A woman joins them at the door, slipping an arm around Stafford. “Who is it, babe?” Ashleigh Stafford is one of those celebrities famous for being famous, segueing from one reality TV show to another until no one is quite sure how she started. Although she looks a little flushed, there’s nothing to indicate Ashleigh was screaming her head off a minute earlier. She leans a head on her husband’s shoulder. She’s several inches taller than Bobby, and the stance looks awkward.
“It’s the police,” Stafford says.
Ashleigh’s eyes widen. “Have you found Rhys?”
“Do you mind if I come in?”
The Staffords’ lodge is identical to the Lloyds’. Same kitchen, same layout, same furniture. Same view. Leo finds himself walking toward the sliding doors, drawn to the vast expanse of water. Did Lloyd go into the lake willingly, or was he forced in? Did he thrash in the water, shouting for help? The trees on the opposite shore are reflected upside down, blurring the line between lake and land. Leo imagines Lloyd slipping from one to the other, fighting to surface, each breath more frantic than the last.
“Coffee?” Bobby Stafford says. The vast, gleaming coffee machine would be more at home in a Starbucks.
“Thanks, but I won’t keep you. A body was retrieved from the lake earlier this morning.”
It’s evident from the Staffords’ expressions that this isn’t news.
“A formal identification hasn’t yet taken place, but we believe it to be Rhys Lloyd.”
Ashleigh’s hands fly to her face. “Oh my God.”
“Fucking hell,” Bobby adds.
It seems thisisnews. Although Leo reminds himself that Bobby is an actor and Ashleigh is… WhatisAshleigh? Aninfluencer, Wikipedia says, which is still performing for the cameras, isn’t it?
“When did you last see Rhys?” Leo asks.
“He was proper hammered last night.” Ashleigh takes the coffee Bobby hands her, cradling it in two hands. “I saw him chucking up in the bushes.”
“What time was that?”
“Ten? Eleven?” Ashleigh says with little conviction.
Leo looks at Bobby, but the former boxer shrugs. “Don’t ask me, mate. I didn’t see him.”
“At all?”
“There were a lot of people partying last night. I was talking. Drinking. Having a good time.”
Leo catches a note of defensiveness in Bobby Stafford’s tone and the briefest glimpse of resentment in the glance his wife shoots him. He remembers the argument he interrupted. “Were the two of you together at the party?”
“No,” Bobby says, just as Ashleigh says, “Yes.” Leo waits. “Bit of both,” Bobby adds.
There’s something going on here that Leo can’t work out. “How did Rhys get on with the other residents of The Shore?”
“All right, I guess.” Again, that guarded reaction from Bobby.
“You didn’t like him, did you, babe?” Ashleigh’s looking away, but Leo catches a flicker at the corners of her lips. Bobby shoots his wife a look.
“Is that right, Mr. Stafford?”
Bobby holds Leo’s gaze. “I didn’t have much to do with him.”
“But you didn’t like him?”
“For fuck’s sake! Does it matter?”
Leo waits long enough for Stafford to feel uncomfortable. “A man is dead, Mr. Stafford. Possibly murdered. I think establishing who disliked him is quite important, don’t you?”
“Murdered?” Ashleigh breathes out, her eyes wide in apparent shock, and Leo mentally kicks himself. The official stance on any dead body until a forensic pathologist confirms otherwise isunexplained. Leo will be in deep shit with Crouch if Ashleigh Stafford starts gossiping.