. That’s an amazing compliment.”
“Not a compliment,” Telfer said gruffly. “It’s a statement of fact.”
Laodice flushed. She carefully extracted herself from the embrace and went to clean up, thinking about the next steps in their investigation, but wanting to be respectful of the limit he’d set. No mixing murder talk and sexy times.
She’d just managed to wriggle out of the teddy and get in the shower when Telfer stepped in with her. There was easily room for two, and the flexible shower head had some excellent settings, and it turned out they had to delay the murder talk for a little longer.
***
Dinner was fish and chips. Danielle brought out their plates, looking sad and pale, and then placed two giant bowls of green salad in the middle of the table for the guests to serve themselves. Kyle moved around the room, offering a variety of white wines to go with the battered cod.
“A Hippocampus speciality!” Sarah said brightly, which might even have been true, but Telfer was willing to bet the fancy restaurants by the waterfront provided more options. He dolloped tartare over everything, and sat beside Carrick.
Carrick looked unwell. His usually ruddy face was pale and his forehead clammy.
“Are you okay?” Telfer asked.
“Sure. I mean, no. The murder and all.”
Telfer glanced casually around the gallery room. Xavier and Yvette were sitting at one end of the long table. Britt and Patrick hadn’t come down for dinner, and Laodice had joined Samuel at the other end, leaving Carrick to him.
If he lowered his voice, they should all be out of earshot.
He took the chance. “I thought you might be relieved.”
Carrick stared at him. “Relieved? What do you mean?”
“Because he was blackmailing you,” Telfer said bluntly. “I overheard you talking about it.”
Carrick pushed his plate away with a violent motion, his knife clattering to the floor. The other couples turned to look, and Telfer bent to retrieve the knife. When he came back up, Carrick was doing a pretty reasonable attempt at looking casual, but his eyes were wild.
“Did you tell the police?” he demanded, his lips barely moving.
“Not yet.”
“Don’t,” Carrick said, more earnest than pleading. “It won’t do you any good.”
“Do me any good?”
“I didn’t hurt Jesse. But I…I can’t talk about this, man.”
“We can go somewhere else.”
Carrick shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Are you in trouble?” Telfer asked, feeling a surge of unwilling sympathy. “Carrick, whatever it is, shouldn’t you come clean? Honesty is the only defense against blackmail.”
Carrick looked…sympathetic. As if Telfer were the one who needed comforting. “I didn’t do anything to Jesse,” he repeated. “I know it looks bad, but I promise it wasn’t me.”
Against all odds, Telfer believed him. Whatever had put Carrick in a flop sweat, he didn’t think it was murder.
But he and Laodice had agreed not to rule people out because they liked them.
“Where’s Britt?” he asked, trying a different angle.
Carrick didn’t noticeably relax. “In our room. She wanted to get some work done.”
“What does she do?”
“Analysis,” Carrick said shortly.
“Whoa. Everything okay with you two?” Telfer said, trying to keep his voice light.
Carrick scowled at his plate. “No. Not really..” He grimaced, apparently at his own tone. “I don’t think Britt and me are going to last.”
“What? Why?”
“She could do so much better than me.”
Telfer blinked. “But you’re getting married.”
Carrick shrugged, and ate a french fry. It had to be cold. “Maybe.”
Telfer wished he’d never sat down. He had to be the person in this room least equipped to offer anyone romantic advice, maybe even including Sarah. “Have you talked to her about this?”
“No,” Carrick said.
“Maybe you’re just getting cold feet.”
Carrick stared at him. “You think—oh. No, Telfer, I’m not worried about how I feel. I love her. I’m going to love her until I die.” He said it with easy conviction, then sighed. “But she doesn’t feel the same way.”
Telfer glanced at Laodice. “How do you know, unless you talk to her?”
“I just do.” Carrick made a reasonable attempt at a smile. “Anyway, don’t let me put you off. I’m shitty company today. Go sit with Elle.”
Laodice, with consummate timing, had chosen that moment to get up, excusing herself from the table. She shot Telfer a look on the way out, her eyes brimming with suppressed excitement.
Telfer diagnosed that since she couldn’t get anything out of a Britt who wasn’t in attendance, she was going to snoop.
“At least you two are great for each other,” Carrick said, cheering up. “Look at you, grinning like an idiot. I never thought the ice man would melt. You were a one-night-stand legend in college.”
“Oh, well,” Telfer said, and ate a few fries himself. The cold grease coated his tongue. “I guess appearances can be deceptive.”