Murder in Paradise - 5. Chapter 5

Jack Langdon, the newest sensation in the modelling world, found himself in the spotlight, but not for the reasons he'd hoped. The prestigious modelling agency had high hopes for him, positioning him as a potential face of the legendary fashion house, Ardmani. However, the recent, tragic death of Roland Fairbanks, a key figure in the agency, had cast a shadow over the glamorous world of fashion.

Commissaire Herrera, the seasoned detective with a keen eye for detail and a second sense when it came to deception, was determined to unravel the mystery surrounding Fairbank's demise. His investigation had brought him into the heart of the fashion industry, where intrigue and rivalry were as commonplace as designer gowns.

Herrera arrived at Jack's hotel room, a stark contrast to the opulent suite the Hendersons occupied. "Mr. Langdon, I need a few words with you," he began, his voice cutting through the silence that greeted him.

Jack, visibly nervous, invited the Commissaire to sit. "Of course, Commissaire. What can I do for you?"

"I'm investigating the death of Roland Fairbanks," Herrera explained. "I'm particularly interested in the events leading up to the incident and I'm speaking to everyone who might be able to shed light on what has happened."

"I understand," Jack replied, his voice steady. "I was at the party, enjoying myself. The usual stuff, you know. Drinks, music, and mingling with the crowd."

Herrera intensified his regard. "Really? You weren't at all worried that you might not be the choice for Ardmani and that your rival, Alex Mason, would get the job?"

Jack hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Well, of course, there's always a bit of competition. But I had a good feeling about it. I was talking to Nora, the photographer, and she seemed to think I had a good chance."

Herrera pressed on. "So, it didn't worry you at all that your rival was close to Roland Fairbanks? That he might have an advantage?"

Jack was caught off guard. He hadn't considered the implications of his situation. "Well, I suppose it could have been a factor," he admitted, his voice growing weaker.

Herrera nodded, his expression unreadable. "It seems that your future in the fashion industry was intertwined with Roland Fairbanks, Mr. Langdon. A dangerous game, isn't it?"

Jack was silent, the gravity of the situation sinking in. He had been so focused on his career, on the promise of fame and fortune, he had overlooked the darker side of the industry.

As Herrera left the hotel room, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this case than met the eye. The glamorous facade of the fashion world was beginning to crack, revealing a world of secrets, lies, and deadly ambition.

The morning sun cast its orange glow over the city as Commissaire Herrera returned to see Mr. and Mrs. Henderson. The couple, still disheveled from a restless night, sat on the couch opposite him, their faces etched with weariness. Mrs Henderson held a large mug of coffee snuggled between both hands. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked him.

Herrera didn't reply immediately, and then as if jolted from his thoughts answered abruptly, "No thank you." His manner appeared to make the couple uneasy, Mrs Henderson shifting position and placing her coffee on the glass table with a clunk.

Herrera, unfazed by their discomfort, cut straight to the chase. "Mr. Henderson, I want to know what Carlos Sanchez was doing the night of the incident."

Henderson, a man of privilege and power, hesitated. "As far as I know, he was off duty."

Herrera paused before continuing his probing. "Off duty, is it? Where is he now, then?"

Henderson shrugged. "I have no idea. He comes and goes as he pleases."

Herrera pressed on, "What exactly is his role at the agency? Chauffeur, messenger?"

"A bit of both, really," Henderson replied. "He does whatever needs to be done. A jack of all trades, you might say."

Herrera, however, knew more than what Henderson was willing to admit. His background check on Sanchez had revealed a far more sinister past. The man had a history of drug dealing, theft, and assault.

"Mr. Henderson," Herrera began, his voice low and deliberate, "did you know about Sanchez's criminal record before you hired him?"

Henderson's face flushed. "I... I wasn't aware of anything serious."

"Drug dealing, theft, assault," Herrera recited, his voice growing colder. "These are not minor offenses, Mr. Henderson."

Henderson and his wife exchanged a nervous glance. They clearly had something to hide.

"I see," Herrera said, his tone laced with skepticism. "So, a man with such a checkered past was trusted within your agency to come and go and do as he liked?"

The Hendersons remained silent, their guilt palpable.

Herrera stood up, his decision made. "I'm afraid I'll need to ask you both to come to the delegacia de polícia to make a statement. I have issued a mandado for the arrest of Carlos Sanchez."

As he turned to leave, he paused, his gaze lingering on the couple. "It seems that the world of high fashion isn't as glamorous as it appears, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson. There's a darker side, a side that's willing to stoop to any level to achieve its goals."

With those words, Herrera exited the suite, leaving the Hendersons to grapple with the consequences of their situation and the growing web of deceit that surrounded them.

◇ ◇ ◇

Carlos Sanchez knew he had to get out. The party, the agency, the city - everything. His heart pounded in his chest as he slipped out of the beachside hotel, the cool morning air contrasting sharply with the heated tension he'd left behind. He'd been caught up in a power game, a game that had spiraled out of control.

He'd been the one to procure the drugs for Roland Fairbanks, a task delegated by Beverley Henderson. It was a blackmail scheme, a twisted game of force and control. But the consequences were not to his liking, he could only see he was being used and the manipulated.The choice, if he had had one, to go along with Beverley's plan had hung heavy in the air. Carlos could not understand what Beverley hoped to achieve and how threats to Roland would achieve anything. Besides all that was nothing to do with him and Roland was far too clever for the Hendersons.

Now, with Roland dead, Sanchez was in the frame. His criminal past, a shadow that had always lurked in the corners of his life, made him a prime suspect. Once he learned Roland was lying dead on the beach, and word shot around the party goers like a wildfire, he knew he had to disappear, vanish into thin air.

He hit the road, the engine of the car roaring to life as he sped away from the city. The open road stretched out before him, a promise of freedom. But freedom was a fleeting illusion. A police patrol car, alerted to be on the lookout for him, spotted his vehicle as he raced through a coastal town.

Blue lights flashed, a siren wailed. Sanchez panicked, his foot pressing harder on the accelerator. He couldn't be caught. He couldn't go back. But the patrol car was gaining on him, its siren blaring behind him on the almost deserted coastal road. Tyres screeched, the car swirved around the bends, on one side was a sheer drop to the sea, on the other barren rocky cliffs..

Desperation fueled his flight, but it was a futile effort. The police car closed in, forcing him to slow down and eventually pull over. As he stepped out of the car, he could feel the weight of his past bearing down on him.

The officers approached him cautiously, their hands hovering near their holsters. They knew who he was, a man with a reputation for trouble. A quick search revealed the evidence: three potent pills, the remnants of his dark dealings.

The arrest was swift and efficient. As he was handcuffed and led away, Sanchez couldn't help but feel a sense of resignation. His escape had been short-lived, his freedom a mere illusion. Now, he would face the consequences of his actions, a reckoning that would shatter the fragile life he had built.

The glamorous world of fashion, with its glitz and glamour, had exposed its darker side. A world of secrets, lies, and deadly intentions. And Carlos Sanchez, a pawn in a power struggle, had become a victim of its ruthless machinations.