Ashley avoided Michelle's gaze on his trek back to the car, but he felt it boring holes into him all the same. He focused on the squelching of the freshly watered lawn beneath the soles of his shoes. The interior of the '47 Chevrolet was quiet following the clang of the shutting door. Upon further inspection, he found Emerald asleep next to him, only slightly disturbed by the sudden noise. He gently reached over and brushed a stray lock of ebony hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The small action was comforting in its own way, steadying his nerves.

The sputter of the car as it rumbled to life woke her, and the next time he looked over he was met with curious, green eyes. "Everything alright, Detective?" She inquired with a delicate yawn. He briefly wondered if she practiced yawning, if only to obtain one so gentle and feminine. It was a ridiculous thought and he shook it free with a gruff grunt.

"Fine." He lied. She accepted it and cast her gaze back out the window, ruby lips pursed.






The door puttered open with a creak. “I didn’t clean,” He grumbled, though it was clear by his tone that he didn’t truly care. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

Emerald swept into the apartment with the tap of her heels slipping the gloves from her hands and giving the place a once-over. It was quaint, dusty, cluttered, and so undeniably Ashley. At least, the little bit of Ashley she knew. He hung back by the door like a haunting ghost, a silhouette backlit by the dimly illuminated hallway.

“Clean for me? Wouldn’t think of it.” She trilled with a falsely sweet tone. The humor was easy, it masked the fact that fear still clung to her spine like a spindly spider, crawling up, down and around within her. She didn’t see the body, didn’t let herself, but she almost wished she had. It would have prevented the pure cruelty of her own imagination, spinning up creative depictions of the gore that no doubt lay splayed out across her apartment.

She appreciated the offer of a place to stay, she really did, but she did not feel safe here. She wasn’t even safe in her own apartment. She wrapped her arms around herself, turning to face the detective. “The apartment of a bachelor if I ever saw one.”

He let out a ‘hmph’ of what she suspected might be agreement and finally entered, gesturing about with a sweeping arm. “Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. Make yourself at home.”

“You’re leaving?” A pit of something akin to panic settled in her stomach. She wasn’t ready to be alone.

“I’ve got to work this case, the faster I catch the killer the faster you can get your life back. You’ll be fine.” His tone was final, but unconvinced.
“If he got into my apartment he can get into this one. — What if he comes here looking for you? You’re related to the case!”

“He’s only ever killed at night, Emerald. I doubt he would be stupid enough to break into an apartment complex in the bright light of day. I’ll be back before dark.”

It was a fair point. Who would be stupid enough to commit such an open murder?

“If I take you with me, you’ll only be more involved.” He added, and she knew he was right.

“Fine, fine. Go do your detective work. I’ll wait here.”

“Thank you.” He expelled with an exasperated breath, heading back for the door.




The club was dead. There was nothing else to say about it. It was a hollow shell of what it was supposed to be. Even the lights seemed dimmer and drier than before. It didn’t take him long to locate Lovegrove, seated alone in the middle of the club.

Ashley had always thought he looked powerful, but even moreso now. It was as if the empty table were his throne, and the club his kingdom. It made him nervous, on edge as he approached the man and slid into the seat across from him. “What’d I miss, Cal?”

Vikki paced back and forth in the lobby of 1Pulse Clinic, the place was really a hole-in-the-wall, wedged between much bigger buildings like the poor step-child wedged between big-brothers in a small car. The girl twirling the white rose she had pilfered a few days prier, between her fingers like a pencil. Eventually moving toward the reception window and placing the vivid flower in the mug used for a gaggle of pens. Pulse-like beats of rain drumming down on the building, at least it drown out the incessant honking of horns and yelling between those outside going about their dreary lives.

"ow ow owow" Cried the bullet riddled sod Miss Tiffany had on a sterile table, and was working methodically to remove bullets from. The Mafioso's left shoulder, left hip and left thigh had been all been hit, he was quite a mess and lucky to have not bled-out. Which she had to tell him at least three times before he stopped his threats of bodily harm. His buddies had dumped him there and left a wad of cash as payment before taking off to whatever hole they chased the owner of said bullets into.

Vikki let out a bored sigh, and flipped on the radio, the newscaster was going on about the recent death of some-such Police Detective. The girl's eyes were drawn to the reflection of the Clinic's sign, clever how a Syringe was used for the '1' in "1Pulse Clinic".

20 more minutes of the thug's whimpering and Vikki could no longer stand to be there, she pulled on her coat and dashed out into the raining night, anywhere would be better than listening to a grown man whine.

Calvin Lovegrove

Club Carousel

“What’d I miss, Cal?”

Detective Lovegrove looked up at Ashley and murdered his cigarette, crushing its life against an ashtray. He folded his arms and leaned back. “This one is a long shot, Ash. There’s almost nothing to go on.” He stared at the stage and took a deep breath. “Fuck, this place is depressing. There’s no tits and no scotch. Only…despair.” He grunted and pursed his lips.

Cal gestured to the chair next to him and waited for Ashley to sit. He folded his legs and wiped a bit of grime off his cheek. “I am here because a serial killer in the neon jungle is bad for business. It’s bad for everyone – the department looks bad, and the characters who rely on the loopholes in the NYPD suddenly become cynical. Everything falls apart.”

After a moment, Cal frowned and tapped his fingers against the table. “I am sorry to hear about Detective Smith’s passing, but this is larger than him. You cannot take this case on an emotional joyride. If someone is truly cutting up the ladies of the Carousel, then they’re doing it deliberately. They’re trying to destroy the fabric of business that allows the underworld and the NYPD to coexist. That’s the only reason I’m here. If this was a grimy neighborhood in Brooklyn, I’d have walked away.”

Cal then offered a smile. “Well, the only way to walk is forward. Let’s assess what we have…This ‘florist’ is murdering young ladies in the neon jungle, which is about as bold as it gets. By doing so, you risk offing the darling of a crime lord or affluent businessman. It’s either a deliberate scheme or he wants to be caught. However, you can immediately eliminate the latter. Smith comes too close to the truth, and he winds up dead. It’s about as clear of track covering as I’ve ever seen.”

Cal continued. “Even though we would have come to this conclusion by proximity, the killer wants us to know that they’re connected. This is again an impasse – he is either stroking his ego or wants to create a frightening caricature to scare the masses into chaos. Perhaps both. These are not emotional killings – each murder has been silent perfection, carried out with immaculate technique. From what we have to go on, this is about as close to a motive as we can find.”

Cal looked over to the bar. “They’ll listen to you before they listen to the guy on suspension. I want you to walk up to that lovely hostess and ask to see their books. Get a list of all tenants on the nights of the two murders and let’s cross-reference them.”

“They’ll listen to you before they listen to the guy on suspension. I want you to walk up to that lovely hostess and ask to see their books. Get a list of all tenants on the nights of the two murders and let’s cross-reference them.”

Ashley eyed the woman in question, before setting a sidelong glance upon Cal. "I don't know, you were always the charmer. All that wit and that scheming smile, women love a man they know will break their hearts. Hell, you could probably wink and she'd tell you any shady business you wanted to know."

Nonetheless, Ashley stood, brushing his trousers off with a sweep of his hands and making his way towards the hostess. She was preoccupied with... something, her pencil scratching quickly across the paper before her. As he approached her eyes flickered up from the task and met his with a neutral stare.

Most women at clubs like these had a charade, a bubbly, promiscuous personality they wear for the men who passed through, but the gaze he held was genuine -- tired, but genuine. It seemed she was waiting for him to speak.

"Hello ma'am." Ashley almost winced at the cold, professional tone he had taken. Sometimes it was too easy to slip into his job. With a considerable effort to sound gentler, though it probably sounded more forced than anything, he continued. "I'm going to need to take a look at your books." He slipped his badge across the small table and it almost seemed as if she flinched upon seeing it. Her gaze hardened and she crossed her arms.

"What for?" Her voice was harsh, inelegant.

Ashley could have rolled his eyes. He refrained and sent a shifty look in Cal’s direction, a small part of him wishing the man would step in. Ashley had never been good with women. “My apologies, miss. I’m Detective Gallagher, Vice, and the information in your logs is critical for our case.”

She smirked, but complied. “You Vice boys, rolling in here like you’ve got a handle on crime. Thinkin’ you’re the first to sniff drugs in this club.” Her tone was teasing as she ducked down below her table, pulling out what appeared to be a large ledger and sliding it across to him. “Don’t let me get in your way, take a peek.”

Emerald perused the Detective’s apartment as if it were a museum. Museum Ashley. It spoke lengths about his habits, dishes stacked high in the sink, bedsheets strewn about, dust collecting in a thin sheen atop lots of general clutter. Every so often she would check the locks. Check the door, check the window. She would undo all of them just to peer out into the hallway, then do them all up once more.

She wished she was working. Her mind was quiet when she was dancing. Hell, she might even be safer in front of a crowd of people, all eyes on her. She had half a mind to march right down to the Carousel with that thought, but she stopped realizing business at this time of day and in these circumstances would be deader than the chopped up girl in her apartment.

So she sat, neatly setting herself amidst the mess of bedsheets with an ominous creak of the frame, and waited.

Calvin Lovegrove

Club Carousel

Cal stared at the bottom of his scotch. "I hope I'm alive once they figure out how to make 'em bottomless.." He downed the remainder of his demented health potion and stared over at Ashley. He couldn't let the boy do all the work. He'd let Detective Gallagher use his awkward charm to reel in the hostess, and then he'd strike. It wasn't long before she'd conjured the ledger.

After making an obsessive taste-test to make sure no drops of scotch were left in his glass, he sauntered over toward Ashley with his arms tucked into the pockets of his coat. He snatched the ledger from Detective Gallagher and held it out so they both could see, flipping to the two dates in question. February 5th and 6th, 1949. He traced his fingers down the two different days, on which hundreds of aliases had found their way onto the paper. Fuck. There was an entire city's worth of names here.

There was little to no chance that the murderer had signed in, and done so under their name, but perhaps if a strange detail had caught the eye of a repeat customer, it could at least be a thread to pull. He sighed as he exasperatedly ran his fingers down the list. He narrowed his eyes. The fuck? He found a name, which had been signed onto both evenings at the exact same time. 10:20 P.M. Danielle Raymonde. "What in the hell?" He muttered.

The hostess furrowed her brow. "You know her?"

Cal nervously quivered his lip. "Y---no. I don't know her personally," he lied. "But if that's the Dani Raymonde, then The Florist is tangling with the top of the tower. She's about as...thrilling...and rich...as starlets come." He narrowed his eyes. It was his job to veil her criminal dealings. This was nothing compared to some of the sinful depravity he'd masked for her. If Danielle had hidden that she'd been at Club Carousel on the nights of the murders from him, then this labyrinth of a case was far more complex than he'd predicted.

"This makes things far more complicated.' Cal plopped another cigarette into his mouth and lit the end. He took a deep breath and let loose a large puff of smoke. "Sounds like we're going to have to question this 'Danielle Raymonde', Detective Gallagher. I know, I know...Popping your Hollywood-leading-lady-chat cherry isn't so attractive when it's done in police procedure. But take what you can get."

"Shall we take my car?"

"Sounds like we're going to have to question this 'Danielle Raymonde', Detective Gallagher. I know, I know...Popping your Hollywood-leading-lady-chat cherry isn't so attractive when it's done in police procedure. But take what you can get."

"Shall we take my car?”

Ashley grumbled, gazing over the names in the ledger one last time before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Never heard of her, but if you insist.”

He thought on Cal’s car, and the idea of taking a spin in it was somewhat unappealing. He couldn’t hide the green under his collar at the thought of it— she was beautiful, and expensive, far more expensive than anything Ashley could afford. Nonetheless it beat taking Cal for a ride in his clunker.

Ashley agreed mutely and headed for the door, only to be interrupted by a pair of eyes from across the club. Behind one of the large curtains curiously peered two hazel hues that met his briefly before disappearing into the depths of what he assumed was backstage. “Go on ahead, wait in the car.” He called over to Cal before taking long strides to where he’d seen the woman disappear.

He ducked behind the wings of the stage, revealing a set of rooms filled with costumes, mirrors, lights, and makeup. There was no one present, save for one lone figure seated at a vanity.

Trying not to spook the young woman, Ashley cleared his throat as he approached. Even still, a small, surprised shudder ran through her. “You’re not allowed to be back here.” She whispered softly.

“Gonna’ have to speak up dear, can hardly hear you.”

She said nothing, simply leaned forward as a shaky hand applied ruby red to her lips. He figured she was a dancer there, she was pretty. Dark, exotic features with long caramel hair. Her figure was draped and concealed by a robe, but it hinted at the easily desirable curves that would win her plenty of dough in this line of work.

“Going to be straight with you here,” He began roughly, “I’m here to investigate the murder, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, there somethin’ you can tell me?”

She snapped her lipstick shut with a sudden and sharp pop before turning to look at him. She offered a soft hand. “You may call me Pizazz.”

These names. Ashley nodded nonetheless.

“Now I didn’t see anything suspicious that night, but I will tell you that my… colleague, Emerald, disappeared promptly afterwards. She didn’t show up for work today and that is incredibly uncharacteristic.”

Great. Useless.

“I will look into that, ma’am. But I wouldn’t worry too much, it seems everyones a little turned off from the club at this time.”

She made a face. “Yeah, but I know Emerald. If there’s trouble abound, she’s waist-deep in it. She acts ignorant, but nothin’ goes on in this club without her being in the know. If you’re looking for leads, she’s where you want to look.”

Ashley nodded slowly, digesting the information. “Right, thank you… Pizazz.”

He turned, steadily jogging to the entrance.

Was Emerald hiding something?

Calvin Lovegrove

Club Carousel

Calvin made his way to his convertible without Ashley, who had stayed behind with some show-broad with a deer-in-the-headlights look about her. He sighed and hopped over the driver's side door, lighting a cigarette as he landed in the almost addictingly plush seat. He had to be very careful about how he played his cards with Danielle. He looked down the sidewalk he had parked along. At the end of the block, there stood a lone payphone.

What a fucking mess. Calvin rubbed his forehead as cigarette smoke filled the interior of the car. Two different demons were gripping his arms, and he would have to choose one to elope with. On one side, bringing Ashley to Danielle's apartment unannounced would prove to be a nightmare; she was devious but there was no way she would be able to masquerade her relationship with Calvin to a detective as merciless as Gallagher. His facade would burst at the seams; all of the dirty loopholes Cal used to keep Danielle out of prison would rain into the public eye.

On the other side, if Calvin called Danielle and warned her of the impending search, she would have time to rehearse her persona and keep the ruse intact. But this would mean that she would have time to craft her own story and alibi; the truth would be long-gone by the time Gallagher made it there. It would save Calvin's skin, but it would destroy the case. She was the only thread of evidence they had. Fuck. Calvin stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut. He leaned against the car-door and tossed his cigarette on the ground, burying it with his wing-tipped shoe.

Calvin took a deep breath and hurried to the payphone. He pumped in a nickel rung Danielle's apartment. He had to live to fight another day.

"Hello?"

"It's me. Calvin."

"Ugh. I got out of bed for your sorry hide?" Calvin could hear her chuckle behind the line.

"It's a pretty picture, darling. But I've got some alarming news."

"What?"

"You were signed into the Carousel Club on the nights of both of the Florist's murders."

"Yes, but...what?! You don't think that I--"

"No. I don't. You came home long before the first murder. But that's the problem. I'm your alibi."

"Shit..."

"I'm coming to your apartment with a fuckin' gunslinger of a detective--Ashley Gallagher--and he is going to drill his procedure into your goddamn skull until your brain starts to leak through your nose. Be ready for him. Prepare a story if you have to. We're forty five minutes away. Craft an alibi if you have to. If Detective Gallagher finds out about us, he will investigate our dealings and he will find everything. He is the best they have to offer."

"Perhaps it would be better if he was out of the picture..."

"Are you fuckin' crazy, love? No. Don't dig a deeper hole. Do what you do best. Act. I've got a lot on the line, but I'm working this case, Dani. I expect the truth from you later."

"Good luck, Calvin Lovegrove," Danielle muttered, with a raspy and almost seductive tone of voice. The line fell dead. Calvin quickly hung up the phone and sprinted back to his car. Ashley had not yet arrived. He hopped into his driver's seat and waited. Fuck. He'd quite possibly sabotaged the case before it even began.

“You know the way, Cal?” Ashley ducked into the passenger seat, admiring the beautiful machine with a quick glance-over.

As they made the drive, Ashley went over what they knew. 10:20 PM, Danielle Raymond, both nights. The first murder took place later, sometime between 2-3 AM, the second one took place closer to 10:30-11 PM, Emerald found the body when she got off work, which was 11:30.

Emerald. Ashley had to put his lingering suspicions of her to bed for the moment, they would only distract him now.

“So she’s a… what’d you call her? Starlet, Hollywood Leading Lady? I’m not big on films. Tell me about the broad. I want to get as much information as possible. What do the uh…. eh… tabloids say? She got a good public presence? Any dirty laundry slip?” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And what would a woman, a rich woman anyway, be doing at the Carousel Club? If you’re not there for the girls you’re there for the crime.” He paused, “She like girls?”

It was mostly just a stream of incoherent conscience, but he supposed he had to cover all of the bases.

Calvin Lovegrove

En Route

Cal said nothing at first; he slowly stuck the key into the ignition and fired up the engine. He ran his fingers through his sweaty pompadour--dislodging a few hairs from their neat combover--and began the unholy drive to Danielle's. Goosebumps ran up his arms; her home was a place of sanctuary for him, and now he was forced to be the one to defile it. For the first few minutes, he said nothing, his eyes lingering on the scenery as if he was looking upon New York for the final time. He knew he was not, but Cal was well aware that no matter which way this case splintered, it would eviscerate him.

At the very least, it would no longer be convenient for Danielle to see him. She was a resourceful and cunning woman, but her arrangement with Calvin was predicted on the ideal that he kept the police away from her. Now here he was, bringing the most resourceful cop the precinct had seen in decades straight to her doorstep.

Finally, Cal decided to speak. "You must not be a man of cinema, Ash." He tried to lace his words with humor, but the delivery came out flat and wobbly. He couldn't even hide how distressed he had become. "...Well, most people learned of her when she was little, back on this weird fucking family values show that they aired in the 30s. Can't remember the name...Righteous Road? Terrible. But something about her drew Hitchcock's attention and she starred in The Grand Staircase as a teenager. Ever since then, she's been a household name. And she's grown up to be irresistible."

Cal bit his lip and tried to more clearly focus on the road, looking away from Ashley. "I don't have any dirt on her. From what I understand, she's a mysterious character, but as far as the NYPD can tell, she's clean as a whistle," he lied. "I have no idea why she would have been at that shitty club. Let alone for two consecutive nights. Sometimes, directors and agents go to public places to have meetings with their clients. Perhaps she was there on business." Again, Cal shifted in his chair. The more he lied, the more he continued to weave a gigantic delicate web that could be incinerated in an instant if Dani couldn't scrounge together an alibi.

After an uncomfortable half hour of driving, Cal parked on the street below a massive apartment structure that looked akin to a castle. He took a deep breath and then looked over at Ash to see if he had anything left to say. Sweat had started to deconstruct his hairdo.

"This is her place, according to the yellow pages," muttered Calvin. Come on, Dani. Do not fuck this up.

Ashley listened wordlessly. Cal seemed on edge, teetering more than Gallagher was used to the cool and collected cop doing. He said nothing about it, best way to blow your power through knowledge was to let others on that you had it in the first place.

"I don't have any dirt on her. From what I understand, she's a mysterious character, but as far as the NYPD can tell, she's clean as a whistle,"

"She'd be the first then, not many in the spotlight stay clean in the shadows. Not when its so easy to get away with whatever you want." Again his mind shifted to Emerald. He shook his head abruptly, he had to be on alert in this questioning and thinking about her would only stray him from the path to the truth. She was a problem for another day.

As Cal parked, Ashley worked to hide his astonishment at the grandeur of the apartment complex. It was larger than life and beautiful to boot. Ashley had long since gotten over his resentment for the rich, he had no envy for their lives. When you had so much, it meant that much more you could lose. "Are you kidding?" He quipped, "I didn't know a starlet lived in my apartment complex. I'm surprised I haven't seen her around the erm... spa." He chuckled. "Lead the way, Lovey. You seem to know more about her than I do. Try using that sweet talk of yours and loosen her lips a little, would ya'?"

Calvin Lovegrove

The Apartment of Danielle Raymonde

Cal beckoned for Ashley to follow as he hasted through the courtyard, his eyes laser-focused on the path ahead of him. In the past year Cal had made this exact walk dozens of times, but now he could only hope that a smidgeon of Dani’s incredible talent had rubbed off on him… He had to look like he’d never seen this place before. The detectives found themselves in a beautiful, lavish lobby filled with sculptures and mirrors. A very faint pink hue resided in the décor and lighting of the room. It always gave Cal a degree of comfort; this lobby was the decontamination room between the grime and decay of his world and the high-life that towered above. He stared at Ashley for a moment. Cal was kidding himself; he knew very well that by bringing Ashley Gallagher here, he was smuggling a grenade into this world.

A hallway of elevators awaited the detectives in the back. Calvin took a determined step forward. He knew which to take. Second from the right. It wasn’t long, however, before the detective froze and re-assessed. He had briefly stepped out-of-character. Right, then. He sauntered over to the front desk and leaned against the edge. “NYPD. We’re looking for Danielle Raymonde.”

“Hey! I know you, you’re---” The burly, bald, bowtie-fastened man at the desk aborted his sentence. The look in Cal’s eyes seared through this man’s well-meant intentions and immediately subdued him. “Oh….uh…Sorry. Thought you were someone else. Please excuse me.” A painfully insincere chuckle parted from the man’s lips and he pointed toward the hallway. “You’ll want to take the second from the right. Apartment 752.”

“Thank you,” said Cal with a completely calm, monotonous tone of voice. The pair departed for Danielle’s apartment.

The hallway was masked in a nearly uncomfortable number of stripes, which lined both the walls and the floors horizontally in a myriad of different colors. This place was regal, yet uneasy. Upon arriving to 752, Cal gently knocked on the door. “I’ll take point, Ash. I’ve met many ‘Danielles’ in my life.”

After a moment, the door slowly opened, and a face emerged from the opening. She was as beautiful as Lovegrove had made her out to be; her long, perfect strands of strawberry blonde hair curled around a face that was far too fair to be wrapped up in this hurricane of a case. “C-can I help you?”

“NYPD. Detectives Lovegrove and Gallagher. May we please come in?”

“What is this regarding?”

“It is regarding two murdered women in the Carousel Club.”

A horrified grimace erupted across Danielle’s face, erasing the angelic grace and replacing it with shock. “…murders? I…I was just there!” She now looked extremely distraught. “S-sure. Come in.” She fully opened the door and beckoned the two detectives inside before shutting it behind them.

Calvin and Ashley helped themselves to a seat on Danielle’s couch, while she departed to the kitchen. She returned with a bottle of scotch and a glass for each of the detectives. She poured a generous amount of spirits before sitting down and overtly redirecting her attention to Detective Gallagher. Cal cursed under his breath. He could tell that Danielle had already grown wary of his acting performance and had probably decided to ensure he had no opportunity to fail her under pressure.

“I am so sorry to hear of this…if there’s anything I can do…please.”

Ashley wondered if Lovegrove was trying to imply something or if he really harbored the thought that Ashley was a shit detective. He knew Cal was lying to him about something, but to his frustration he simply couldn’t deduce what. The other detective was barely keeping his cool composure that Ashley was used to. It had begun directly after the club. He eyed Cal with a sidelong glance, tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants casually as the man spoke to the desk clerk. Perhaps Lovegrove was sweet on a dancer there. Tragic. Ashley just hoped it wouldn’t interfere with the investigation.

A small tendril curled out of his mind like black ink spreading through water, the thought of Smith slowly forcing its way into his consciousness. He pushed it out, slamming the metaphorical door in its face. He had to put that away for now, he needed to be in his best mind.

Ashley sifted through the case in his mind as Cal rapped on the door, and was in no way prepared for the gentle face that answered. She was an angel, fallen from heaven and trapped in the thick gunk that was New York. Her face was that of a renaissance painting, the ones just trying to capture the sublimation of such a beautiful human woman. He fancied he could even see her wings, draped over her lovely shoulders in a delicate fall of ivory feathers. She was beautiful. Ashley was speechless. He shook his head out as the angel invited them into her home, and attempted to regain his focus. Focus, Ashley, damn it!

He scrubbed a weary hand across his forehead as he took a seat, politely declining the scotch, temptress though it was. The woman was clearly distressed, but Ashley made a point to remind himself she was an actress, and a successful one at that.

In a sudden unwanted wave, her face took over his mind, but it wasn’t her beauty that he saw. The woman he saw before him was suddenly a horror, her beautiful lips hanging open as blood dripped from them. In place of her lovely gems for eyes were two roses, shoved in unceremoniously, organic sludge framing them and escaping from the sockets. Her locks of strawberry blonde hair were matted with blood and bone shards, her delicate hands now claws as they curled and contorted helplessly in death.

It was the slip of reality he needed, and his mind was cleared. “Let’s start with some basic questions uh…” He paused to look at his pad, momentarily forgetting her name. “… Miss Raymond. What was your business at the Carousel Club?”

Calvin Lovegrove

The Apartment of Danielle Raymonde

Danielle sank into a plush white armchair facing the two detectives and crossed her legs, her expression falling blank. “A meeting.”

Calvin furrowed his brow. “We need more than that, miss.”

The starlet bit her lip and offered only silence. She reached onto the table for a cigarette and plopped it into her mouth. Cal quickly reached into his jacket and retrieved his lighter, scorching the end of the rollup.

Danielle took a drag from her cigarette, attacking the detectives head-on with smoke, before she finally complied. “That is none of your business, detective. Show-business stops for nothing. Not even for you two.” She offered a half-smile to Ashley. Her kind, angelic demeanor had evaporated before Ashley’s eyes. “…but I’ll be a good girl and give you my alibi, if that’s what you are here for.”

By now, irritation had started to corrode Calvin’s expression. “We aren’t here for an alibi. Unless you make us feel as if we should be asking for one. We want to know what you saw. Then we’ll be out of your hair. Have you been to this club before?”

Danielle rolled her eyes and let loose another plume of smoke before suffocating her cigarette onto the ashtray. “The Carousel, pardon my language, is a shithole. The showgirls—as they tend to be—were vile and absurd. Yet, for some reason, I find myself there regularly. Writers and producers love to pitch to me underneath the neon lights and public indecency.”

“Miss Raymonde, your name is written in the vicinity of both murders. Wouldn’t it be irregular to attend two nights in a row?”

“No. The same meeting warranted another night of parlay. One—again—which is none of your business. However, both nights, we left well before midnight.”

“Who was the man you were meeting with?”

“A writer. I do not remember his name. If you want to pester RKO Pictures to track him down, be my guest.”

Cal sighed and interlocked his hands. Danielle’s performance worried him. She’d shapeshifted into multiple different characters dramatically before their eyes. Still, her alibi—while only half-true—was perfectly constructed. By the time the detectives would be able to comb through RKO to get a statement from said ‘writer’, the case would fall cold. She’d presented herself as a dead-end.

Calvin looked at Ashley, his confidence and composure now rejuvenated. “What are you thinking, Ash?”

Ashley stared down the starlet, watching as she melted from one personality to the next effortlessly. Successful indeed. He was almost thankful for the cold, haughty demeanor she now wore— as a sudden contempt rose in him. He had little patience for those who thought they were above others simply because of money or fame. One particular statement made his blood boil beneath his skin. It surprised him, this emotion he didn’t often feel, defensiveness. He felt as though she was baiting him, though how could she know?

Regardless, he took the bait. “You speak of the showgirls as if your profession isn’t one and the same, Miss.” He uttered coldly. “I see no difference between what you do and taking your clothes off for people with power and money. Showgirls, at least, don’t pretend it is glamorous.” He raised his brows, “Feel free to correct me.” He had the information he needed from her, or all that he figured she’d give him. He was sure she’d just continue to play with him like a cat and its mutilated mouse. He stood, abruptly, brushing the the wrinkles out of his trousers. “Your alibi was unnecessary, you don’t seem to be the type to rip eyes out or shove flowers into fresh, warm corpses like some gruesome florist.” He eyed her over. “You haven’t the spine. I will ask you one more question.”

He dropped his cigarette onto the floor and stamped it out with the tip of his shoe, molesting the expensive carpet with the ash and heat of the still smoking butt. She’d just pay someone to clean it up. He leveled her with a piercing gaze, but kept his tone casual and almost friendly. “Did you see anything out of the ordinary, or suspicious?”

Calvin Lovegrove

The Apartment of Danielle Raymonde

Danielle stared at the detective in disbelief before her lips curled into a condescending smile. “Well, Detective…Gallagher, was it?...I am paid to act like a professional. Perhaps, if you knew how to do the same, you would understand.” She giggled under her breath. “If defending the honor of squandered beauty is your life’s mission, then I suppose I could understand your frustration.”

Cal grimaced and stared at the floor, declining to interject in the firestorm that had erupted around him.

After a moment of excruciating silence, Dani’s face returned to that of warm civility. “Nonetheless, I now want nothing more than for you to leave. I will answer your question.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” muttered Calvin.

“What was the question, again?”

“Was there anything out of the ordinary? Based on what you know about the Carousel?”

“I suppose there was a man.”

“A man?”

“A man. He looked completely unremarkable and I could not possibly describe you to him…but I noticed him. His table sat right next to the window below the red and purple neon sign. I remember being transfixed by the image.”

“Why was it unusual?” asked Calvin.

“Because he was there both nights. His pose, his gaze, everything. Identical.”

“His ‘gaze’?”

“Yes. His eyes were on the belle of the ball. ‘Emerald’. And I noticed that her eyes were often on his, too. It was a bit uncomfortable from the third person.”

Calvin furrowed his brows and rubbed his forehead. “Your name was the only one that appeared twice.”

“Then he was a man who did not want to be found. That does not mean he killed anyone, though. He didn’t look the part. Could have very easily been a married man dipping his toes into the underworld for an ounce of thrill.”

Calvin folded his arms and looked at Ashley. “Hmm.”

Gallagher did not bother responding to the woman’s jabs. He knew where his respect laid, and it was not with the likes of her. Rather, he let Cal take the reigns. At the mention of Emerald, however, his eyes flickered up to her with a newfound interest. He masked his investment to the best of his ability. “Belle of the ball, you say? What do you know about her?” Better yet, what did this mysterious man know about her that had him so transfixed? If he was the killer, Ashley had been right to remove Emerald from her usual haunts— but again… if he was the killer and had had his eyes on her both nights, why was she not dead yet?

And the fact that Emerald was looking at him too… He thought deeply, scratching his scruffed chin for good measure. Questioning her would be his next move if he disregarded all bias— but he’d questioned her before. Was she keeping something from him? He waited for Danielle’s response, but was on edge. He had had enough of this place and wanted nothing more than to go home and burn a pot of coffee. Perhaps also pry a little more information out of his beautiful stowaway.

Calvin Lovegrove

The Apartment of Danielle Raymonde

Danielle had the detective right where she wanted him – with his inquiry pointing his attention away from her and directly toward somebody else. She gave a half-smile. “The ones who fling themselves desperately toward my work and fail are the girls like your ‘Emerald’. No one takes up dancing on tables unless they must. My educated guess? She has nice legs and can’t act. Beyond that, your guesses are as good as mine.”

Cal stared at his partner nervously. Please tell me he’s out of questions. Please god, don’t make this a pain in the ass for me.

Dani folded her arms. “She seems like a queen bee to me. I bet that she’s a fountain of information, and if you have access to her, you are wasting time talking to me.”

Cal furrowed his brow. “Detective Gallagher here questioned ‘Emerald’ already. You have any reason to believe she’d lie to us?”

Dani chuckled under her breath. “I have -every- reason.” The devious starlet took a drag from her cigarette. “Implicating one of her own would destroy that shiny little club of her’s.”

Cal stared at Ashley nervously before his eyes returned to Dani. She had pivoted the blame toward Emerald so effectively that he began to wonder how much this enigmatic woman really knew. But this was not the time nor place for him to ask dangerous questions. He shot a glance back at Ash. “What are you thinking, partner?”

“What are you thinking, partner?”

Ashley had had enough of the wretched starlet and her palace. So much so it was interfering with his ability to investigate the woman fully. He was aware of this, and ashamed, but he reckoned he’d done all he could. No star would risk her career for a few brutal murders, and no frail, angelic woman could have overpowered Smith the way he clearly had been.

A sharp pounding had taken up between his ears and the only cure was tucked away in a flask sitting lonely on his nightstand. Cal clearly had no intent on being useful either, be it due to Danielle’s beauty or whatever it was that had had the man on edge since the club.

With a significant effort to keep the frustration from his tone, Ashley spoke. “Thank you for the lead, Danielle. I wish you great success in the future, may it not be marred by an untimely and murderous end— or worse, a toxic disposition.” He grimaced and spun on a heel, out of the door before he had to hear whatever reptilian response she had.

He didn’t bother to wait for Cal, let the man gawk a little longer or, god forbid, do some detective work.

When he hit the sidewalk, the fight left him. He swore. He had acted downright unprofessional the entire interview. Of course she hasn’t given them anything, he gave her the opposite of a reason to trust him.

Collapsing his weight against the wall, he fumbled for a cigarette with a shaking hand. What the hell was he supposed to act like? His best friend and partner died not even twenty-four hours prior.

He took a long, slow drag, the burn of the smoke against the back of his throat welcoming like the embrace of an old friend. This case had the upper-hand, it had a vice like grip around his throat and was slowly forcing the air from his windpipe, leaving him suffocated and light headed. If he were not a man of immense pride and ego, he’d ask to be taken off of it, but the mere idea filled him with enough anger to snap back to reality. He collected himself and walked to the car, waiting for his new partner with the impatient tap of a wing-tipped toe.

Calvin Lovegrove

The Apartment of Danielle Raymonde

"...I wish you great success in the future, may it not be marred by an untimely and murderous end— or worse, a toxic disposition.”

Calvin stared at the floor, a surge of embarrassment and simultaneous calm washing over him. Detective Gallagher stammered out of the room. Dani's face remained completely deadpan until the antiquated buckles on the elevator clapped into each other. He was gone.

"You fucking idiot!" screamed Danielle as she violently slid her ashtray across the table, an array of murdered cigarettes and ash raining onto Calvin's pants.

"I'm making do with what I have. I can't be of use to you if you're going to antagonize the NYPD. There are egos far worse than Gallagher's under that roof. Trust me. If you rile them up enough, they'll dig until you'll want to tell them the truth." Cal frowned at his slacks and casually brushed off the ash.

"You have to believe me when I say that I had nothing to do with any of this," said Danielle, a hint of desperation beginning to wear through her relentless frustration.

Calvin sighed put on his hat and returned his fixation to the floor, failing to meet Danielle's eye. "I don't think you killed anyone." He sighed. "But I know what you look like when you lie. There was extremely little in the way of truth in your speech."

Danielle folded her arms. "You -told- me to create a story."

Calvin stood from the couch and narrowed his eyes. "I told you to forge an alibi, not lead the detective to a complete dead end. There's something different about this case, baby doll. I can't be sure of anything anymore."

Danielle's expression sank and she sat back down. "Do you think I'm keeping the truth from you?"

Calvin straightened his hat. "Mhm. I have no doubt that this investigation will bring us back to you again... And next time, I will be walking through that door as a detective of the NYPD, not your janitor."

Danielle pointed toward the door. "I think you should leave."

Calvin strolled toward the door and tossed on his jacket before walking out the door. Dani leaned against the doorway and stared wistfully, as if she did not intend for him to return again. Calvin sighed and plopped a cigarette into his mouth before singing the end. He released a huff of smoke. "Leave town. This case has disintegrated everything it's touched."

"No."

"Then I can't protect you."

"You've done a pretty shitty job at that as it is."

Calvin said nothing more. He strolled toward the elevator and took one last glance back at Dani under his hat before entering the doors.

***

Detective Lovegrove found Ashley leaning against the wall outside. "They signed me up with you so that you could keep an eye on my behavior...but I think it's you that needs the babysitting. The fuck's gotten into you?"