A Beautiful Corpse. Christi Daugherty

waited as they settled into place across from her. In the harsh fluorescent light, Harper could see the long night was showing on her as well. There were shadows under her eyes, and the humidity had left a sheen on her skin.

      ‘This won’t take long,’ she said, pulling a notebook and a ballpoint from her bag. ‘I’d like you each to tell me in your own words about tonight. Your impressions of the victim.’

      Harper knew she wouldn’t have much to say. All she knew was that three hours ago, Naomi had been alive – small and absorbed in her work, her heart-shaped face serious as she scrubbed The Library’s bar with a towel, her motions fast and angry. She’d barely looked at Harper when she sat down, and Harper hadn’t paid any attention to her. She was focused on her own problems. And on the margarita on the rocks Bonnie was setting in front of her.

      Daltrey motioned at Bonnie. ‘You first, Miss Larson. I understand you knew her best.’

      Bonnie glanced uncertainly at her.

      ‘I don’t know what to say …’

      ‘Anything you noticed could be helpful,’ Daltrey coaxed. ‘Start with the basics. How did she seem tonight? Happy? Unhappy? Frightened? Or did anything strange happen on her shift?’

      Knotting her fingers on the tabletop, Bonnie thought it over.

      ‘Well,’ she said cautiously, ‘she seemed fine most of the night. Like, normal.’

      Daltrey cocked her head.

      ‘You said “Most of the night”. What did you mean by that?’

      ‘She got a call on her cell just before one o’clock,’ Bonnie explained. ‘After that she seemed … I don’t know. Anxious, maybe? Upset. She asked if she could go early. We weren’t busy, so I told her she could. She cleaned her station and headed out right after Harper arrived.’

      Daltrey made quick notes. ‘She didn’t say why?’

      Bonnie shook her head. ‘I assumed it was something to do with her boyfriend or her dad.’ She paused before explaining, ‘She and her dad are really close. Sometimes he picks her up after work.’

      Daltrey’s eyes sharpened. ‘Do you know her father’s name?’

      ‘Jerrod Scott.’

      ‘He pick her up tonight?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Bonnie admitted. ‘I was working the bar alone by then. If he did, he didn’t come inside.’

      ‘But you say she seemed anxious,’ Daltrey said. ‘What made you think that?’

      Bonnie paused.

      ‘Earlier in the night she’d been joking about things, kind of chilled. But after that call … It’s hard to explain. She seemed tense. Distracted. Like she’d gotten bad news.’

      Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. ‘If I’d known she was in trouble, I’d have done something. Tried to help.’

      Daltrey made notes while Bonnie pulled herself together.

      She had a good technique, Harper thought, approvingly. Brisk but not unfeeling.

      When Bonnie had recovered, the detective resumed the interview.

      ‘I’m sorry to ask so many questions. I know it’s been a long night. But I am grateful for your help, Miss Larson.’

      Bonnie gave a tremulous nod.

      ‘Now …’ The detective referred to her notes. ‘You mentioned a boyfriend. Did you see him tonight?’

      Bonnie shook her head. ‘I don’t think he was at the bar. If he came to get her, he’d usually come in for a drink and wait for her to finish.’ She paused. ‘I think they’ve been taking a break lately, anyway.’

      Harper noticed the interest flare in Daltrey’s eyes.

      ‘What’s the boyfriend’s name?’

      ‘Wilson,’ Bonnie said. ‘Wilson Shepherd.’

      She offered it willingly, thinking she was helping. Harper had a feeling she wouldn’t have been so eager if she knew why the detective wanted it.

      Daltrey made her spell it. When she’d finished, she said, ‘Remind me again – what time did Naomi leave last night?’

      ‘Just after one,’ Bonnie said. ‘I’m not sure of the exact time …’

      ‘I can answer that,’ Harper cut in.

      Daltrey shot her a steely glance.

      ‘Oh yes?’ she said. ‘And why is that?’

      ‘I happened to look at the clock above the bar when she walked out,’ Harper said. ‘I noticed it was one thirty, and I thought that was early for her to go. It isn’t normal for Bonnie to be left alone to close up.’

      ‘There are always supposed to be two workers in the bar,’ Bonnie explained, before Daltrey could ask. ‘For security. But since Harper was there, I figured it was fine.’

      After noting this down, Daltrey said, ‘If you’re right, she left the bar on College Row at one thirty, and was shot to death thirty minutes later on River Street. Do either of you have any idea what she might have been doing down there?’

      Her eyes welling, Bonnie shook her head, mutely.

      ‘No idea,’ Harper said.

      ‘Meeting the boyfriend?’ Daltrey suggested.

      ‘Her boyfriend lives in Garden City.’ Bonnie wiped a tear away with the side of her hand. ‘Naomi lives on 32nd Street. Those are both miles from downtown.’

      Daltrey’s phone buzzed. She picked it up to look at the screen.

      ‘All right. That’s it for now, ladies.’ Pushing back her chair, she stood abruptly. ‘Leave your numbers with Dwayne, he’ll give you mine. Let me know if you think of anything you haven’t mentioned tonight. I’ll be in touch if I have more questions.’

      She directed them toward the lobby. Dazed, Bonnie headed down the hall, but Harper hung back with Daltrey, who was turning out the lights in the interview room.

      ‘Was Naomi robbed? If she wasn’t, what happened to her phone? We know she had it before she left the bar.’

      Daltrey fixed her with a cool look. ‘I don’t know why you’re still talking, McClain. I don’t give tips to turncoats.’

      Harper flinched.

      No matter how many times it happened, she never got used to it. The detectives who’d invited her to their parties, drunk beer with her, showed her pictures of their kids, now treated her like a criminal.

      ‘I’m only trying to help,’ she said, stiffly, and left the room.

      She didn’t wait to hear Daltrey’s response. It was always the same with all of them these days.

       Traitor.

       Chapter Three

      Five hours later, Harper walked into the newspaper’s offices, clutching a large black coffee and blinking in the sunlight flooding through the tall windows.

      After leaving the police station, she’d grabbed a few hours’ rest in Bonnie’s insanely pink spare room. She’d crept out early to go home for a shower and change of clothes before heading to work, and she felt like she hadn’t slept at all.

      The newsroom was busy and loud, with twelve writers and editors all typing and talking at once.

      With its rabbit warren of corridors and narrow staircases, the sprawling, century-old building was designed to be a boarding house rather than a newspaper but,