The detective scowled at me. This wasn’t going well.
“Look, I’m an escort. I’ve known Melinda for four years, which is how long she has been one of my clients.”
He looked at me, his eyes widening. “Melinda?” He glanced over his shoulder to the bed, recognition suddenly kicking in. “As in . . . “
“Melinda Diveno,” I finished, nodding.
His eyes grew wide as he processed what I was saying. “Fuck me,” he drawled, followed by a low whistle. “Can anyone vouch for you and your . . . career?”
God, the last thing I wanted to do was get my other clients involved, but how else was I going to prove I wasn’t just some lowlife who had broken into her hotel room to rape and murder her?
It was a little far-fetched: a happily married, Oscar-winning actress using the services of an escort? Her family would tear me apart, not to mention her fans.
“My phone,” I said suddenly. “I’ve been seeing her for that long. You’ll find phone calls and texts from her going way back. And I also have tax records for the past six years.”
He nodded, slowly. “I’m going to have to take your phone.”
“You, uh, do you need to check any other numbers that are in here? I have some clients . . . their reputations would be ruined if this got out,” I said.
“This investigation will remain confidential, Liam,” he assured me.
I looked up to see Beth walk into the room. Her eyes grew wide, almost bulging from her head as she took in the scene. She was just Beth today, no disguise or cover.
The detective glanced at Beth, then back to me.
“This is another one of your clients, I take it?” he asked dryly.
Beth gawked at me. “What the hell is going on?” she gasped, her mouth dropping open.
The detective straightened up. “Are you one of his clients?” he asked her, not getting the information he was after from me.
She nodded, and extended her hand. “Bethany Masters,” she said, raising an eyebrow. She turned back to me. “Coop, what the fuck is going on?”
The detective glanced from her to me. “Will you be willing to give a statement about your relationship with Mr. Cooper? We need to verify his . . . services.”
“Oh, I can tell you a lot about his services.” She winked playfully.
I cringed. Not the time, Beth.
The detective actually went red. “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Masters. We just need you to confirm that he is actually an escort.”
“Oh, well I can do that,” she agreed.
He called one of the officers over. “Officer Jackson will take your statement now, if you have time.”
Beth nodded. I watched as the officer led her away, over to the desk on the other side of the room.
After a few more questions, I was allowed to get dressed and leave. The detective handed me his card and told me to call if I remembered anything else.
I’d asked what would happen next. He told me the coroner would do an examination to rule the cause of death, which they expected to be a heart attack.
The fact that they believed me—or at least seemed to—lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. I stood up and grabbed my clothes, pulling myself into my pants. Beth wandered back over to me as I was buttoning up my shirt.
“Everything okay?” I asked her.
“Yeah, it’s all good. They said I can go.” She glanced back over to the bed, where a group of medical examiners were now going over her body. “What the hell is going on, Coop?”
I grabbed her hand. “Not here,” I said, leading her out of the room. “I will tell you everything, but right now, I need to get the hell out of here.”