Page 29 of The Perfect People

“Yeah,” he said, sounding miserable, “but can I do it inside? I’m cold.”

“You think you’re cold?” Jessie shot back. “At least you’re dressed for the beach. I just got drenched in clothes I’d wear to the supermarket.”

As they spoke, a lifeguard SUV pulled up next to them. The driver, shirtless and muscular, leaned out the window.

“Need a ride, ladies?” he asked. “Officer Timms here tells me I’m to chauffeur you and your guest to the police station.”

Timms, who was sitting in the passenger seat, grinned at them.

“I’d offer you a hand but it looks like you’ve got everything under control here,” he said.

“Maybe you could offer us some towels,” Jessie suggested.

“Sure thing,” he said, hopping out and popping the rear door.

While he did that, Jessie turned her attention back to Killian. Looking at him up close, now removed from the adrenalized situation earlier, she got the distinct sense that this wasn’t the kind of guy who had returned to the scene of the crime to admire his handiwork. He had an eager, puppy dog energy that didn’t usually match up with killers. But she needed to operate from more than just instinct.

“Why did you run, Trey?”

“I guess I just panicked a little bit,” he replied unconvincingly.

“That’s not going to fly,” she told him as Timms handed her a towel. “You werewaytoo interested in that crime scene. Either you know something, or you did something. Does Detective Valentine here need to read you your rights or are you going to answer our questions in a forthright manner?”

Timms threw a towel over Killian’s shoulders. That, along with the threat of a potential arrest, seemed to tip the scales for him.

“The latter, ma’am,” he told her.

“All right,” she said, “let’s get you warm, and you can start talking. Why were you at the house?”

“I was just curious to see what progress had been made,” he answered as he slid into the middle of the back seat, with Jessie on one side of him and Susannah on the other. “I was at the party last night when Shasta got choked. I wondered if she was killed by the same guy.”

“You saw her get choked?” Susannah repeated, saying aloud what Jessie was thinking.

This was the first time that anyone other than Mary Mary, whose credibility as an eyewitness was dubious at best, had claimed to actually see the attack on Shasta. It meant that pursuing that angle wasn’t a total waste of time, even if Richie Boy had turned out to be a dead end.

“Yeah,” Killian said, “I didn’t just see it, I helped stop it. It was really weird. This fat guy with a long beard who was wearing a top hat and white tuxedo was on the dance floor with Shasta and he was just choking her out. It took a few seconds to realize what was going on. But eventually a group of us started pulling him off her. Even then, he tried to go after her again. This big, strapping blond dude had to punch him in the chest a few times before he went down. After that, the guy kind of scurried off through the crowd and got away. I saw him run off down the Strand.”

“And no one called the police?” Jessie asked as their SUV careened bumpily along the beach.

“Shasta insisted that we not,” Killian said. “She said that they would just shut down the party. She didn’t want that because she had clients coming. She kept saying she was fine, so no one called. I didn’t think anything of it until today, when I heard she’d died. Even then, I thought maybe she OD’d or fell down the stairs or something. But then someone told me that she was choked to death. When I heard that, it was just too freaky. So I came over. I was even thinking of volunteering what I saw. But then I saw you guys and got cold feet. Sorry about that.”

Jessie looked over at Susannah and could tell from her partner’s expression that they were drawing the same conclusion: Trey Killian was going to end up being useful, but almost certainly as a witness and not a suspect.

“Why were you at the party in the first place?” Susannah asked, making sure not to let their shared assumptions prevent her from doing her due diligence.

“I’m a session guitarist,” Killian explained as the SUV finally left the sand and returned to solid pavement, “and a buddy of mine got an invite—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Officer Timms said from the front seat, “but I’m getting a report over the radio of someone—an older male—claiming to have killed Shasta Mallory. He was spotted holding some kind of weapon in the alleyway just outside Hercule’s Bar a minute ago. You want to make a pit stop over there? It’s literally a thirty-second drive from here.”

“Let’s do it,” Susannah said before turning to Jessie. “I assume you’re cool with that.”

“I am,” Jessie told her. “You want to uncuff our Southern fried buddy here?”

“Good point, I might need them,” Susannah agreed before fixing Killian with a hard stare. “Do you promise not to run back to Nashville if I do that?”

“Yes ma’am, but I’m actually originally from Lake Charles, Louisiana, just for the record,” he told her. “I know that’s not the point, but I’m trying to be completely forthright.”

“We appreciate that,” Jessie said as her partner uncuffed him. “Just stay in the vehicle. “We’ll want you to see if this guy in the alley matches the man you saw last night, okay?”

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