Beneath The Glitz [Fiction]

The sun was barely up when the police barged into Les Joseph's studio apartment. The shock almost stopped his heart.

“Les Joseph? You are under arrest for the murder of Meredith Orleans!” A bulky policeman thundered, pointing his service pistol at Les.

The lanky young man began to hyperventilate, his hands raised up as his eyes dilated in fear, taking in the unexpected sight of the three armed policemen in his apartment.

Their leader's hostile gaze raked over Les in his white singlet and briefs. He moved to cuff his hands behind his back. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will be used against you….”

The cop's voice faded in Les’ ears as he was shoved into their vehicle.

The murder of Meredith Orleans?

His mind was in chaos as the vehicle zoomed off to the precinct.

* * * * * *

At that same moment in Eastwood County Hospital, a tired, middle-aged man in blue scrubs launched into a tirade against the assistant medical examiner over the latter's incompetence.

“This is your last warning, Mark!” Joe Sawyer, chief medical director of the county hospital roared, veins bulging on his forehead. “One more case of negligence and you are out. I don't care that we've been friends for ten years, I have to protect this hospital. We cannot afford any more lawsuits because of you.”

Mark could barely get any word in. He watched with dismay as his good friend and colleague stormed out of his office.

The slam of the door signalled the end of their friendship, he was sure of it. He gazed at his trembling fingers and sighed.

Just three more months and he could retire with a secure pension. But his mind had been failing him recently and if word of his condition got out, he would be dismissed without it. How would he survive?

He let out another sigh with a firm promise not to make another mistake. Hopefully.

He entered the autopsy room next to his office, put on his gloves and hesitated for a moment as he caressed the sterile instruments on the Mayo stand.

With care, he lifted the white sheet covering the body on the table.

* * * * * *

Detective Colin Reid perched on the edge of the table, his heavy weight making it creak as he stared down at Les.

“Your silence only makes things worse for you. You were the last person to see Ms Orleans after which she was found dead in her hotel room. We have concrete evidence to put you away for life unless you talk to me.”

Les Joseph shook his head and wiped his face, his eyes bloodshot from anguish and unshed tears as he looked up at the detective.

“The autopsy reveals she was poisoned by an alcoholic drink!” The cop bellowed, slamming his hand on the table. Startled, Les gasped. “That can't be right. I'm telling you the truth…”

“You were the bartender. You served her a glass of scotch. Why would you poison someone you just met?”

“You don't understand…I would never hurt Meredith,” he whispered, his eyes distant as he recalled the events of the night before.

It was a grand afterparty hosted by Floral Dré to celebrate its first haute couture show in Eastwood. Les was a magician at mixing drinks and his bar was one of the best in town.

He manned the open bar alongside two of his staff, giving them instructions on who to serve and what to pour. Then an elegant, ebony-skinned lady in a sparkling gold dress walked towards the bar, a mobile phone perched in the crook of her neck.

Her confidence radiated with every step as though she was on a runway. She was clearly one of Floral Dré's models.

His sharp gaze didn't miss the gold pendant resting on her slim neck and the gold rings gracing her manicured hands. Reaching the counter and placing her jeweled purse down, a waft of her perfume, soft and fruity, drifted into his nostrils. He was enthralled.

She ended her call and looked up to meet his gaze. Her eyes, a translucent brown, held his for a long moment. Then she smiled and whispered, “Scotch, neat, please.”

They talked all night.

Meredith Orleans was an orphan found by one of Floral Dré's agents at a teen pageant organised to raise funds for the orphanage. She was just eighteen at the time.

André Floral, the founder of Floral Dré, immediately signed her up as one of his models. She went through a year of training, to make her fit for the runway and the haute couture's brand.

André gave her special attention over other models. He spoiled her with gifts and they dated for some years.

Then his affection turned towards a young model who just joined Floral Dré. Meredith knew it was time to end their relationship and move on with her life.

She told André so. He hit her on the face for the first time and promised to never let her go.

Les fumed about André's audacity to keep such a beautiful woman on hold when she had her life to live. Meredith chuckled, the sound melting the anger in his chest, and assured him that she would not be returning to their shared apartment that night.

Her performance at the couture show was the last. They clicked their glasses in a toast to her freedom as the party ended.

He made a hotel reservation for her via his mobile and got her a cab to take her there, promising to join her soon.

“Don't stay too long, Les. I'll wait for you,” she said, blowing him a kiss as the cab drove away. He felt so good inside.

* * * * * *

“I didn't know that was the last time I would see her. I'm in a daze and all these,” Les waved at the cop and the interrogation room, “feels so unreal.”

A light scuffle at the door drew the men's attention. District Attorney Lionel Archer opened the door and gestured for Colin to come out.

An hour later, Detective Colin returned to the interrogation room with a sober look. “Mr Les, you have our utmost apologies. We discovered that the autopsy report was wrong and had another conducted.”

Les straightened from his slouched position, his attention on Colin. “What?”

“As we speak, André Floral is being arrested for the murder of Ms Orleans. She had a glass of champagne before the party. Mr André laced her drink with a poison that would work slowly, taking full effect approximately six hours later.”

“He vowed never to let her go,” Les whispered, his eyes blank.

“We found the poison in his possession. He'd hoped Ms Orleans would die alone and it won't be traced back to him. The assistant medical examiner saw from Ms Orleans’ stomach contents that she drank scotch at the party and concluded that was the cause of death.”

Les rested his head on the table, folding his arms around himself.

“You're free to go,” Detective Colin murmured and left the room.

Meredith's last words to him echoed inside his skull. “...I'll wait for you.”

He broke down finally in tears.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short story. It's inspired and based on Freewrite's A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words. Though the contest is over, the image inspired me and I had to write my story.

Thank you for visiting my blog.

^{Image credit: OurWhiskeyFoundation}