Chapter 33 Saturday, 13 June 2026
For a beat, the three took in the scene outside in stunned silence.
The front door to the Lenox Club had been flung open, and the uniformed officer stationed there had joined his colleagues on the sidewalk.
Two were scrambling to move the sawhorses that had been previously positioned in front of the door to form a partial barricade around the body.
Another had her phone pressed to her ear.
The fourth hovered over the body, partially obscuring Hannah’s view.
She could see only that the body was motionless, one arm bent at a sickening angle.
Blood had begun to pool from beneath the head.
With the front door now unguarded from the inside, guests had begun to stream out. Their horrified shrieks and gasps carried to the balcony, and Hannah’s hand flew to her mouth. It was taking the four officers’ full efforts, combined with the club’s butler, to keep everyone back.
‘Who is that?’ Detective Wellesley asked.
Hannah’s gaze returned to the body. Finally, the uniformed officer who had been blocking her view stepped aside. The man lying motionless on the sidewalk wore a deep brown tux and sported a full, boxed beard. It could only be…
‘That’s Paul Harris,’ Hannah breathed. ‘Our senior seminar teacher.’
‘Fucking hell.’ Detective Crews smacked his hand against the balcony rail. ‘How’d he get up to the roof?’
‘Door’s right across the hall,’ Hannah supplied.
‘Not possible,’ Detective Wellesley said. ‘Officer O’Doyle is under strict orders to only permit witnesses escorted by Edward Beaumont access to the club’s second floor.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘There’s a hidden stairwell, runs from the hall behind reception up to the second floor. It’s meant for staff, but Mr Harris must have found out about it. From the second-floor hall, he must have taken the stairs to the roof deck.’
‘Fuck,’ Detective Crews said again. He rushed back inside and snatched Oliver’s phone from the edge of the desk. Then Detective Wellesley followed, and both detectives headed for the door. Below, the officers had gained control, and the crowd was being corralled back inside the club’s front door.
Hannah’s plush Lenox Club slippers felt rooted to the balcony floor.
The ache in her temples was now a full-blown throb.
Mr Harris was dead. Had he jumped? Been pushed off the roof?
She flashed back to their conversation in the dining room.
He’d been looking around nervously, his eyes darting time and again to the stairwell.
Had he been looking for someone – or trying to avoid them?
‘You can’t stay here.’ Detective Crews’ voice was sharp. Hannah turned. Both detectives stood in the hallway, eyes fixed on her.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, forcing her feet to march back inside the Caraway Room. She closed the sliding glass door, then headed towards the hall. Her stomach cramped in protest.
Downstairs, Detective Crews made a beeline for the front door, and Detective Wellesley began combing her way through the crowd.
For Oliver? Ignoring the pulsing in her temples and the sick feeling in her stomach, Hannah jostled her way through the lounge.
The curtains on the front windows had been ripped aside, and half the guests were pressed to the panes, peering out. She joined them.
One of the officers was bent over the body, checking for a pulse, but Mr Harris was unmistakably deceased. A fall from the roof, two storeys up, onto hard concrete… Hannah was no medical expert, but if he’d landed the wrong way, which it looked like he had, he’d most likely died on impact.
‘What the fuck happened?’ Theo was behind her then, visibly shaken.
She stepped away to join him, relinquishing her spot at the window to another curious guest.
‘I have no idea. Do you think he was pushed?’
‘I suppose. Honestly, Harris hasn’t been looking his best lately, but offing yourself in the centre of a murder investigation is an odd choice.’
Mr Harris had seemed run down and on edge tonight, but Theo had a point.
Had he really been suicidal? And if so, why the Lenox Club of all places?
Hannah glanced around. There was Ami, huddled together with Alex and Tyler.
Elle, Beatrice, Bash and Edward stood to the left of the front door, speaking in hushed voices.
‘So who pushed him?’ she asked. ‘The same person who murdered Madison?’
‘I guess so. But… why would the same person who had it in for Madison also have it in for Mr Harris? It seems so…’
‘Random?’
‘Yeah.’ Theo scrubbed a hand across his eyes.
Hannah drew in a sharp breath. ‘Unless Mr Harris figured it out. When we were talking earlier, maybe an hour ago, he was agitated. He kept glancing around. I think… I think Mr Harris knew who killed Madison, and the killer lured him up to the roof.’
The killer. Oliver.
‘Then pushed him off to keep him silent,’ Theo finished.
One thing was bothering her. ‘Whoever pushed him knew how to get around the officer at the base of the stairs. How many people know about the staff stairwell?’
Theo frowned. ‘A few. Bash and Edward of course. Elle, Beatrice, you and me.’
‘Or anyone who saw us use it tonight,’ Hannah finished. ‘Fuck. That could be literally anyone.’
Theo grimaced. ‘Guess so. Anyone who located it could have told Harris about it. They both could have snuck up to the roof unseen. Then…’ Theo made a small pushing motion with his hands.
Hannah blanched. ‘Did the Beaumonts ever renovate up there? Or was the little wall still mostly for show?’
‘They haven’t changed a thing,’ Theo said. ‘It’s just like it was the last time we were all up there together, senior year.’
Hannah nodded. The day Tyler Marsden had hopped up on the wall to show off. If Mr Harris was pushed with enough force… he would have gone over, easily. Her stomach sloshed again.
From the far side of the lounge, Detective Wellesley’s voice carried above the crowd, hushing the low buzz of conversation.
‘Oliver Morgan, we need to speak to you immediately regarding the murders of Madison DuPont and Paul Harris.’
‘What?’ Oliver’s voice was strained. ‘Am I a suspect?’
‘We have a few urgent questions for you. Your co-operation is appreciated.’
‘Do I need a lawyer?’ Oliver asked, taking two steps back. ‘What exactly is going on right now?’
Detective Crews appeared beside them then.
At some point while Hannah had been talking to Theo, he must have come back in from the sidewalk.
The detective had Oliver’s phone, the unmistakable Gucci x CASETiFY Collab holographic snakeskin case, sealed in a plastic evidence bag.
He handed it to his partner, then flashed Oliver a warrant.
‘Please hold still,’ he directed.
‘Oh my god,’ Hannah heard Oliver mumble as, methodically, Detective Crews began to pat him down, beginning with the shoulders of his emerald green tux jacket, then moving to his arms, then to his torso. ‘What the hell is going on? I’m not armed, for god’s sake.’
Hannah shoved forward, transfixed.
‘What’s this?’ The detective paused with his hands on Oliver’s sides, beneath his jacket. ‘Inside the interior right breast pocket.’
Oliver shook his head. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Frankly, I didn’t know this tux even had inside pockets.’
‘It certainly does.’ The detective’s gloved hand emerged holding a black remote small enough and thin enough to easily palm. Or conceal. ‘Recognise this?’
‘What the fuck?’ Oliver’s voice pitched to a near-shout. ‘What is that?’
Hannah’s heart stuttered. A sleek black remote in a club that eschewed devices. But one thing in the Lenox Club appeared to be modern; she’d noticed it hours ago. The lighting system.
‘Edward?’ Detective Wellesley glanced around the lounge, one hand in the air, beckoning.
Somehow, the killer had switched off all the lights in the club at once, pitching them into darkness, then brought the lights up as Madison collapsed in the hall. If this remote was what she thought it was, it wasn’t circumstantial. This was hard evidence, right in Oliver’s pocket.
Edward elbowed his way through the crowd to the front. Detective Crews had sealed the remote in a second evidence bag. He held it out for Edward to see. ‘This belong to the club?’
Edward nodded. ‘It controls the lights. We keep it at the reception desk.’
The club erupted in gasps. Somewhere over to Hannah’s right, Alice St Clair slumped to the floor, and one of the waitstaff rushed to get her a glass of water.
‘What the fuuuuuck?’ Hannah heard Tyler Marsden say from the opposite end of the lounge, and she turned just in time to see Alex kick the side of the fireplace.
A bundle of greenery fell from the mantel to the floor.
Ami stood with her back to the wall, looking pale.
Just then, Elle surged forward, towards Oliver. ‘You worthless piece of shit,’ she hissed.
‘Ms Harrington,’ Detective Crews said sharply, flinging out his arm. ‘Please stand back.’
In one swift, practised movement, Detective Wellesley pulled Oliver’s arms behind his back and fastened a pair of cuffs. ‘Oliver Barrett Morgan, you are under arrest for the murders of Madison DuPont and Paul Harris.’
‘You cannot be serious.’ Oliver’s eyes were huge. He glanced around the club, frantic.
‘I’m very serious.’
He twisted in the detective’s grasp, face growing red. ‘You are out of your mind. I’ve never seen that remote before. Someone set me up.’
Hannah locked eyes with Oliver, searching for the truth there. She saw only panic.
‘I’m not a killer!’ He looked, wildly, between her and the detectives. ‘Think about it. If I killed Madison, why would I hang onto that thing all night?’