Get inside the house! My mind screamed at me.
“Chanse MacLeod?” a woman’s voice said from behind me.
I turned, and a bright light blinded me. When my eyes adjusted, I realized it was the light from a video camera.
The woman approached me. The man with her was holding the camera and was aiming it at me. She smiled. She was in her late forties, with graying dark hair. She was holding a digital recorder in her hand. “I’m Debra Norris, with The Veronica Vance Show. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the Glynis Parrish murder?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t comment on the case,,” I replied.
“What happened to your face?”
I shrugged. “This is what happens when you tell the truth about movie stars.” I turned my back and walked up my steps. I laughed grimly to myself. Chew on THAT when it airs, Frillian! Once I was inside my apartment, I called Paige to let her know I’d gotten home okay. She sounded relieved, and I promised to call her again when I got up. I walked over to my desk. I got out my cell phone and dialed Jephtha.
“Hello?”
I took a deep breath. “Jephtha, I need you to do something for me.” I closed my eyes. I bit my lower lip. I’d never specifically asked him to do anything illegal before-and it didn’t sit well with me. He’d probably done some illegal things over the years, but we operated on a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. This was the first time I’d asked him to break the law and risk his freedom.
But it was the only way I could think of to get the information.
“Sure.”
“How hard would it be for you to break into a university’s database?”
He didn’t answer at first. I was about to tell him to forget it when he replied, “Not hard, really. It depends on their security system. Their main concern is student hackers trying to change grades.” I heard him inhale. “Sure, it’s not exactly legal to break in. But I think I can do it without leaving a record.”
“I just want you to retrieve records on a student from about twelve years ago.” I swallowed. “But I don’t want you to do anything risky.”
He laughed. “Well, it shouldn’t be difficult at all. No one ever wants to access old records-they usually don’t protect that stuff much. It just depends on if they converted the old paper files to digital, or when they started keeping records on the computer. But twelve years ago-I’d imagine most colleges had started using computers by then.”
I grabbed the case file I’d started. I gave him the name of the university and the dates attended. “The student’s name was Frederick Bliss.”
“Freddy Bliss?” He whistled. “Okay, boss, I’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks, Jephtha-but be careful, okay?” I hung up the phone.
I sat down at my computer and checked my e-mail.
The in-box was full; all of the messages from addresses I didn’t recognize. Some of the subject lines were insulting, to put it mildly. I marked them all as spam, and went to bed. I set the alarm for eight. That would give me plenty of time to shower and wake up before meeting Brett. My body still ached a bit, but the Tylenol was working. I closed my eyes. I was exhausted.
I didn’t dream, and slept like a stone.
I woke up in the morning feeling sore and tired. I took a long hot bath while the coffee brewed, letting the hot water work its magic on my muscles and joints. I got out of the tub feeling much better. I was still stiff in places, but for the most part, I was functional. I took some more Tylenol. I still looked awful, but that couldn’t be helped. The lump on the back of my head seemed to have gone down a bit as well. With a full cup of coffee, I sat down at my computer and logged on.
The first headline on the welcome page screamed at me: Witness In Parrish Murder Beaten. There was also a photo of my battered face. I clicked on the link, and it brought up one of those video links. I clicked on the play button-and there I was, on the sidewalk in front of my house. I closed my eyes as I heard myself saying, This is what happens when you tell the truth about movie stars.
I glanced at the Web site header line. It was a gossip site. My heart sinking, I started reading the accompanying article.
“Chanse MacLeod, a New Orleans private investigator who claims to have seen Freddy Bliss leaving Glynis Parrish’s home the night she was murdered, apparently was attacked and beaten-and from his comments to a reporter from ‘The Veronica Vance Show’, caught on tape, seems to think Frillian was behind it!
MacLeod, an openly gay man, has been involved in several homicides over the years in New Orleans. Sources tell us here at tarnishedtinsel.com that he has actually killed twice-his first victim a gay prostitute named Glenn Austin. He also was involved with soft-core gay wrestling video star Cody Dallas, whose real name was Paul Maxwell. Several years ago, Maxwell was kidnapped and murdered by a deranged fan.”
I swallowed. There was a picture of Paul wearing a skimpy bright yellow bikini, with a come-hither look on his face. The caption read, Murdered soft-core porn star Cody Dallas.
Christ, I thought. I knew I should stop reading, close the page, and forget about it. But somehow I couldn’t. I had to pick at the scab.
“MacLeod, who was a New Orleans police officer and still has strong ties to the department, is himself a suspect in the murder of television star Glynis Parrish-but one the New Orleans police don’t seem to be taking very seriously. Their investigation seems to be targeting on super-sexy star Freddy Bliss-primarily based on what MacLeod claims to have seen the night of the murder! But the gay private dick was in Glynis Parrish’s home the day she was murdered, and sources tell us that his fingerprints were found on the murder weapon-the Emmy Glynis won for her long-running television series, ‘Sportsdesk’. Another source tells us that MacLeod was actually on Frillian’s payroll, and was fired the day after the murder. MacLeod was questioned by the New Orleans police department, but let go after an interrogation that didn’t last longer than an hour. It doesn’t hurt to have connections, apparently-looks like corruption is alive and well in the Big Easy!
“MacLeod, who runs his own private investigation business, has thus far refused to talk to the press. No police report was filed on the altercation that bruised-up face. What does the gay private dick have to hide?
“Two murders in New Orleans can already be chalked up to Chanse MacLeod. Is it really that much of a stretch to think he might have something to do with Glynis Parrish’s murder? Not according to the NOPD! The NOPD refused to answer questions about the investigation, or why they weren’t taking MacLeod, a two-time killer, seriously as a suspect. All we know is once a killer, always a killer-unless you live in New Orleans and have friends at the cop shop.”
I set my coffee cup back down on the desk… Deep breaths, I told myself. It’s just a gossip Web site, and no one could possibly take it seriously. It’s not like it’s a reputable news agency. And it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse. So ignore it, forget about it. There’s nothing you can do about it, anyway. I stared at the picture of Paul, and started to get angry all over again.
There was absolutely no need to drag Paul into this. I hoped Fee and the rest of his family didn’t see this garbage.
At the bottom of the article was a place to post comments. My jaw dropped. There were over 36,000 comments already.
I clicked on the link to the comments page.
The first post started, That faggot got what he deserved-whoever beat him up shouldn’t have stopped there, they should have killed him for the lies he’s spreading about Freddy Bliss…
No need to read this crap, I thought, switching over to my e-mail in-box.
It was full again. I started marking the messages as spam and getting rid of them. The header lines included such charming statements as Fucking faggot; Leave Frillian alone you fag; Someone should kill your gay ass; and so forth.
I shook my head. Would it have killed me to say, “No comment”?
I got up from the desk and walked over to my front window, pulling the curtains aside. There were news vans
