“Unless you like playing Russian roulette by mixing alcohol with sedatives, yes. Bad enough you drank with your prescription.”
Drugged. “Fuck. Oops, sorry, Officer.”
“Detective.”
“Sorry, Detective.”
“Under the circumstances, I believe ‘fuck’ is appropriate.” The guy never cracked a smile, but his stiff manner softened. “Tell me, do you recall anyone near your drink at any time?”
“The guy who gave it to me. He tried to talk me up, but was too friendly, like, creepy-stalker friendly. I figured he was safe enough—he couldn’t have gotten past security without an invitation.” At least, not to Henri’s knowledge. Of course, a pretty face and a smile went a long way in winning favors.
“Can you describe him?”
“Not really. About my height and weight, dark hair, which describes about half the guys there. Oh, I believe he said he’d come from New Jersey.”
“We found concealed cameras in your hotel room, and rope and duct tape in the closet. Housekeeping insists they weren’t there the last time you were in your room, as they cleaned shortly after you left for your concert. Feel free to say ‘fuck’ again. It appears you were set up. Do you have any idea who’d do such a thing?”
Holy shit! Really?Really? Straining his brain didn’t help to bring a face into focus. Some of Henri’s band members might have a grudge, but why shoot the cash cow? “I have no idea. Could have been anybody. I’m in a pretty cutthroat business.” Shit. Another problem and another reason to watch his back. “Not to mention how damned obsessed with viral videos people are these days.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. No telling what the guy intended.
“You’re safe enough here, but I’d recommend additional security before you go back out in the world.”
Yeah. Made sense. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“I can’t get papers in here and they censor my magazines”—Henri added air quotes—“for my own good.What happened to the cop I kissed?” Not one of his finer moments, for sure.
A slight upturn of lips might have been all the smile the detective could manage. “He caught hell at the precinct, took a few days off, and has been getting requests from your fans to sign their ‘I kissed Henri Lafontaine’ T-shirts.”
Henri slapped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. To be honest, it gave us something to talk about besides homicides, domestic violence, and budget cuts.”
“Go easy on the guy, will ya? I feel bad enough already.” Henri peeked out from between his splayed fingers.
The detective winked. “At the station, if we’re not picking on you, it’s because we don’t like you. Officer Reyes is none the worse for the wear, I can assure you.”
“Oh crap. He has a name!” Henri slapped both hands over his face. “Next, you’re gonna tell me he has a wife and two kids.”
“No, he’s single. But I’m told his fourteen-year-old sister is jealous. He won major cool-brother points for meeting her idol.”
Henri dropped his hands in time to witness Shepard’s eyes crinkling at the corners. “Tell him I’m sorry.”
Any humor left the man’s face. “Mr. Lafontaine, you’re the victim of assault. It may not have gone as far as the perpetrator intended, but you were violated. We don’t blame victims for acting out of character. Stress does funny things to people. Now, if you recall anything else helpful, please give us a call. We’ve spoken to a few people at the party and questioned the hotel staff, but no one had anything else to add.”
“Did you talk to my manager?” Margo had spoken to the guy. Would her fear of gay rumors keep her from cooperating?
“Yes. She gave the same description you did.”
“Did you tell her why you wanted to know?”
“Until we know otherwise, everyone in the club could be a suspect. She simply knows we wanted to question anyone you’d come into contact with that night.”
“What about video? There were cameras everywhere.”
“A security camera showed someone entering your room while you were out, but a hooded sweatshirt hid their face. The party guest list didn’t turn up anything suspicious. And it seems the video at the party had been turned off to preserve your privacy.”
What the hell? Oh. So no one could see who he left with. That had to be Margo’s idea. Fuck. “What should I do now?” Bad enough his band hated him. At least he knew where those guys lived. But a total stranger? He could be anywhere.
“Now we continue our investigation. In the meantime, be careful what you say to the press.”
“Can I tell them what happened?”
“Yes, but leave out details and descriptions until we have the suspect in custody.”
Margo. She’d stood toe to toe with a crazed fan, had talked to him, even. If she believed him to be an intended hookup, though, she might not have been forthcoming. And no video? Really? Without consulting him? Sometime soon, if Henri ever talked to her again, they’d have a long heart-to-heart about priorities.
Now, he didn’t have a family, he didn’t have a band, and hedidhave someone out to get him. And recreational drugs were no longer an option—unless he wanted to burn out young and join the 27 Club. Great, just great. Walking a tightrope without a net. Hey, that might be a good song title, if he lived to write the words.
