Free THE NEXT TO DIE by Kevin O'Brien Page B

the doors: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY . They went up to the third floor, then followed the cops down the corridor to a narrow, windowless conference room with a long oak table and a dozen chairs. Blown-up aerial photos of the airport decorated the walls.
    A thin, middle-aged Asian woman sat near the end of the table. She looked haggard. Her red jacket and skirt ensemble were slightly wrinkled. She gave Dayle and Ross a weary nod as she flipped open a steno pad.
    “I could use some coffee,” Ross whispered to Dayle. “You want coffee?”
    “No, thanks.” Dayle sat down at the table.
    Ross settled next to her. He knocked on the table until the Asian woman looked up. “Honey, I’d like a cup of coffee, cream and sugar if you’ve got it.”
    The Asian woman nodded and smiled. But she didn’t stand up.
    “Don’t call her honey,” Dayle muttered. “You know that pisses me off.”
    “Me too,” the Asian woman said. She shot a look at one of the cops. “Frank, get this asshole some coffee.”
    “Yes, Lieutenant Linn.” He hurried out the door.
    Dayle let out her first laugh since she’d stepped off the plane.
    The woman turned to Dayle and her lawyer. “Well, you heard the man,” she said. “I’m Lieutenant Susan Linn of the LAPD. I’ve been on the phone with the Portland Police Department since six forty-five this morning. I’m handling the investigation of Leigh Simone’s death on this end.”
    Ross cleared his throat. “I’m here as counsel to—”
    “I know why you’re here, Mr. Durlocker,” the lieutenant cut in. “You’re Dayle Sutton’s lawyer. I’ll forget about your ‘honey’ crack if you forget what I called you. Now, let’s cut to the chase. According to findings from the Portland police, Leigh’s death was from an overdose of heroin—accidental or a suicide, they’re still not sure.”
    Lieutenant Linn folded her hands and smiled at Dayle—the same smile she’d given Ross just seconds before calling him an asshole. “Now, Ms. Sutton. Since you were at the rally last night with Leigh, we wanted your cooperation in answering a few questions. It wouldn’t have taken long. Of course, that was before you decided to share with the press your opinion about this case.”
    “I meant what I said,” Dayle replied coolly.
    “Your reputation for being forthright precedes you,” the lieutenant said, glancing at her steno pad. “What makes you think, all evidence to the contrary, that Ms. Simone’s overdose was—as you put it—‘not self-inflicted?’”
    Dayle leaned forward. “Leigh met me for a drink in my room late last night.” Ross and the cops were staring at her, perhaps wondering about the lesbian angle; but Dayle didn’t care. At least, she tried not to care.
    “Go on,” the lieutenant said. “I’m listening.”
    “We talked for thirty minutes or so,” Dayle explained. “Leigh mentioned rumors about her sex life that simply weren’t true. She said she didn’t use drugs, and joked about being a ‘disgrace to the rock star profession.’ She wouldn’t even take a drink when I offered. When she left my room at around eleven, she was in a good mood, not at all on the brink of suicide.”
    “So you two said good-bye at eleven o’clock,” Lieutenant Linn remarked, glancing down at her notepad. “Did Ms. Simone say where she was going?”
    “Back to her suite, her party.”
    “She never returned to her suite. It looks like you were the last person to see Leigh Simone alive.”
    “Except for the people who killed her,” Dayle said,
    “Ms. Sutton, Leigh’s fingerprints were on the hypodermic. She’d trashed that ladies’ room, and scribbled a note on the mirror in her own lipstick. Do you know what she wrote?”
    Dayle shook her head.
    “She wrote the word Lies twice. What do you think she meant?”
    “Perhaps she didn’t write it,” Dayle said.
    “Perhaps she did. Perhaps she’d been lying to you about not using drugs. How well did you really know