Chapter Text
Well, Detective Williams thinks morosely as she surveys the group before her, at least I ought to win some sort of prize for Most Fuckable Suspect Pool in Police History. She studies them one by one. Rashid, gathering up breakfast dishes; hands steady; face a practiced mask of polite neutrality. Damek, over at the bar; pretty much the same. Lestat, unabashedly taking up space, nursing what seems to be a Screwdriver while draped over his husband in a way hardly suitable to the occasion. Glamorously, lightly bored, if anything. Louis, hand on the blond’s thigh with a comfortable possessiveness. At first glance, absorbed in a book, but his intelligent green eyes occasionally scan his environment; not nervous, simply prepared to handle any contingency with the air of a man used to bending the world to his will.
Finally, the group on the swing. The detective pays special attention to Armand de Romanus: the next of kin and, by all measures, the person most directly affected by the Roman’s passing. But the youth gives no sign of concerning himself with anything other than the children on his lap, whom he is currently feeding from a Bento box. Next to him, close enough for their shoulders and knees to touch, Daniel scribbles something in a small notebook, leatherbound and well-worn. Leaning into the journalist persona, though his gaze keeps darting a bit covertly to the gorgeous man by his side.
“Thank you for your patience,” the detective begins, stepping closer to the lit fire pit at the center of the scene. “I am sor…” a whiff of unexpectedly acrid, chemical-scented smoke assails her nostrils, causing her to cough. “Apologies; sorry for your loss. I am certain this is distressing for all of you, and assure you we are doing everything we can to find answers.”
“Find the murderer, you mean?” Molloy pipes up bluntly. “Mr. De Romanus’ death would appear to be an accident, yet we’ve been kept here together, watched, long enough for detectives to arrive and other officers to search our rooms with us out of the way. No reason to do all that unless you suspect murder.”
Armand tuts, with a pointed gesture toward Sybelle and Benji, but it is Louis who speaks up. “You’re probably right, Danny. In which case, of course, all of us want nothing more than to cooperate fully with law enforcement,” he gives the detectives a courteous nod, “but, in turn, I request that we be treated with courtesy, and not as criminals? Which begins with - since, clearly, no one could possibly leave this island undetected by your people - allowing us to move about the Palazzo at will. For instance,” Du Lac’s smile doesn’t waver, but a sliver of steel rings in his silken voice as a protective hand squeezes Lestat’s shoulder, “my husband needs to take his medication. I trust he may go up to our room to do so in peace?”
“Chut, cheri,” Lestat’s compelling Gallic baritone gently replies. “It’s not as if I’ll perish without it.” Blue eyes fill with a positively nauseating fondness. “I’m more concerned with you not getting the chance to do your PT exercises.”
Louis du Lac answers Detective Lafleur’s silent question by pointing to an antique-looking cane leaning against the patio furniture. “Old injury,” he shrugs, “occasionally acts up, nothing more. Les has a tendency to get… dramatic when it comes to me.” The detectives converse quickly with eyes alone before motioning to the couple to proceed. Arms around each other, the two make their way upstairs.
“And I,” Armand finally breaks his silence, “fear I must respectfully insist on you conducting your interviews in a more… private location.” A hard-to-place, posh accent; perfect diction; utterly firm yet flawlessly polite. “You understand, I only wish to spare the poor children,” his slim arms unconsciously draw the tiny bodies closer, “as much trauma as I can… and, as they would normally spend most of the day playing out of doors…” He pauses barely long enough to get a nod from Bricktop before continuing. “You may use Father’s study on the second floor. Rashid, if you would be so kind?” The latter instantly, seamlessly carries out the instructions with a professional, “This way, please.”
Interesting, thinks Detective Williams as she departs with a last look at the Roman’s son. Every inch the undisputed Lord of this manor, perfectly comfortable in the role. And yet (the thought comes quite unbidden), he looks so… young. She files both impressions away for now, and turns her attention to one of any detective’s best treasure troves: the staff. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Mahmoud. I understand from your initial statement that you were the first to discover your employer’s body? Must have been quite the shock.”
Rashid nods, slowly. “Yes. I went out to bring Mr. de Romanus his morning shake - as usual, after his swim, and… saw him… half-floating by the shoreline. I did everything I could, but…”
“Of course,” Detective Lafleur hastens to assure him. “It’s often true in such cases that, after a little time has passed, witnesses recall more than they did initially. Can you cast your mind back for anything which might have slipped your mind? Did you observe anything at all out of the ordinary this morning?”
Rashid doesn’t hesitate. “Not this morning, no.”
“When, then?” Bricktop jumps on the wording.
Mr. Mahmoud seems to struggle mightily to balance his duty of discretion with the need to answer police questions. ‘Well… I couldn’t put my finger on it, but, ever since the guests began arriving, the atmosphere in The Palazzo has grown… tense. Like the colour of the sky changing when a storm’s about to break. And then, last night, with the fight…”
“What fight?” Lily and Bricks ask in perfect unison.