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“What about two nights ago?” Fletch asks. “The night she died. Where were you?”
“I was at the house.” He sniffs, tapping the table with the tips of his fingers. “But I was in my wing, which comes with its own garage and entry. I have my own kitchen and bathroom, so there’s no need for me to head to the main living space unless Anna calls for me.”
“And did she call for you?” I prompt.
He shakes his head. “She did not.”
Three words. Three syllables.
Better than none.
I exhale through my nose. Hold onto my waning patience.He’s being cooperative, at least.“When was the last time you spoke to her? What was said?”
“We’d been down at the recording studio earlier that day.” He coughs to clear his throat when his voice wobbles, and for a second, I wonder if he actually cared for her; not romantically, but genuinely. When he finally looks up, his gaze is softer. Sort of. “She had a show coming up next weekend, and she wanted to debut a new single while she was live. She’d been laying it down at the studio in preparation for the launch, so that’s where we’d been. Studio days mean quiet time for me. So I brought her inside, sat in the booth for a bit and watched her do her thing, then I took a walk before going to sit in the car for a few hours.”
“You sat in your car? Just… sat?” Fletch presses. “For hours? Alone?”
“Yes.” Sitting forward in his chair, Heenan challenges my partner with a stare that has him stepping back. “I sit in my car a lot, Cop. I wait. I observe the perimeter of the building and make sure no assholes approach.” Settling back again, he tests the chair’s structural integrity as it moans. “Sometimes, when we’re in low-risk spaces and I’m confident Ms. Switzer is safe, I’ll read while I wait. I was doing so that day. So she was doing her thing, and I was doing mine. She texted me when she was done, and I put my book away and headed inside.”
“Was she acting any different from normal?” I ask. “Nervous? Excited, sad, distant, mad? Did anything seem off?”
He only glances toward the one-way mirror at my back. “She was excited to drop her song. And nervous, because her contract kinda says she can’t do that.”
My brow shoots high in curiosity.
“The folks down at Garret Music have her on a tight leash,” he explains. “She was a cash cow, and they didn’t want to miss out on a single cent. Her publicist was especially strict with the off-script stuff, because if she didn’t have a finger in every pie, she would miss out on her payday. Gina is a fuckin bulldog with that stuff.”
“Gina Waters?” Fletch checks his notes. “Ms. Switzer’s publicist, right?”
“Yes.”Single word. Single syllable.“She’s a tyrant and a bitch, but she’s good at her job. So people happily tolerate the nasty shit, and wipe their tears with Benjamins.”
“What would’ve happened if Gina and the folks down at Garret Music found out Anna was preparing to serve a pie they wouldn’t make money on?”
He scoffs. “Garret would’ve been fine. Everything Anna ever did was still money in their pocket. She can shit in a jar and sell it online, and Garret would still get a cut.”
“What about Gina?”
He goes back to flicking his fingers. “Gina likes order and strict schedules. She controls the world with her planner. It’s how she manages not only Anna, but a few other performers like her. If it’s in her little black book, she makes money on it.”
“And the secret song wasn’t in the planner,” I conclude. “Who else does Gina manage?”
Uninterested, he shrugs. “That chick Tina Mercer. The group Second Act. She’s got a couple pro ball players on her roster, too, and that other singer, Lila Royale.”
I tilt my head. “Lila and Anna shared a publicist?”
“Hell,” he snorts. “They shared all sorts of things. Record label. Studio time. Parties and headlines.” Then he grins. “Men.”
My phone trills in my pocket, stunning me out of my hyperfocus on Michel Heenan’s still deadly stare, contradictory to his gentle love for the woman he once worked for.
No, he wasn’t romantically interested in her. If anything, he supported her in her conquests.
I recognize the ringtone that blasts from my pocket, as does Fletch, so I fish the device out, but before I slide my thumb across Minka’s name to answer her call, I meet Heenan’s eyes and raise a finger. “Excuse me for a second. I have to take this.”
MINKA
“Detective.” I stand in my autopsy room once again, resting my hip against the stainless-steel countertop that overlooks Copeland City.
Aubree runs a black-light wand over Anna’s body in silent contemplation, so I bring my focus to Archer Malone.
