24
“What do you mean her body washed up?”
“Well, Viscount,” Gerry clutches his clipboard to his chest like a shield, “she, ah, apparently was killed on the challenge, but no competitor has claimed the kill.”
“You mean to tell me someone murdered Regina while she was competing in a challenge, yet your cameras didn’t capture who?”
“Yes, it’s very, very odd….the time of death…”
“What were her injuries?”
“Gunshot wound to the head,” he squeaks, edging his way out the door.
“What? Stop right there!”
Gulping, he looks at me with wide, worried eyes.
“Gerry, of course none of the competitors killed her. None of them had fucking guns!”
“Yes,” he gulps, one foot out the door, “but I assure you, Viscount, every effort is being made to investigate this matter.”
“Just as you investigated the attack on the limo on opening night?” I growl. “An enquiry that ended with a shrug, from memory.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” he says hastily, licking his lips. “On the upside, you didn’t have to kill the loser. I mean, she’s dead by some of the means, so you didn’t have to, you know...”
He holds two fingers up to his lips, which I assume are meant to signify fangs.
“And you don’t have to eliminate the default loser, the Georgian, Natia, either, because she technically wasn’t last — Regina was.”
“What kind of gun?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t play with me, Gerry, you won’t like the outcome. What kind of gun killed her?”
“I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “early indications are that it was a handgun placed against her temple and fired at point blank range. Her hands were bound behind her back. Ah, we just don’t know any more than that at this stage.”
He turns to leave the room as I ask one last question, although I think I already know the answer.
“Gerry, what was she wearing?”
“Ah,” he turns back, frowning, “a swimsuit. A red swimsuit.”
‘Just as I thought.’