for being in the US?”
“I’m not answering any more questions until you tell me how my boyfriend is.”
Melissa folded her arms and stared at him, daring him to ask something else.
The cop cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. Howard Douglas died in the ambulance on the way to hospital.”
The bottom fell out of Melissa’s world. She stared blankly at the policeman for an age, her eyes filling with tears. She drew her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs, rocking slightly as she chanted, “no no no,” over and over again.
“What happens next, Miss Jones, is up to you. You can either walk out of here, get your things from the hotel and take the next flight back to Toronto, or we can charge you with resisting arrest and have you deported. The choice is yours.”
“Why? Why did he shoot him? Why did Howie have to die? I don’t understand.” Melissa could no longer see through the tears. Her wailing voice sounded muffled and dead in the small interview room, which echoed what was in her heart.
“Mr. Douglas was shot by an officer who believed his life was in danger. It was self defense, Miss Jones.”
“He wasn’t in danger! He had Howie’s gun.”
“The officer believed Mr. Douglas had a second firearm.”
“That’s bullshit. He murdered him. Why isn’t he locked in a cell?”
The female officer behind Melissa placed a box of tissues on the table before her. Melissa smacked the box across the room. The man opposite her didn’t flinch.
“Miss Jones, I strongly advise you not to use words like ‘murder’. If you want to see Canada again…”
“Are you threatening me now?” Melissa roared at him. “If I don’t do as you say there’s going to be an accident and I’ll end up dead too? Is that it?”
“Miss Jones,” the officer said. “Do we need to put you in cuffs?”
Melissa fell quiet. Despite her distress, she was fully aware she was sitting in a police station in a foreign nation, and she could get in serious trouble if she pushed her protest too hard. She did want to go home. She did want to go back to Toronto, to her family, to her friends. Here she knew nobody, and nobody was likely to step up and defend her. Without Howie she was completely alone. There was her agent in L.A., but she hadn’t known her long and didn’t honestly know if their professional relationship extended to getting her client out of jail. She knew she had to play along. She knew she had to help them cover up the awful thing they had done. Perhaps once safely back in Toronto she could make a fuss, talk to the media, use her channel to tell her fans what really happened.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll play along. I won’t say anything to anyone if you let me fly home.”
“Good. Thank you, Miss Jones. I’m glad you’ve seen reason.”
“Besides,” Melissa added. “I don’t need to say anything. Howie’s fans will have seen the video of the shooting by now.”
“Howie’s… fans?”
Melissa laughed humorlessly. “You have no idea who you killed, do you?”
“Should we?”
“You’ve never heard of This is Howie Do? The YouTube channel? He has four million subscribers and every one of them is going to be pissed as fuck with you.”
“We’re prepared for some demonstrations as a result of this unfortunate incident.”
“Oh this is going to be like nothing you’ve seen before. And when my fans hear about it –”
“Your fans?”
“Yeah, I don’t have as many subs as Howie did, but I have a pretty big following too. You guys need to spend more time taking an interest in what your teens are watching. Even if I say nothing, Howie ain’t gonna go quietly.”
The officer sat stony-faced.
“Just remember,” he said, unmoved by Melissa’s outburst, “get your stuff from the hotel, go to the airport, say nothing to anybody. Do you understand?”
Melissa stood up. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry again. She stared at him defiantly as the lady cop opened the door to the room. Without a word, she turned and marched out, her head held high.
She took some time in the washroom cleaning herself up. Her escort waited outside for her this time. Then she led Melissa to the entrance and gave her back her things, including her cell phone.
“Can I have my luggage from Howie’s car?” Melissa almost choked when she said his name.
“Not today. The car is impounded at another location. Check back tomorrow.”
Melissa didn’t argue. She put on her jacket and placed her items in the pockets.
“For what it’s worth,” the lady officer said to her before she left the station, “I’m really sorry about what happened.”
Melissa smiled weakly. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something.
Outside on the street, a storm of reporters accosted her. Questions flew thick and fast as she fought her way through the throng to the waiting taxi.
“No comment,” she said at least a dozen times. It took well over a minute to travel just a dozen meters to the road. She had to battle to open the cab door against the crush of cameras and microphones. Eventually she managed to squeeze herself into the back seat and close the door, deadening the cacophony.
“Where to?” asked the driver, looking with concern at the crush of people pressed up against the side of his cab.
Melissa checked her phone. Her agent had booked a flight for her to Toronto leaving tomorrow afternoon, and a hotel for the night. She was exhausted, so maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t catching a flight right away. She wondered if she’d be able to sleep.
She told the driver where to go and carefully, he pulled the cab onto the road.
State Senator Tim Barns took the glass of whisky and raised it with a forced smile.
“Congratulations, Senator,” said the man who had poured him the drink.
Lionel Granger was, in Tim’s private opinion, one of the most repulsive men he had ever met. He was grey, slightly overweight and balding. His suit was immaculately tailored and very expensive, and everything about his office screamed opulence, from the marble desktop to the Henkel Harris chairs.
“I owe it all to you, Lionel,” Tim replied, trying not to grimace. It wasn’t true. He’d put in a shitload of work himself, and had a small army of staffers who had worked
