Read Online Reign by Chet Williamson - Free Book Online
Authors: Chet Williamson
Tags: Horror
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about ."
He gave a shuddering sigh. "Ally, it was an accident, that's all — a terrible accident."
Ally shook her head with a sharp snap. "No accident, Dennis. It wasn't an accident."
"What are you saying, it was murder?"
She looked puzzled for a moment. "No . . . not murder. Not an accident, and not murder. Something . . . else."
Dennis put a hand on her shoulder, and she recoiled at the dampness of it. He turned away from her and made his way through the crowd toward where he had seen Robin. His friends looked at him, gave sickly smiles, quick little shakes of the head, tentative pats on the back that were meant to convey sympathy, so it was a surprise when a hand gripped his shoulder firmly enough to cause a twinge of pain.
"Fucking hell," John Steinberg breathed in his ear, "when are these uniformed pharaohs going to let my people go? I've been entertaining the troops for half an hour now, and it's no small feat to keep people amused who have just witnessed a decapitation."
"Have you asked the police?" Dennis said.
"I try to, but they start giving me the third degree, as if I have something to hide. Really, Dennis, I don't think this party is going to go down as one of the most successful we've ever thrown."
For an instant a dark rage rose up in Dennis, a fury that Steinberg would treat Tommy's death no more seriously than a fly in the punch bowl. But the feeling washed over him as quickly as it had come, leaving him sad, weary, and only mildly disgusted with his manager's insensitivity. "We'll have to inform his family."
"Already done. I had Donna pull his file and call his parents. There are going to be enough other problems to take care of."
Most of the time Dennis was astonished at Steinberg's efficiency. Tonight he was appalled by it. So it was with relief that he finally found Robin, who handed him a glass of scotch neat, which he downed in one searing gulp. Then they said nothing, and merely stood with their arms around each other for several minutes. At last the troopers came out the door to the auditorium, and Trooper Pierce announced that everyone was free to go. As the guests filed out, Dan Munro came up to Dennis and Robin, who had been joined by Steinberg.
"They've got just about everything they need, Mr. Hamilton," Munro said. "The boys took the body out the backstage door. The rope didn't break. It was released at the pin somehow. There'll have to be a hearing, but since no one else was back there at the time of the accident, they'll probably call it death by misadventure, which basically means we won't ever know what happened." Munro cleared his throat. "As a formality, I'd like to fingerprint anyone who wasn't in the audience at the time of the accident — that means you, your wife, and Mr. Wynn. The lab may get some latent prints from the wooden pin. Would any of you have had cause to touch it?"
"My wife and I, no. But Curt probably would have at some point. Though when people work the rail, they generally use gloves."
"All right. I'll send Davis over to do the printing tomorrow. I'm sure you folks don't need any more of this tonight. In the morning around ten okay?" Dennis nodded. "Thanks for your cooperation, and I'm very sorry about your friend." Munro started toward the door and turned back. "Oh, by the way — you can go ahead and have the stage . . . cleaned up if you like. We've got our photographs and everything else we need. Goodnight."
"Cleaned up . . .” Steinberg mused. "Lovely conceit."
Robin whirled on him. "Oh, John, shut up! Just shut the hell up!" She stormed off across the lobby toward the elevator to the suites above.
Steinberg blushed, just a bit. "I'm sorry, Dennis, if I seem to be rather callous about all this. I do not like death, and therefore, I try to make fun of it as often as I can. Sometimes, I regret to say, with less than acute timing. Would you extend my apologies to your wife?"
"Sure."
"In the meantime, I'll check with Curt and make certain the storm
He gave a shuddering sigh. "Ally, it was an accident, that's all — a terrible accident."
Ally shook her head with a sharp snap. "No accident, Dennis. It wasn't an accident."
"What are you saying, it was murder?"
She looked puzzled for a moment. "No . . . not murder. Not an accident, and not murder. Something . . . else."
Dennis put a hand on her shoulder, and she recoiled at the dampness of it. He turned away from her and made his way through the crowd toward where he had seen Robin. His friends looked at him, gave sickly smiles, quick little shakes of the head, tentative pats on the back that were meant to convey sympathy, so it was a surprise when a hand gripped his shoulder firmly enough to cause a twinge of pain.
"Fucking hell," John Steinberg breathed in his ear, "when are these uniformed pharaohs going to let my people go? I've been entertaining the troops for half an hour now, and it's no small feat to keep people amused who have just witnessed a decapitation."
"Have you asked the police?" Dennis said.
"I try to, but they start giving me the third degree, as if I have something to hide. Really, Dennis, I don't think this party is going to go down as one of the most successful we've ever thrown."
For an instant a dark rage rose up in Dennis, a fury that Steinberg would treat Tommy's death no more seriously than a fly in the punch bowl. But the feeling washed over him as quickly as it had come, leaving him sad, weary, and only mildly disgusted with his manager's insensitivity. "We'll have to inform his family."
"Already done. I had Donna pull his file and call his parents. There are going to be enough other problems to take care of."
Most of the time Dennis was astonished at Steinberg's efficiency. Tonight he was appalled by it. So it was with relief that he finally found Robin, who handed him a glass of scotch neat, which he downed in one searing gulp. Then they said nothing, and merely stood with their arms around each other for several minutes. At last the troopers came out the door to the auditorium, and Trooper Pierce announced that everyone was free to go. As the guests filed out, Dan Munro came up to Dennis and Robin, who had been joined by Steinberg.
"They've got just about everything they need, Mr. Hamilton," Munro said. "The boys took the body out the backstage door. The rope didn't break. It was released at the pin somehow. There'll have to be a hearing, but since no one else was back there at the time of the accident, they'll probably call it death by misadventure, which basically means we won't ever know what happened." Munro cleared his throat. "As a formality, I'd like to fingerprint anyone who wasn't in the audience at the time of the accident — that means you, your wife, and Mr. Wynn. The lab may get some latent prints from the wooden pin. Would any of you have had cause to touch it?"
"My wife and I, no. But Curt probably would have at some point. Though when people work the rail, they generally use gloves."
"All right. I'll send Davis over to do the printing tomorrow. I'm sure you folks don't need any more of this tonight. In the morning around ten okay?" Dennis nodded. "Thanks for your cooperation, and I'm very sorry about your friend." Munro started toward the door and turned back. "Oh, by the way — you can go ahead and have the stage . . . cleaned up if you like. We've got our photographs and everything else we need. Goodnight."
"Cleaned up . . .” Steinberg mused. "Lovely conceit."
Robin whirled on him. "Oh, John, shut up! Just shut the hell up!" She stormed off across the lobby toward the elevator to the suites above.
Steinberg blushed, just a bit. "I'm sorry, Dennis, if I seem to be rather callous about all this. I do not like death, and therefore, I try to make fun of it as often as I can. Sometimes, I regret to say, with less than acute timing. Would you extend my apologies to your wife?"
"Sure."
"In the meantime, I'll check with Curt and make certain the storm
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