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“Son of a bitch,” Mick whispered under his breath, realizing the implications of what had just happened.
James had accused Logan. Logan had accused James. Frank had accused Logan. And none of the three had claimed responsibility as the killer.
And he suddenly knew the outcome.
“The final accusation,” announced Charmagne with his well-known melodramatic flair.
The final interview began. Diego Martinez looked at the camera. Perfectly calm, he began to explain in minute, intricate detail every step of the killing. It was an incredible story of greed and extortion, revenge and rage. The plot all tied together so perfectly, so delightfully that Mick felt as if he’d just read a brilliant mystery novel. Maybe one as good as his own sister could have written.
At the end of his monologue, Digg looked at the screen. Smiled. And delivered the death blow.
“The Derryville Demon is…me.”
Everyone in the room remained quiet, not bursting out in reaction until the last scene was shot. But the players reacted. James groaned. Eddie threw himself back in his chair. Logan chuckled a little, looking admiringly at the man who’d just beaten him out of a million bucks.
Crazy that none of them had realized the implication of whose tape would be played last. Of course, it had to be the killer’s, otherwise the suspense wouldn’t have lasted so long or been maintained at such an edge-of-the-seat level.
“Congratulations, Diego, you have successfully eliminated every one of your competitors,” Joshua Charmagne said in his smoothest, commercial talk-over voice. “You have won one million dollars simply by…killing time in a small town.”
Renauld called cut. And everyone in the room erupted.
THE CELEBRATION LASTED for several minutes. Then Daniel, Caro and Mick exchanged one long, knowing look. Caro knew the time had come. The show was over. The fictional murder case solved. Now it was time to resolve the real one.
“You have the movie?” Daniel asked Mick. Mick nodded, taking Caroline’s hand. They’d agreed before that she, as the one who knew everyone in the cast and crew, should be the one to approach their suspect.
“You have backup in the kitchen?” Mick asked Daniel, not for the first time. He hadn’t liked the idea of Caro spending a moment with a murder suspect, but even he’d agreed it was the best way.
No one wanted to accuse the killer in a room full of people—potential hostages. They needed to get him alone in another part of the house.
Taking a deep breath, Caro made her way through the crowd. She schooled herself to keep the genuine shock and disappointment from her voice as she smiled at the person she believed was responsible for the death of Hester Devane.
“Charlie?”
The old man, the friendly tech director who’d been the first to offer a smile on this production, looked up. “Caro! Congratulations!” He threw his arms around her and gave her an exuberant hug. “You did it, kid. You are really on your way. A hit under your belt and the sky’s the limit.”
Caro’s heart broke a little. God, how it hurt to think this man could be a murderer. But it made sense. More than any other possibility, this one made sense.
“Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”
Charlie nodded his gray head, taking her arm and leading her out of the packed room. “I was so glad the fireman took the loot. Logan seemed like a nice enough fellow, and Eddie was pitiful enough to obviously need it. But if that James had won it, I think I would have lost all faith in reality TV.”
Caro couldn’t prevent a tiny chuckle. There was an interesting place to put one’s faith.
“What’d you want to see me about?” Charlie asked. But as they entered the kitchen, closing the door behind them, he saw Daniel at the table and his two police officers moving to block both entrances of the room.
His face fell.
“Charlie, the chief would like to speak to you,” Caro said softly.
He nodded, suddenly looking older than his years. “Do you mind if I sit? It’s been a long couple of weeks.”
Daniel held out a chair, remaining silent, assessing the suspect. “As long as you don’t mind if I check your pockets.”
The man lifted his arms and spread his legs without demur. One of the officers—notthe one who’d thrown up on Miss Hester’s corpse—patted him down quickly and efficiently. He’d probably learned the technique by watching cop shows. Caro wasn’t one to criticize. She’d learned abunchof useful things from television.
The officer stepped away with a nod at the chief, and Daniel gestured toward the chair. “You do know you don’t have to talk to us. I’m not arresting you, but I do have a warrant to search your room and belongings.”
“I know my rights,” the old man replied, sounding more resigned than afraid. “I’m tired and just want this over with. I’m ready to tell you what happened.”
