Like a fucking tool. Lovesick sappy tool.
One last image of her assaults me before I clear it away. The look of betrayal in her eyes in that basement the day before yesterday when she said, “You lied.”
I can’t reflect on that right now. Chances are there’ll be plenty of time for reflection later.
I swallow down some invisible broken glass and scrub my face before I swiftly get dressed. I put on a suit. A tie. Nineteen-hundred-dollar Italian leather shoes that Violet picked for me on our honeymoon. I can’t take the time to shower, but no way am I walking out to be arrested in sweats or even jeans. All the shit I’ve done in my life so far and I’ve got no criminal record. No way will I go down looking like the kid that grew up in the projects. Even if I smell like a distillery. Even if my eyes look like two piss-holes in the snow.
After I’m dressed I assess myself in the bathroom mirror while swishing a mouthful of mouthwash. Time to face the music. I step out and greet the two plainclothes detectives sitting at my table.
“Good morning, officers; I’m Killian Coulter.”
They both turn their heads and look at me as I approach.
“What can I do for you today?” I ask calmly.
My head is fucking pounding. And my proverbial heart, the place they say breaks when a loved one betrays you, it’s sitting in my chest, splintered into about a million shards.
“Sorry to come by unannounced, Mr. Coulter,” one of the two men hands me two business cards. I glance at them. Carlson MacDonald. Edward Scottsdale. He continues. “I’m Carlson, this is my partner Ed. We called but there wasn’t an answer and your voicemail box was full. A young woman was found dead in an alley behind a billiards in Mill Park last night. She had your business card in her pocket. No identification, no phone. We’re hoping you can identify her. Can I show you a photograph of the deceased?”
My chest seizes.
I jerk up my chin and hold onto the edge of the pink marble with my right hand. Braced.
The cop who hasn’t spoken shows me his screen.
“Amber Buckley,” I say immediately. “She used to work for me.”
The image is just her face. Eyes closed. Face pale. Lips colorless. There’s a bruise over her eyebrow and along her jawline. A scab on her cheekbone and her forehead.
“Used to?” The cop holding the phone asks.
I pull my eyes away and exhale. My heart kicks up, like it’s rebooting.
“She was fired for stealing from the till at my club Genesis a couple months ago. Was it homicide or an overdose?”
“We’re not certain yet. She’s got a drug problem?”
I nod. “It was suspected she had a drug problem, so I offered to send her to rehab. One of my managers visited her mother recently with one last offer of help. Her boyfriend is a known drug dealer and he caused some trouble at my clubs recently, in fact, so the offer was to help her with her problem and encourage her to stop the vendetta she had against me for firing her.”
“Can we get her contact details from your personnel files? Ask some questions?”
“Absolutely. Patricia, is there-”
“Coffee right here,” Patricia says, passing me a cup.
“Can you gentleman excuse me for a quick moment? I have an appointment I’ll have to delay. I’ll just slip into my office and make a quick call. And I’ll get Amber’s details from one of my staff.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Coulter.”
When I’m behind closed doors, I empty my lungs and give myself a minute to feel all I’ve been masking the past few minutes.
That it wasn’t Violet found dead somewhere.
That this wasn’t Violet reporting me to the cops.
Of course I knew last night it was a possibility she’d feel the need to do the law-abiding thing. Report a crime. But never in a million years did I let myself think she’d actually call them.
Clearly. Or I’d have taken precautions. I think. I don’t even fucking know. But with Patricia’s knock on the door this morning? Fuck. For a minute there…
I lift my phone and tap to find Violet’s location. She’s at her office. I login to the camera feed and see the back of her head. She’s in her cubicle, a phone to her ear, cradled between her ear and shoulder with both her hands on her keyboard. Her bitchy boss stands behind her with her arms folded, waiting for Violet to get off the phone, I’d guess. I close out of that app and look in on Iadanza. He’s asleep in his cell.
I clear the logs out, log out of the apps and delete them for now as a precaution, run my smartphone cleaning software, and then I make a phone call to Alana and tell her to brace, that Amber has been found dead and to head to Genesis early, ready to turn over whatever evidence they want. She says she’ll head there now and get Amber’s emergency contact information.