Page 35 of Stone Deep
Slade held up his hands. “Just here to make sure she’s all right.”
Damon relented and opened the door wider for us to come in. I knew right away that he wasn’t living alone, and it was obvious from the curtains, pillows and throw on the couch that his housemate was a woman. And after hearing his question before opening the door, I could only assume he was living with a girlfriend.
Damon’s metallic blue drum set sat in the corner of the cramped front room. Perris’s shiny silver lamp with the modern lampshade sat on the end table next to the couch. I’d been out shopping with her when she’d bought it. It had been one of those awesome, easy days where we laughed, and shopped and feasted on corn dogs and lemonade.
Damon hadn’t taken his distrustful gaze off Slade. “Wait, you’re that tattooed punk that came after my brother and his friends at the bar.”
“They were tossing Britton around, so I stepped in. But maybe those are the kinds of uneven fights your brother andhis friends like to pick. You know, three guys against one small woman.”
Damon picked up his drumsticks like a little kid with his favorite blanket or toy. In this case, he seemed to think he had some protection against Slade with his thin, battered sticks because he lifted his chin defiantly and his mean sneer reappeared.
“Guess they gave it to you good,” Damon continued. At this point he was far more focused on Slade than on me. “Heard they put you in the hospital.”
“Yep, three guys with a knife against one unarmed man. Like I said, they like uneven fights.”
Damon leaned against the counter that separated the kitchen from the front room. He glanced my direction, and I could tell it was still disconcerting for him to be looking at my face, at my sister’s face. “Hate to tell you, but I tossed the box of Perris’s things. I didn’t have room for them, and they were making Becky uncomfortable.”
It felt like a face slap, and I blinked to keep back tears. “I told you I wanted that stuff. That’s, of course, why you dumped it. Because you’re an asshole, and you’ve always been an asshole. And who the hell is Becky? You moved on fast.”
His laugh was as cruel as his sneer. “Moved on? Fuck, I was dating Becky when I was still living with Perris. That’s why she’d been hitting the drugs extra hard. I told her I was leaving her and her sorry, wasted-junkie ass. But I didn’t know she’d OD. I knew she was nuts, but I never thought she’d off herself.”
I gritted my teeth in rage as he spoke. Slade hadn’t moved a muscle, but I could sense heated tensionradiating off of him. Something I’d never felt before.
I pulled in a shuddering breath. “In other words, you broke it off with her, and you knew she was depressed about it.”
He shrugged. “She had a big meltdown, and I knew she was upset. But her death wasn’t my fault, and the cops know that I wasn’t at home. So, I guess I’ve got nothing more to say.” He started tapping the drumsticks on the stool in front of the counter.
I took a step toward him, but Slade put out his arm to stop me. He shook his head so slightly that I might have been just imagining it. He didn’t turn to face me but kept an unflinching gaze on Damon.
“So, you weren’t around when Perris died?” Slade asked suddenly.
Damon shot him a cold glare. “Just said I wasn’t at home, so you can shut down your interrogation now, asshole. You know all that ink doesn’t make you any tougher.”
Slade kept his cool. I, on the other hand, wanted to pound my fists into Damon’s obnoxious face.
Slade looked at me. “Britton, play your sister’s voicemail.”
I stared at him, not completely sure I’d heard or understood his request.
“Let him hear it,” Slade said with an encouraging look. I had no idea what he was up to but all I really wanted was to get the hell out of there.
“Yeah, the cops said Perris’s cell phone showed that her last call was to you.” Damon was holding back a grin. “Guess she made a final plea for help, but you didn’t cometo her aid. Sort of makes it seem that her death was your fault, since no one else was around to help her. Maybe that’s why you have been such a fucking, obsessive bitch these last few months.”
“Play the fucking voicemail,” Slade said through a clamped jaw.
I pulled out my phone, and as I thumbed to her voicemail, Damon headed to the front door to let us know that he wanted us gone. The second my sister’s voice came through the phone, he stopped and listened. Not, it seemed, for sentimental reasons to hear her last words, but to make sure that it sealed his assertion that he’d had nothing to do with her death. The message was short and cryptic and pretty useless. I looked at Slade wondering what the heck all this was about.
He shook his head. “Start it again, but turn up the volume to make sure we can hear the beginning.”
“I just got off work, and I need my beer. So why don’t you two go play detective somewhere else. I’m done here,” Damon snarled as he reached for the doorknob.
I wasn’t completely sure what was going on, but the look Slade was shooting me told me to play the message. I turned up the volume. The background sound that I’d heard as many times as I’d heard Perris’s final words came through loud and clear and like a punch in the stomach. It was a rhythmic tapping sound that I’d heard but had ignored every time, until now.
“Drumsticks,” I said quietly.
Damon’s dark eyes flickered with confusion.
I looked at Slade. “You are brilliant. I’ve listened to thatmessage twenty times and never noticed.”
