He didn’t know where he’d gone, but he’d managed to convince himself it had all been a bad dream. So, when he opened his eyes to see the five faces of the people trapped in the room with him, his heart freshly broke. Strangers who almost felt like home—Mandy, Alan, Ryan, Constance and Headphones. A bizarre family.
The lights seemed too bright and his body ached with longing. Pills, drink—if he didn’t get one or both soon he was going to crash. Hard. And he wouldn’t be useful to anyone when that happened.
How long had he been out?
He tried to get up but couldn’t. Mandy held out a hand. He grabbed it, and she pulled him upright with surprising strength. The others took a step back as if he were contagious.
“Are you okay?” Mandy said.
“I don’t suppose anyone here is a doctor or a nurse?” Sheppard rubbed the back of his head. He was getting a headache, especially where he’d hit it on the way down.
The room was silent, except Ms. Ahearn, who was muttering something under her breath.
“You have a fever? Sit down,” Mandy said, gesturing to the bed.
Sheppard shook his head. “I don’t have time. I just passed out. It happens.”
“The rock ’n’ roll lifestyle, huh?” Alan said.
Sheppard couldn’t manage a retort. His body was shutting down...no, not shutting down. More like, going into SAFE MODE.
Where was he? Winter was dead and now what? He knew nothing of these people, but that would have to change. Right now, it was entirely possible that anyone in the room murdered Winter. Five people. Five suspects. A one in five chance of being the murderer. The fact that he had thought it was probably a man didn’t mean anything—at least not yet. He was no expert. Everyone was guilty until proven innocent.
You still haven’t told them...
He would have to. Winter’s identity was the only real clue he had. But at least, he could do it one by one, reduce the fallout. Maybe these people knew Dr. Winter too.
He looked across the room to the bedside table. The rule book was gone. Glancing around, he saw that Ryan was looking through it. Then back to the table. The timer. He had passed out for almost five minutes.
Five fewer minutes...
When the wheels started turning, five minutes could be the difference between life and death.
He needed to start talking. But with no evidence and no clarification, anyone could say anything. They could’ve all been lying to him already.
The woman still lurked in the background, in the red room. In Paris. As though, if he turned his head quick enough, he might catch her. To be back there, with all this just a bad dream. It was almost too much—to hope.
The others went back to what they were doing. Alan was still staring at the window. Constance was muttering and looking down at her Bible. Ryan was reading the rules. Headphones was in her own little world. Only Mandy remained looking at him, concerned.
Sheppard took her aside, into the alcove by the door. “I have to start interviewing people. Talking. Seeing if I can find anything that might give me a clue to who...who killed him. See if we can work out why we’re all here.”
“Interviews?”
“Yes. We should really do them in private, but—” Sheppard’s eyes skirted the bathroom door “—I think over here will have to do.”
“Okay,” Mandy said.
“I need to start thinking about identities, possible motives, time frames.” All things he had learned reading his crime books. “Everyone else should stay on the right side of the room. I need to try and make it so no one else can hear.” Even as he said it, he knew it was impossible. Alan’s ears were twitching on the other side of the room, and he wasn’t even facing them. Every single word any person said in the room could easily be heard by others—discounting Constance, who was spouting illegible nonsense.
“Okay. Who do you want to talk to first?”
“You?”
Mandy looked at him, and gave a smile. It was the same kind of nervous smile he saw on everyone who came on his television show. A smile that always looked like the smiler had something to hide. Under the spotlight though, everyone did.
Sheppard smiled too. And at that moment, he knew he was really going to try. He was a sham—a terrible excuse of a detective, hell, a terrible excuse of a man. But he was really going to do all he could to try to save them. To save the innocent ones.
Because they were the ones who didn’t deserve this.
And, if he had the time, he might even try to save himself.