Page 26 of Sinful Memory

“She more than paid the price! She gave all of herself to the world. Her youth. She grew up in front of paparazzi cameras. Her parents sold her to talent contests and beauty pageants until she hit it big. When they had her sign with Garret Music, the label basically owned her, and then her parents died, leaving their twenty-year-old daughter to navigate fame on her own. She still hasn’t proven herself worthy?”

Walter snorts. “You sound like a fan, Detective Malone. Angry you didn’t get a taste?”

My fist curls tight, and Fletch takes over the thread, diverting our suspect’s attention away from me.

“Her first sexual encounter was sold to the media, by some lowlife, piece of shit asshole who wanted his fifteen minutes in the spotlight. And later, when she gave you the time of day, you sold her to the media, too. Because you’re a C-list wannabe who knew she was too good for you. You were on a deadline until she figured out what a loser you were, so you found your moment and cashed in your chips. Isn’t that right, Mr. James?”

“I didn’t cause that car accident, Detective. I wasn’t driving. And I was as much a victim as she was.” He slides up the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal a long scar lining his elbow joint. “I have pins in my arm now because of that shit.”

“Becauseyousold her location to the media,” I snarl. “Becauseyouwanted to be seen going out with the most famous woman in the country.”

“A fat load of good that did me,” he shoots back. “Knowing her cost me my career.”

“Betrayingher lost you your career!” I shove up to stand and rest both of my fists on the table. “You stepped on her to climb the ladder of success, Walter. It might’ve worked—hell, it did work, for a second. But then the world found out what an insignificant pissant you were. They found out what you did to a good person to get ahead, and they cancelled you.”

“Everyone climbs the ladder.” He hardens his jaw and looks anywhere but into my eyes. “Doesn’t mean we all have to climb it the same way, one rung after another.”

“You tried to skip ahead,” Fletch murmurs. “You used her, you mooching bum. And when you got found out, your reputation and any chance you might have had at success were ruined.”

“You were pissed.” I pick up the ball and keep going. “You had been climbing, riding that fame you schemed so hard for.”

“Yeah, I was pissed,” he admits. “Anna advertised a fake persona to the world. That innocent, sweetheart, honey-on-her-tongue image was bullshit. But the fans lapped it up.”

“She got through the car accident more famous than ever. And you…”

“Were done,” Fletch finishes. “DOA. That’d make any dude angry. It’s completely understandable.”

“You’d figured,” I speculate, “what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. That exposure. The paparazzi were there that night because of you, an effort to link your name to Anna’s. And when it didn’t go according to plan, you lost it. That wasyourbrilliant idea, and this bitch reaps the benefits? Nah. That’s not gonna fly.”

“So you visited her two nights ago,” Fletch presses. “You fed her pills, and you sent her to sleep.”

“No.” Walter sits back and folds his arms. “I didn’t touch her.”

“Your career was over,” I seethe. “Even though you just wanted tosharethat fame—you weren’t trying to take it from her, merely bathe in it together—when the dust settled and everything was clear again, she was a superstar, and you had committed career suicide.”

“So you set her up,” Fletch inserts. “Made her death look like a suicide, too.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t happen.”

“You stuffed pills down her throat,” I snap. “Killed her, because that’s what she deserved. If your career was to end after that night, then hers should too. Admit it, Walter. Your plan was perfect. But you don’t get that infamy till you admit it.”

“No!” He shoves up from his chair so the legs scrape along the floor, and his eyes burn into mine. His hair, sweaty from nerves, flips forward to obscure his eyes. “I didn’t touch her. Did I want to? Yes I fucking did. Do I think she’s a fake cunt who makes billions on the back of a sweetheart persona that she dishes out to idiots? Sure do. Do I think it was fair that she came out on the other side of our accident richer than ever, and with a handy prescription for the good drugs? No chance.”

He boils through the strands of his hair so I catch slices of his enraged eyes. “Some people have life handed to them on a silver platter. The rest of us have to work harder to get where we want to be.”

He sits down again, calm and chillingly collected. But his chest heaves, lifting and falling in preparation for a fight. “I was on a date two nights ago. Rachel Sway is her name. We were at a restaurant called Enrique’s. We arrived a little before eight o’clock, and left at close to eleven. The place has cameras all over, and was packed for most of the night.”

He leans back, too casual, and sets his ankle on the opposite knee. “Rachel and I left the restaurant together. We went back to her place, fucked all night long, and I left the following morning, completely unaware that Anna Switzer was a dead bitch.”

He flashes a taunting grin and sneers, “You’re gonna release me now. Because you have absolutely no proof I had anything to do with her death. And you won’t find any, because I was busy shoving my cock down Rachel’s throat about the same time some other good samaritan was shoving pills down Anna’s. But when you find the guy who did it, I hope it becomes public knowledge. I’ll probably send him a gift in thanks.”

* * *

“Fuckin asshole.” Fletch storms through our war room door and tosses Walter’s file on the table so it lands with a slap. Sheets of paper slide forward, but stop short of slipping off the edge of the table and making a mess. “He’s alibied up tight, butfuck,” he growls, “I wanna plant my fist in his weaselly face just for the sake of it.”

“He’s a loser, and he’ll never be more than a wannabe piece of shit. We’re not gonna waste any more time on him.” I close the door and turn to study our whiteboard, filled with the information we’ve collected so far, and Anna’s picture sitting front and center.

Always.

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