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“You said that, the day you took off for Tulsa, you had been at work when someone called you with the bad news about Vance and Anna’s continuing affair.”
I wait for her to nod, to confirm she’s following along. When she does, I ask, “Who called you? Who told you what they’d been up to?”
She hiccups and presses her tissues to her lips once more. “Gina did. Vance’s publicist. She’s always the one who tells me.”
“Always?” Fletch comes to a stop on my left and raises a brow. “She took it upon herself to be the messenger?”
Misty nibbles on her thumbnail and nods. “She works with him,” she rasps, her voice quivering. “She said she sees him most days of the week, and always in these compromising situations. Like, with the models and publicity stuff. She said she cares about my marriage, so she’ll always be honest with me about what he’s doing.”
“Thanks.” I pull away and slam the door, then I start toward the next interview room. “Like a white fuckin knight,” I growl. “The hero Misty never needed. Gina slept with Perry, while snitching on him whenever he was with Anna. She set Misty up and knew each time she did, Misty would get in her car and head out of town.”
“Nasty bitch.” Fletch places his hand on the doorknob. But before opening the door, he murmurs, “You knew it was Gina all along?”
“Since this morning. She was on the newsnotmaking a statement about Anna’s ‘murder’.”
His brows pull tight. “So…?”
“We hadn’t yet announced to the public that Anna was murdered. So the only way Gina could know…”
“Was if she did it,” he exhales. “Fuck me.”
He opens the door and strides in ahead of me. “Ms. Waters.” He sits down opposite her and smiles the smile of the devil himself, ready to take her away. “Thanks for coming down to speak with us.”
MINKA
Anna Switzer’s body was released from my facility the moment the detectives made an arrest. Charges were laid against Gina Waters, publicist to the stars, and though I wasn’t there for it, word going around is that Archer called the mayor and gave him his five minutes alone with Gina.
There were no cameras. No recording devices. Windows were shut, and the door was locked. Everyone inside the station knewwhowas in the building, and which room he was in, but whispers around my office and home are that no one is asking questions, and no one is saying a damn thing about those unaccounted-for five minutes.
They’re to live on only in the memory of Justin Lawrence and Gina Waters.
Gina is already behind bars and awaiting her court date, no longer in designer clothes, without her fancy manicures, and missing her suitcase-sized handbags. She’s without Vance Perry, the man she swore she was protecting, the basketball team she loved representing and setting up in compromising situations, and with none of the money and prestige she’s accustomed to holding. Instead, she dons prison orange, and stresses her days away.
It brings me a small slice of happiness to know Gina cries each night, terrified about retribution behind bars. For the things she did to Anna, the friendship she faked, the kindness she pretended, and the pills she force-fed a girl who couldn’t fight back.
Anna, the sweet lost girl who needed better friends.
Reports circulate through the prison, then filter out to the station and bring us all a thrill to know our killer is scared.
Something about the mayor knowing people on the inside, and how she will regret her choices and greed.
Though of course, Lawrence is yet to confirm such gossip, and no one has the balls to demand much more than he’s already volunteered.
This is one of those things that’ll move into the futureunsaid. It’s best that way.
Now I stand on a lush, green lawn, my eyes covered in sunglasses, and sweat beading along my spine. I wear all black. A dress that goes to my knees. A blazer to cover my shoulders. And low heels, to finish out my outfit.
Janine Lawrence cries gracefully into her tissues, and the mayor stands beside her, firm and unmoving. But he holds her hand. He comforts her the best way he knows how, as Anna’s body is lowered into the ground, and bagpipes play from across the cemetery.
Hundreds, perhaps many thousands, of people have come out today to bid farewell to their beloved pop princess, but police barricades keep all but twenty or thirty of us back.
Anna Switzer was loved. She was pure and kind and always smiling, even when she hurt on the inside.
She was sold too often, and bartered just as frequently. Her body was an asset to be traded, and her persona, another to profit from. There isn’t a single person, except a bitter and mean wannabe reality star, who has anything negative to say about Anna… and his opinion matters less than the mud on the bottom of my shoes.
“Earth to earth,” intones the priest leading Anna’s service, while theclick-click-clickof the casket-lowering device echoes throughout an otherwise silent crowd. “Ashes to ashes.” Birds fly overhead, and a trio of little blue butterflies flitter through the air. “Dust to dust.”
I drop my head, alongside thousands of others, and recite, “Amen.”
