Tap tap tap. Sound check. The two men filed onto the stage and took their places either side of Kyla. Out of the three of them, she looked the most self-assured. Biggs had to be on the back foot after the twin snubs from Harriet and her father.
“Welcome, folks. It’s great to see you here at the Jincheng Arena”—yes, Kentucky’s newest venue was sponsored by a Chinese beer brand—“for what promises to be a historic debate. With the polls for the senatorial election balanced on a knife-edge, this is your chance to hear from our three candidates. We’ll let each of them introduce themselves, and then we’ll challenge them with questions on the issues y’all want to hear about. Kyla Devane, would you like to start?”
“Thanks, Marty.” Kyla gestured towards the audience. “And thank you for coming today. It’s wonderful to see so many friends from the place I call home.” Cue rabid cheering from the yellow section. “So, why am I here on stage today? Well, there’s nothing I love more than my state, my country, and the people who make it great. When I’m elected senator, I’ll make real changes to the lives of Kentuckians. My background isn’t in politics. I’m not a pencil pusher. Let’s do away with all the red tape that stifles business and remove the wasted layers of bureaucracy. Mr. O’Shaughnessy wants to tighten up regulations, and Mr. Biggs… Well, he’s a lawyer. What can I say?”
Laughter answered her question, and she carried on, flipping and flopping from point to point, ad-libbing from a speech somebody else obviously wrote. She wanted to increase police numbers but cut costs. Improve medical care yet do away with the rules governing health insurance. Give families more money in their pockets yet abolish the minimum wage. Did she give any specifics on how she might achieve these objectives? No, but she did throw some barbs at her opponents. Biggs’s father-in-law was a crook, apparently, and O’Shaughnessy once punched a man in a college bar brawl, which clearly meant he was a violent thug. Good grief. Didn’t everyone get into bar brawls? Oh. Just me? Okay then. Anyhow, Kyla was nasty. Even Biggs looked uncomfortable when she laid into O’Shaughnessy.
I tuned out during Biggs’s spiel. Man, I hated politics. Even when I’d been screwing around with James, I’d avoided listening to his speeches. He used to practise them in front of the mirror, then ask me what I thought, and I’d thank my lucky stars Black had taught me to lie so well. How was Dan getting on? Her email update said she’d interviewed the ranch hands, and neither of them remembered anything useful. The agency was trying to get ahold of the nurse who’d been on duty that day. Irvine Carnes was sleeping, but Harriet had agreed Dan could speak with him when he woke up.
That was the popcorn finished, and I was still hungry. I laid my head on Alaric’s shoulder.
“Is it over yet?” I whispered as Biggs handed over to O’Shaughnessy. “I’m so bored.”
“You were the one who wanted to come.”
“Yeah, but I’ve made my assessment now. Kyla’s a bitch. Harriet was right.”
We should’ve taken the opportunity to nose around Devane’s place, not Carnes’s. Maybe we’d find an art gallery? A row of stolen paintings, hidden away in— What the fuck? Alaric spat a mouthful of cola, and the entire auditorium gasped.
I looked up. Holy mother of…
O’Shaughnessy’s facts and figures about Kentucky employment rates had been replaced by a video. Two men, grunting away as one thrust into the other’s ass. Actually, scratch that. The one on the bottom was more of a boy. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Fucking hell. It wasn’t a cheap home movie, either. No, it looked professionally produced. The room was furnished expensively, even opulently, and both of the participants were well-groomed. The throes of…not passion exactly, because the boy didn’t look happy to be there…whatever, they carried on for about ten seconds before someone hit pause. On a close-up. Testicles the size of gym balls filled the screen.
“Still bored, Cinders?” Alaric whispered, and I snorted before I could help myself. Some old woman in a scarlet jersey gave me a dirty look.
Up on stage, the candidates and the moderator were all frozen. The colour drained out of O’Shaughnessy’s face, as was to be expected with his election hopes circling the drain. And perhaps his freedom too if that kid was underage.
But Kyla… Kyla’s lips twitched in the faintest smirk.
Pleased at the death of her foe’s political career? Or satisfied with her handiwork?
Her gaze flicked to the left, and I followed her line of sight. She was looking at a man. I only caught a glimpse of him, but he seemed familiar. Where had I seen him before? I was still puzzling over the question when the auditorium came back to life, and so did the AV techs. The screen went dark as the moderator stuttered into his microphone.
“Well, folks, I, uh, think we’ll take a short break here.”
The lights over the stage dimmed. Kyla strode off, chin high, and Biggs shuffled along behind her. O’Shaughnessy didn’t move. Was he in shock? Eventually, when the jeers from the crowd started, the moderator steered him away.
Who was that guy?
I used the confusion to slip past a security guard—not one of Blackwood’s, I hasten to add—and headed to the spot where I’d seen him last. Where had he gone? A set of nearby stairs led down into the bowels of the building, and I trotted in the most likely direction.
“Why are we backstage?” Alaric asked from right behind me.
“I saw someone.”
“Anyone in particular? Or just ‘someone’?”
“A guy.”
“That narrows it down.”
“Where did Kyla go?”
Alaric stopped a harried-looking girl passing in the other direction. “Where can I find Kyla Devane?”
“Who are you?”
“Aaron Meister, Bowling Green Daily News. We have an interview scheduled. I’m not sure quite what happened out there, but it looks as though the debate finished early?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure either. Her dressing room’s along that hallway, first door on the left.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
I didn’t waste time hanging around. If Kyla was going to have a conversation about the incident on stage, then I wanted to be first in line to overhear it. I spotted a clipboard on a nearby table and tucked it under my arm to give myself some cover. Was I too old to be an intern?
We rounded the corner, and I spotted my target ahead. Dark grey suit, shortish blond hair with a fringe that flopped over his forehead, an aquiline nose, broad shoulders, and only six feet from the emergency exit. Shit.
“Ma’am, you can’t come down here.”
A two-hundred-pound gorilla stepped out in front of us, and I held up my clipboard.
“I’m just taking a journalist to Ms. Devane.”
“She’s not speaking to any journalists today.”
“But my boss said—”
“In here, I’m the boss. And I’m telling you, she’s not doing any interviews today.”
Didn’t matter. I had what I needed. The blond guy had turned, curious, and I recalled who he reminded me of. A guy I’d seen at a Navy reunion dinner I’d attended with Black, had to be five or six years ago now. Ridley? Radley? Something like that. He’d been Black’s commanding officer before he joined the SEALs, and according to my husband, a Grade A asshole. Last I heard, he’d started up his own security company, although he operated at the other end of the market to us with cut-rate, dubious-quality contractors who I wouldn’t trust to give out parking tickets.