A journalist races to cover a nightclub murder, then learns the victim is her friend, and the prime suspect might be more than he seems.
The intense static of my police scanner startled me awake. It was after midnight when the alert came through. An unidentified woman was found slain outside of Club Lore, one of the hottest nightclubs in Westlake, Texas. As an investigative journalist, this was a major event for me. I knew that if I could crack the case before anyone else, it would improve my chances of landing an anchor position with Westlake News.
In a hurry, I threw on my torn jeans, my favorite band's graphic t-shirt, and jean jacket. Grabbed the keys to my 2017 Kia sedan and rushed to the scene.
As expected, there was a crowd of people already there, being chaotic and cluttering the way of the police.
I forced my way through the crowd with my recorder in hand. I hoped I’d be able to catch the name of the victim or any details to help the case, but no one talked about the specifics. No one even knew there was any conflict going on until they were told to exit the building.
“I need everyone to stand behind the yellow tape unless you have a badge or an officer has asked to speak with you,” said an officer who looked like he was unfit to be police. “If you’re family or recognize the victim, step up to the tape and prepare to give a statement.”
Club Lore was owned by a man named Bentley Thomas, and as the rumors said, Bentley was a very dangerous man. If anyone crossed his path or got in his way, they were dealt with however he saw fit. But if you saw Bentley without knowing his story, you’d be intrigued by his presence. He’s a very handsome man with a lot of poise and more money than the state of Texas alone.
“Officer!” a woman shouted out as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “Excuse me! Officer, I can’t find my friend. Her name is Ivy Smith. Is that her?”
My heart leaped into my throat. Ivy was a childhood friend of mine, and she would never hurt a fly, so I didn’t dare believe that she was the victim.
“She’s wearing a green dress and green heels. Please tell me that isn’t her!”
The officer’s sympathetic expression confirmed both of our fears. The victim was Ivy.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the officer said as he raised the yellow tape for the woman to enter. “Please come with me. The detectives would like to speak with you.”
Tears swelled in my eyes as I watched the woman being led away, crying as if she’d lost the only person she cared for in the world. Ivy was a good person.
One of the sweetest people you’d ever meet. It was hard to believe that night was the last night anyone would see her smiling.
I followed the yellow tape and got as close as I could to the lead detective. When I saw Bentley exit the building to talk with him, my eyes settled on how well he was dressed. His suit looked expensive and was tailored perfectly to fit his muscular frame.
He didn’t look like he was fearful or guilty of anything. But looks could be deceiving, and Bentley was rumored to be an experienced criminal. So, I wasn’t sold on his calmness.
“Mr. Thomas, I’m detective Simmons. I’ve been told you’re the owner.”
Detective Simmons leaned in to his interview with Bentley as I approached with my recorder in hand.
“That’s right,” Bentley said.
“Did you happen to know the woman who was killed tonight?”
"Yeah, I knew her. We weren’t extremely close, but I’ve seen her around.”
Bentley folded his arms across his chest, and I got a glimpse of the diamond studded Rolex he was wearing. The glare from the diamonds flickered against the light, making him appear a lot more sinister than I heard he was.
“Was she invited here by you?” Simmons asked.
“No. This is a public nightclub. Anyone’s welcome.”
He glanced at his security as Detective Simmons jotted notes on his notepad. The silent interaction between them put me on edge because, in my experience, body language often said what the lips wouldn’t dare to speak. It was a rookie mistake for Simmons to miss the subtle details that could have possibly been a lead in the case.
“Has she come here before?” Simmons asked. “I’m trying to zone in on whether she had any enemies, stalkers, or crazy ex-boyfriends.”
“Yeah. She’s been here a few times. I’m not always here to keep watch, but there have been times I’ve seen her here.”
Bentley stared sternly at the detective, who was nearly a foot shorter than him. Even though the severity of the situation was cruel and intense, I couldn’t help but find him attractive. The way he handled himself in the eyes of the law—so confident and graceful—made me want to give him a pass in more areas than one.
“Does that mean you were watching her the other times you’ve seen her here?”
Bentley cut his eyes at Detective Simmons' question. It was a reach that I wouldn’t have tiptoed for so early in the investigation, but it did get a rise out of the possible suspect.
“What are you getting at, Detective?” Bentley asked sharply. “Are you trying to ask me if I’m the one who did this?”
“I’m just doing my job here,” Simmons chuckled. “If you're innocent and have nothing to worry about, a few questions shouldn’t get you rattled.”
After a few more questions, Simmons handed Bentley a card and told him he’d be in touch.
Bentley watched him walk away with fire in his eyes, but a hint of worry underlined his expression. I couldn’t exactly read what he was worried about. So, before he turned to disappear into the club again, I dove underneath the yellow tape to ask him a few questions of my own.
📍 Chapter 2
Justine digs deeper into Ivy’s murder while catching the attention of the club's mysterious billionaire.
Read Chapter 2
0 Comments