This Dark Place: A Detective Kelly Moore Novel

by Claire Kittridge

  “Is it true that you and Priscilla were lovers?” The photographer’s bright flash went off as Avery’s face scrunched up in a look of pure disgust. “Roane, too?” Brickmat carried on unconcerned. “Did you and Roane conspire to kill Priscilla together? It was a love triangle, wasn’t it?”

  “Roane is dead!” Avery snapped at him.

  “True. And that leaves only you.”

  Brickmat was circling like a vulture, deftly avoiding Blevins as the two constables shuffled the girl through a set of opaque glass doors behind the desk.

  “Detective Moore.” Brickmat turned to Kelly with a smirk. It infuriated her that his voice held a warm tone that seemed to hold genuine friendliness.

  The photographer crouched in front of her, snapping a photo.

  “Get this jackass out of my face before I make him eat that camera,” Kelly shouted at Brickmat as she covered the lens with her hand and pushed it aside.

  The photographer held the camera away from his body and snapped away as the internal door opened behind them.

  Heels clicking on the hard floor, Superintendent Frame entered the lobby. She now wore a camel-colored overcoat and carried a large transparent umbrella.

  “Nigel,” Frame said calmly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Superintendent Frame,” Brickmat responded. “Looking dishy as ever.”

  “Cut it out,” Frame said, but Kelly could see her face had softened, the tone of her voice the slightest bit playful. Kelly could not deny Brickmat had charm, but the fact that it worked on Superintendent Frame, if even a little, was baffling.

  “Avery Moss has been taken into custody,” Brickmat said.

  Superintendent Frame crossed her arms. “You saw her come in, Nigel. I am not ready to give an official statement.”

  “Got it,” Brickmat said. “Can you tell me what the next steps will be?”

  “You know what happens next.”

  “Is there any evidence other than her fingerprints on the gun?” Brickmat persevered.

  “I cannot discuss what we have on Avery Moss at this point,” Frame said. “We have enough to bring her in, and that should be enough for you.”

  “You’ll be holding a press briefing soon?”

  “Perhaps,” Frame replied. “Nigel, I can assure you, you will be the first to know.”

  Brickmat nodded slightly.

  Kelly watched their interaction in disbelief. In other circumstances, she’d think they were sleeping together—or had in the past. Not impossible. Frame could certainly fit into the sexy cougar category. Kelly felt her stomach tighten and turn.

  Suddenly she was aware that Dunne was standing at her elbow.

  “Detective Moore,” he said. Kelly had told him to call her by her first name, and he had a few times, but he kept reverting back. “Nothing is going to happen with Avery Moss for a few hours. She’s waiting for her solicitor. Rodgers will handle the paperwork. Let’s go back to the school and see if there is anything we’ve missed.”

  Kelly stared at Brickmat and Frame. “Good idea,” she said.

  “Right, then,” he spoke in Frame’s direction. “Detective Moore and I will be back in a few hours. I’m contactable on my mobile.”

  Frame nodded.

  “I should be heading out myself,” Brickmat said. As Kelly and Dunne left the lobby, though, Brickmat was still talking to Superintendent Frame.

  “What the hell is going on with those two?” Kelly said to Dunne as they walked toward the car. “You’d think she’d want to have that guy’s head on a platter.”

  Dunne shook his head. “It’s bollocks,” he said. “Brickmat has been about as long as I can remember. I suppose she thinks it’s in her best interest to keep him close.”

  “Seems like we’ve got a leaky ship,” Kelly said as they stepped outside, heading toward an unmarked vehicle parked outside. “He must have known about Avery’s arrest before we did.”

  Kelly went over to the right side of the car without thinking. She opened the door and started to get in.

  “Damnit!”

  She jumped back out when the steering wheel banged into her hip. Dunne was smiling.

  “I guess you’d better drive.”

  23

  Twenty minutes later, they were parked outside the London School of Art and Drama. The rainstorm that had rolled in during the short ride across town had slowed to a light drizzle. Kelly sat with the door open; she lifted her face to the rain as she waited for Dunne to come around the car with the umbrella he’d opened. The air was cool and refreshing after the stuffiness of the ride.

  “Let’s go check out the theater again,” Dunne said.

  “Sure,” Kelly agreed, thinking of a sit-down with Jenny Hooks.

  Inside the theater, the house lights were on and the curtains were pulled back so that streaks of hazy daylight filtered across the aisles. Dust motes danced in the air and Kelly could see large areas of sky blue paint peeling off the ceiling. The grandly decaying room was quiet. They walked down the center aisle and climbed the steps onto the stage. Kelly looked out to the rows of worn, empty seats.

  Dunne walked around the curtain to look backstage. The wings were empty, but Kelly could hear something. There was a door at stage right, from where Jenny and Quinn had emerged the last time they’d visited. Kelly knocked once and pushed open the door. The room was small, walls covered in shelves crammed with every object imaginable: coffee mugs and silk houseplants, a jumble of hats, boxes labeled “Outdoors” and “Scarves.” At the back of the prop room, she saw a very real-looking stuffed bobcat gazing down at her from its perch on high, seemingly ready to pounce. Beneath it, a closed door announced, “Staff Only, Keep Out.”

  “Hello, again.”

  As soon as Kelly heard the voice, she instinctively reached for her hip—and yet again remembered her service pistol was thousands of miles away.

  Quinn Shaw, the theater’s prop master, was dressed identically to the way he’d been the other day: black jeans, a cut-off T-shirt, and a black leather belt with metal studs. His closely cropped blond hair crowned the uneven features of his face. His arms were pale and long. In his strong-looking hands were several pairs of eyeglasses and a long silver stiletto.

  He looked down at the blade. “Dulled,” he said. He ran his finger along its length. “No harm done.” His tone was dry and his accent was different from the Londoners Kelly had encountered before. His face was friendly, with a charming quality, but something about him disturbed Kelly that she couldn’t quite name.

  Dunne came up behind Kelly in the doorway. “Have a minute to chat, Quinn?” he asked. “Maybe you can help us sort out a few things.”

  Quinn nodded. He put the glasses on a shelf and slid the stiletto into a thin jeweled scabbard hanging on the wall. “There are a few chairs out in the wings,” he said. “We can sit there.”

  Kelly and Dunne followed the prop master out of the room to where two folding chairs were set up near the bank of light switches. Quinn dragged an overstuffed armchair over from center stage and sat down across from Kelly and Dunne.

  “You knew both Priscilla Ames and Roane Davies,” Dunne said.

  “I knew Priscilla some, wouldn’t say we were close pals. She didn’t pay much attention to me. And, sure, I know Roane. Kinda stuck up, not really my type. But we get on reasonably well. Everyone around here knows each other. Putting on a show’s a group thing, y’know?”

  “Quinn.” Dunne paused. “I’m sorry to inform you that Roane was killed early this morning.”

  Quinn’s expression transformed from a closed, focused look to one of wide open shock. “Jesus.”

  He sank all the way back in the padded chair. “What happened?”

  “That’s what we’re looking into,” Kelly offered. “His body was found in Regent’s Canal. He had been beaten badly and thrown into the water.”

  They waited while the kid absorbed the news.

  “We know that it’s a shock,” Dunne continued, “but we
’d like to ask you about some of the relationships among the students. Help us make connections that might not be obvious to outsiders.”

  “Right. Uh, of course,” Quinn said, still obviously stunned.

  “How would you describe Priscilla Ames?” Dunne asked.

  Quinn smiled weakly. “She started off sweet, super outgoing. A little bit spoiled—to the point of being haughty sometimes, but always looking for some fun. Dressed up even for lectures. Not much of an actor, but it didn’t seem like she really wanted to make it. She had obviously had training though.”

  “You say she started off sweet. Did she change?”

  “Yeah. I would say so. For the first few months or so you’d see her flirting around in a happy-go-lucky kind of way. Like I said, always a little aloof, at least to me, but perky. Upbeat. The last couple of months though, you could see a real change. She looked more tired, worn down, her moods were darker. I remember there was one time, I hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks. She came in looking for some props for a scene, a table and an ashtray I think. Anyway, I could tell something was up. Her hair wasn’t done the way it usually was, her pupils were tiny, and she just floated in, took what she needed, and left. Looked to me like she was on something.”

  “What about Avery?”

  “Avery? Yeah, she’s great. The real deal. Nice and down to earth. Quiet, serious about what she’s doing. Mostly keeps to herself. A little spacey sometimes, but yeah, I like her a lot.”

  Kelly focused on Quinn’s face as he talked about Avery. It looked to her like he had a bit of a crush on the girl. Kelly felt a pang of sympathy for him. She had known guys like him her whole life—funny, nice, smart—but never able to move beyond the friendship stage.

  “And Roane?”

  “Now Priscilla, I understood when she and Roane were sleeping together. It was physical and he’s, um, was, a good-looking guy. I was shocked when Avery started seeing him, though. I didn’t understand what Avery saw in him, honestly. I shouldn’t say that now that he’s gone, but the guy was, I don’t know…”

  “A shmuck, we’d say in New York,” Kelly said.

  Quinn laughed. Dunne shot Kelly a look.

  “Sorry,” Kelly said. “But, you know what I mean.”

  “Can you think of anyone here at the school who might have had a grudge against Priscilla or Roane?” Dunne asked. “Was there anyone you can think of who might have wanted to cause either of them harm?”

  Quinn shook his head. “When I heard about Priscilla, I thought, well… Maybe she’d OD’d. The way she had been looking, y’know. But the gun…” He sighed and looked down at the ground. “Or maybe it was a robbery. People knew she had money. Now with Roane, I don’t know. I can’t really imagine what that’s all about. I guess that’s your job. To figure it out.”

  “Here’s my card,” Dunne said, holding it out to the young man. “If anything, anything comes to mind, please call me. My numbers are on there.”

  “One more thing before we go,” Kelly added. “What about Jenny Hooks?” She was thinking back to their walk with Professor Donaghue. “You were talking with her in here the other day. What’s her story?”

  “Uh-huh,” Quinn said. “Jenny helps backstage once in a while. She can paint, do murals. Not so bad with a hammer, or a blade.”

  “Do you know anything about a relationship between her and Priscilla Ames?” Kelly asked.

  “Sure,” Quinn answered. “Jenny liked to brag about her conquests. She’d ‘bagged a rich girl from New York City’ with some sugar daddies taking care of her needs. Jenny’s always been taken in by glamour. She plays it cool, and tough—like she’s not interested in material things—but, underneath, she’s always got her eye on who has what and how they’ve got it.”

  “So, you think she was with Priscilla because of her money?”

  “Not exactly.” Quinn made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a snort. “That was part of it, sure, but Jenny’s more interested in pushing boundaries. When she drinks, it’s not just a nip. When she’s acting, it’s the most intense part in the script. If she goes to the movies, it’s going to be the darkest, most disturbing thing that’s out. When she finds a lover, it’s someone more beautiful, or rich, or crazy—or all three—than anyone else. You’ve met her. You could probably tell just by looking at Jenny that she likes living on the edge.”

  “She comes across as tough, alright,” Kelly said. “What about her influence on Priscilla? Were they drinking heavily, taking drugs, getting involved in any dangerous scenes?”

  “Hmmm… Hard to say. Maybe all three. With Jenny you’re never quite sure. Priscilla’s decline did start pretty much about the time she started sleeping with Jenny. Oh, and there was one other thing.” Quinn hesitated, as if he was putting the pieces of a puzzle together in his mind. “About a month ago, Jenny came in asking if I could get her a gun for a film she wanted to make.”

  Dunne and Kelly each took in a breath and waited for him to continue. When he just looked at them blankly, Dunne broke in. “A prop?”

  “That’s just it. I told her that there wasn’t anything here at the school, but she could probably find a toy gun online that would do the trick. Saw off the blaze orange bit they put on the end, so it doesn’t look fake. Illegal, I know. But if you don’t take it outside, there’d be no one the wiser. But she wasn’t having it. Said she’d written the perfect script. Everything had to be authentic.”

  “She wanted a real gun?”

  “Yes. She was adamant about getting the real thing. Said it was going to be a period noir. Early 60s style, black-and-white. Like those French films where a good-looking guy with a Roman nose stands in the road and gets shot dramatically at the end. Only the real thing would do. She wanted a Thirty-Eight Special. A classic. I told her, ‘good luck.’ For that kind of thing, she’d have to apply for a permit. They’d want to have security on set the whole time. A real pain. And as a student, they’d never approve it.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “I asked her about it, maybe a week or two later. She told me not to worry, she’d found a connection. Someone who could get her what she needed.”

  “Someone here at school?”

  “She kind of implied that she didn’t have to go too far, but she didn’t say who. And I didn’t ask.”

  “Thank you, Quinn,” Kelly said, looking directly into his eyes. “You’ve been a big help. If there’s anything else you remember, please call us.”

  Quinn glanced at Dunne, who nodded at him.

  “Okay. I will.”

  He got up, dragged the armchair back across the stage, and returned to the prop room.

  24

  Kelly stared at the video feed. In the dark frame of the monitor, the interrogation room appeared cramped and cold. The bare, concrete walls had been painted a cool blue-gray, and the only furniture was a small table with a telephone on it. There were three metal folding chairs. Most likely it had started out as a broom closet. Instead of one-way glass to the room, there was a small video camera with a light on it to indicate when the session was being recorded, which also meant it was being watched live in the observation room down the hall.

  The design was purposeful. There were no windows, no clock on the wall.

  In the room, Avery sat staring blankly ahead with bloodshot eyes, her expression drawn. Next to her sat Peter Ames. Superintendent Frame had allowed for him to be there. He was leaning toward Avery’s Armani-suited lawyer, hired by Ames, to whom he was whispering.

  “You take the lead on this one, Kelly,” Dunne said. “It might put Avery and Ames more at ease.” He gripped the case file tightly in his hand as he moved toward the door.

  “Let’s do it,” Kelly replied, following him down the hallway to the interrogation room.

  Inside, Dunne looked up at the camera and recited the names of all present for the record. He turned to Kelly.

  “Nice to see you again, Avery.” Kelly remained standing; she kept her voice calm
. Her instincts told her the girl hadn’t killed Priscilla, but that Avery was holding something important back. It would be difficult to find out what, though, with Peter Ames and his experienced corporate counsel in the room.

  Dunne sat down in the chair across from Avery. “There seems to be a glitch in your story, Avery. Your fingerprints are on the gun.”

  Kelly watched Avery’s stone-faced reaction to the accusation.

  “That is categorically untrue,” said the lawyer. He was an older man with pink skin, thinning hair, and patrician features. He opened up a file and glanced down at the report. “The forensics unit lifted a partial fingerprint from the gun that may or may not match my client’s. Your evidence is flimsy at best.”

  “Not flimsy enough to keep a judge from handing down an indictment,” Kelly snapped at him.

  Avery glanced up from under thick lashes, her eyes swollen; she watched as Dunne leaned forward in his seat. “I told you everything I know,” she stated.

  “Walk us through it once more,” Dunne said.

  “She’s already made her statements, goddamn it.” Peter Ames couldn’t conceal his disgust. “This witch hunt is not getting us any closer to finding out what happened to my daughter!”

  “Mr. Ames,” Kelly said, “with this new evidence, it’s important that we hear from Avery what she saw and did that night.”

  Ames crossed his arms and glared at Kelly, then looked at the lawyer who nodded for Avery to continue.

  Avery went over the day Priscilla died again. Every word was exactly the same as what she had said before. Alarms bells went off in Kelly’s mind.

  “And you didn’t touch anything at all?” Kelly said.

  “No.”

  “It was a partial print,” Ames growled. “And it could be from one of a million fingers with a similar pattern. All this time and the best you can come up with is that? How the hell do you people not see that this is ridiculous? Do your jobs and find out what happened to my daughter.”

  Kelly’s gaze darted to Ames. “That’s what we’re trying to do.”