Page 40 of Beach Bodies

‘Sorry… Why would someone want to kill Michael Johnson?’ I think it’s OK that I sound flustered here. Who wouldn’t be? The papers all reported an ‘accident’ that, reading between the lines, could be taken as suicide. Any normal person would be upset at the suggestion of murder.

‘Who knows,’ says Daniel. ‘Show business is cutthroat. I’m sure he made some enemies on his way to the top. You were here when it happened, though. So what do you think?’

Is it just me, or is Daniel looking at me really intensely right now?

Then again, he’s always looking at me intensely.

I bat his question off with a laugh, because the best way to cover up the depths is with a shallow little distraction.

‘I’m a lowly lifeguard, remember? You’re the journalist. What doyouthink, Daniel Black?’

He grins. ‘Only bad journalists reach their conclusions at the beginning of their research.’

‘I thought he was high when he died.’ I step into my bathing suit and start pulling it up. For some reason, I feel more naked in this moment than when I was literally naked just moments ago.

‘Oh, he was. But the cause of death was definitely electrocution.’

How the hell does he know that? It was clear as day when you looked at the body, of course. But Vic paid off the Saint Lisieux police, just like I figured he would. And it’s not like Michael’s family wanted the details leaked either.

‘Are you… sure?’ I force another laugh. ‘That’s not the story I heard.’

‘Did you hear his Bluetooth speaker was found floating in the bathtub?’

‘No …’

Daniel snorts air out of his nose and shakes his head. ‘The thing is, there’s no way that little speaker had enough voltage to kill him.’ He pauses. ‘Actually, how much voltage would a speaker like that have?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say faintly. Definitely under five volts. Not enough to kill. I looked into it.

‘I’d say under five volts,’ he says. ‘Not lethal. Then again, I’m not the expert.’

His pause tells me he’s waiting for my response.

I’ve never had a heart attack before, but this is probably what it feels like. My heart squeezing out painful beat afterpainful beat. Spikes in my lungs that light up with pain every time I breathe.

If this was a normal conversation, at this point I’d probably ask the next question in the logical progression.Then what do you think killed him?Followed by the inevitable,who?But I’m not leading thishorse to water. He might just drink.

Bathing suit is on. Pants are on.

‘I’m going to have to take a rain check on the pho,’ I say, unwinding the towel from my hair and rubbing it through my wet locks before tossing it on the bed next to Daniel. My voice sounds calm, I think. I shake my hair out and run my fingers through it. ‘I just remembered I need to go return the supplies I left downstairs…’ The ones I foolishly dropped in the hall to go have sex with a man who is suddenly way too interested in talking about the obscure details of a death I was definitely behind.

But he doesn’t know it’s me.

He can’t know it’s me.

I never talked to Michael Johnson in my life– not even during his albeit shortened stay at the Riovan. I didn’t know him at all, and I certainly didn’t benefit from his death. As far as Daniel’s concerned, what motive could I possibly have? And how the hell did Daniel know about the Bluetooth speaker? I still remember the moment I tipped it into the water.Plopit went, interrupting Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing’ as the device shorted out and bobbed in the bathwater like a dead fish next to its dead owner.

Daniel’s words ring in my head.If someone wanted to murder Michael Johnson…

That is how everyone would see it, isn’t it? As murder. Butthat’s not how I think about it. I chose to end Michael’s life, but ‘murder’ is such an unsavoury word. It brings to mind red meat and bloody knives and the smell of sweat. It sounds… unhinged. Like a wild animal thoughtlessly ripping into its victim, responding to the urges of the moment, with no forethought or compass, just hunger and opportunity.

That’s not how it is with me. Yes, I kill, but never thoughtlessly.

I play by the book.

I make my choices carefully.

Carefully?some part of me is screaming.If you were careful, there wouldn’t be a journalist asking you questions about Michael’s death a full year later!

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