Page 12 of Murder on the Upper East Side

‘You can’t just take her!’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t even get to say goodbye. I need—’

‘Elle.’ Alex was beside her then, taking her firmly by the shoulders and silently imploring the uniforms to stand down. ‘They can’t leave her body here. You need to let them do their job.’ His voice was surprisingly steady for a man who had just lost his only sister.

Elle turned, sobbing, and buried her head in Alex’s shoulder. Hannah’s eyes were fixed on the stretcher. Where Elle had disturbed the sheet, Madison’s left hand was visible. The giant diamond in her engagement ring flashed garishly in the club’s amber lights.

Elle allowed herself to be guided to a high-backed armchair in the library. Alex propped her feet on a velvet footstool, and the paramedics resumed their short journey across the club. Then the stretcher was through the door, and the butler made quick work of latching the two locks and securing the deadbolt. One of the uniformed officers nodded to the butler, dismissing him, then took up his station at the door. Were they being locked in?

‘Excuse me.’ The two homicide detectives had made their way to the front of the bar. Following some throat clearing and hand clapping, the entire crowd – guests and staff – pressed into the lounge.

‘I’m Detective Raina Wellesley,’ said the first detective, a petite woman with pale skin and buttery yellow hair drawn back in a neat clasp. ‘And this is my partner, Detective Randall Crews. We’re with the 19th Precinct, and over the next few hours, we’ll be asking for your co-operation in our initial investigation into the murder of your fellow alumna, Madison DuPont.’

‘She was definitely murdered then?’ asked a young alum in a Dior gown with a massive tulle skirt. ‘Like, someone herekilledher?’

‘We are treating this as a homicide investigation,’ said Detective Crews. He was Black, stocky and muscular, with a neatly trimmed moustache and wire-rimmed glasses. Like his partner, he appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties.

The lounge filled with gasps, as if this was new information.Obviously, Madison had been murdered.

‘She was poisoned, right?’ All heads turned to face Theo Fitzgerald, who stood in the back, leaning against the arch separating the lounge from the dining room. ‘I mean, it sure looked like she’d been poisoned. Can you tell us that?’

The room erupted in chatter then, everyone demanding more information from the detectives. Bash shouldered his way to the front, shouting for everyone to be quiet.

Detective Crews cleared his throat.

‘The medical examiner’s findings are, at this point, preliminary. As this is an active investigation, I’mafraid we can’t discuss the cause of death, but we are treating Ms DuPont’s death as suspicious.’

‘Of course it was poison,’ Beatrice murmured, loud enough for most guests to hear. ‘We all saw her glass on the carpet. And she’d been sick.’

Beatrice was right; they’d all seen the vomit leaking from her mouth, the fallen martini glass, which had still been half-full when she’d entered the ladies’ room. Madison had been poisoned, without a doubt.

‘They should just tell us,’ Oliver said with a scowl. ‘We all saw the body, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Our investigation,’ Detective Wellesley cut in, voice surprisingly loud for such a petite woman, ‘is in the earliest stages. As such, we will be spending the next several hours taking witness statements. Mr Beaumont has kindly granted us access to one of the guest rooms upstairs.’

Oliver snatched his tux jacket from the back of the chair where he’d abandoned it earlier, then slipped it back on. ‘Just got a bit chilly in here,’ he muttered.

‘We’re sorry to keep you,’ Detective Crews continued, sounding not a bit sorry, ‘but it is imperative that we conduct our interviews while the night remains fresh in everyone’s minds.’

‘Are these witness statements or interviews?’ someone asked. Hannah turned in the direction of the voice. Tyler Marsden – he’d been one class behind her and was widely regarded as the junior class prankster. He’d grown a bit of a gut, clearly his lacrosse days were behind him, but was otherwise largelyunchanged. ‘Because she said “witness statements”, but you just said “interviews”. I mean, should I be calling my lawyer?’

‘We are speaking to you as witnesses to a crime,’ Detective Wellesley said quickly. ‘If our conversations lead us to make an arrest in this investigation, it is our duty to inform the suspect as such, at which point any suspect in our custody would have the right to request a lawyer before submitting to further questioning. Understood?’

Murmurs abounded. Hannah snorted, then leaned down to press her lips to Ami’s ear. ‘In other words, please don’t muck things up and keep us here until dawn by calling your lawyers now, thankyouveryfuckingmuch.’

Ami scowled. ‘Not that we have our phones anyway.’

‘Your co-operation is much appreciated,’ Detective Crews was saying. ‘I know we all want to get home as soon as possible, and we will do our best to keep things brief.’ He scanned for someone in the crowd, then made a small beckoning motion with his hand. Edward Beaumont, Bash’s older brother and a fellow Prescott alum, stepped forward to join the detectives in front of the bar.

When they’d been seniors, Edward had been a freshman at Yale. He’d made multiple appearances during that year, over holidays and breaks, always stoking the flames of sibling rivalry with the younger Beaumont and usually breaking a new Prescott girl’s heart. Like Bash, Edward had close-cropped blackhair, but his hairline was receding dramatically for a man of twenty-nine. His build was trim, but not muscular, and he had several inches on his younger sibling. Edward’s most dramatic feature was his nose, which sloped sharply towards a narrow chin, giving him the air of a darkly handsome villain.

‘Mr Beaumont will assist us in showing witnesses upstairs, to the room where we will be taking statements,’ Detective Crews said. ‘Please give him your utmost co-operation.’

With that, the detectives turned to the staircase leading from behind the reception desk up to the club’s second floor. A hand clamped around Hannah’s upper arm, and she gasped – the grip wasn’t painful, but it was decidedly firm.

‘Hannah.’ Edward Beaumont stood beside her, grinning devilishly. He’d sure moved fast.

‘Edward.’ Hannah gave her arm a shake, attempting to free herself from his grasp. He tightened his grip. ‘What the hell?’

He leaned close to her ear. His voice was low, but hard around the edges. ‘You’re to come with me. The detectives want to speak with you first.’