Murder in Paradise - 6. Chapter 6

Herrera sat at his desk, the coroner's report spread out before him. The words on the page described in very clear medical terms the cause of death, but failed in any way to elucidate the grim reality they conveyed. A heart attack, the report stated, nothing else. A simple, straightforward explanation, but one that Herrera found impossible to believe. Roland Fairbanks, a man in the prime of his life, seemingly healthy and full of vigor, had simply dropped dead? It didn't add up.

"Could it have been drug-related?" he asked the coroner. That was the only plausible cause as far as Herrera was concerned.

The coroner, a seasoned professional, hesitated. "It's possible, of course. But there were no traces of any illicit substances in his system, only alcohol."

Herrera frowned. Alcohol, yes, but that couldn't have been the cause of death. He ran through the list of suspects in his mind: Alex Mason, Jack Langdon, and the Hendersons. Each had a motive, each had a reason to want Roland gone. But none of them seemed to fit the profile of a killer.

Then there was Carlos Sanchez, the mysterious figure lurking in the shadows. A man with a dubious past, a man who seemed to know more than he let on. Could he be the key to unlocking the mystery of Roland's death?

Herrera leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He had to dig deeper, to uncover the truth. The death of Roland Fairbanks was more than just a tragic accident; it was a puzzle, a riddle that needed to be solved. And he, Herrera, was determined to be the one to solve it.

◇ ◇ ◇

Herrera studied Carlos Sanchez, scrutinised him. A man whose hardened features and shifty eyes spoke volumes about his past. "Mr. Sanchez," he began, his voice low and deliberate, "you have a police record and a dubious past."

Sanchez remained silent, his gaze fixed on the table.

Herrera pulled out a small vial containing a few pills. "These pills," he said, his voice rising, "killed Roland Fairbanks."

A flicker of fear crossed Sanchez's face. After a long pause, he began to speak, his voice barely audible. "Roland wanted them. He... he was obsessed with power, with control, and he was obsessed with that pretentious model. He wanted to use them to... to manipulate people."

"Who gave him the pills?" Herrera pressed.

"Beverley," Sanchez replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "She knew about his... his desires. She knew about Alex."

Herrera's eyebrows shot up. "Beverley Henderson? The agency owner?"

Sanchez nodded, his eyes darting nervously. "She wanted to control him just the same as Roland wanted control of everything. She needed to keep him in line or really to get rid of him. She used me to get the pills. She said they could be used to... to neutralize him, if necessary."

Herrera was stunned. Beverley Henderson, the seemingly elegant and sophisticated woman, was capable of such a sinister plot?

"What you're saying is Beverley Henderson murdered Roland Fairbanks?"

"No! I'm not saying that," Sanchez looked up. "But it's possible. I know she wanted him out."

"Out of the company?"

Sanchez nodded.

"And what about Alex?" Herrera asked. "What role did he play in all this?"

Sanchez hesitated. "I don't know. I wasn't there. All I know is that Roland was obsessed with him. He wanted him, body and soul."

"And what about these pills?" Herrera asked, holding up the vial. "How many would it take to kill someone?"

Sanchez shrugged. "I don't know for sure. Two, maybe three. It depends on the person."

Herrera sent the pills to the lab for analysis, hoping to find answers. As he left the interrogation room, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this case than met the eye. He needed to speak to Alex again, to delve deeper into his relationship with Roland. There was something there, something that didn't quite add up.

◇ ◇ ◇

Herrera confronted Alex, his gaze intense. "Alex, I need you to be honest with me. What exactly happened between you and Roland Fairbanks the night of the party?"

Alex hesitated, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. He knew what Herrera wanted to hear, but he was terrified of the consequences. Revealing the truth about the assault would make him a victim, but it would also make him a suspect.

"We... we talked," Alex stammered. "About the shoot, about the future."

Herrera wasn't buying it. "Just talking? Nothing more?"

Alex shook his head, his eyes darting nervously. "That's all."

Herrera pulled out the vial of pills. "Carlos Sanchez says he procured six of these pills. Do you know what they are?"

Alex's eyes widened in shock. "No, I don't."

"These are date rape drugs," Herrera explained. "One pill can render a person unconscious, two can be fatal. Sanchez gave three pills to Roland. Is that what happened? Did Roland use these pills on you?"

Alex was speechless. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I didn't kill anyone," he insisted. "I don't know anything about any pills."

Herrera watched him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. Was he lying? Or was he truly innocent? As he left Alex to his own reflections, he knew that the truth was there, somewhere. He was determined to find it, but time would play a role, there was no point to push too hard, not yet.

After a break, which seemed like forever for Alex, with the weight of what had happened bearing down on him, Herrera returned.

He pressed on with his questioning, his voice low and insistent. "Alex, what exactly happened on the night of the party? Did Roland slip one of these into your drink? Did he... assault you?"

Alex hesitated, his face a mask of pain and confusion. He was only too aware that revealing the truth would put him in a precarious position. As a victim, he would be vulnerable, exposed to public scrutiny and judgment. But as a potential suspect, he could face even worse consequences.

With a heavy sigh, he lowered his head into his hands. "I woke up alone in his room," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I don't remember much else."

Herrera's eyes narrowed. "You don't remember? Nothing at all?"

Alex shook his head, his voice trembling. "Just fragments. A blurred memory of... of something happening."

Herrera sensed the truth in Alex's words. The fear, the shame, the confusion - these were the hallmarks of a victim of assault. He realised then, Alex was not just a potential suspect, but a victim of a terrible crime.

"It's okay, Alex," Herrera said, his voice gentle. "You don't have to remember everything. Just tell me what you do recall."

With renewed courage, Alex began to piece together the fragments of the night, a nightmarish puzzle that slowly took shape. He spoke of the drink, the sudden dizziness, the loss of control. He spoke of the violation, the humiliation, the fear.

As Alex recounted his ordeal, Herrera listened intently, his heart heavy with empathy. He knew that the road to recovery would be long and arduous, but he also knew that justice would be served.

◇ ◇ ◇

Herrera sat in the hotel lobby, his mind racing. He had a lot to think about. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together, but there were still many unanswered questions.

One question that nagged at him was the role of Beverley Henderson. Was Sanchez telling the whole truth? He had no doubt that Sanchez had procured the pills and given three to Roland. But why? Was it simply to satisfy Roland's dark desires, or was there something more sinister at play?

Herrera pondered the scenario. Roland he thought had asked Sanchez to procure the pills with the intention to dope Alex. And Beverley, with her cunning and ambition, could have easily orchestrated the entire plan to her own ends after learning about this from Sanchez. After all, if Carlos Sanchez did everything for everyone he was also most certainly in the pocket of the Hendersons and reported back to them.

She could have obtained the pills from Sanchez, either by force or by persuasion. And she could have used them to eliminate Roland, a threat to her control over the agency. However, Sanchez said he gave Roland three pills and kept the other three, the three found in his possession when he was arrested.

There were still too many unanswered questions. Why had Sanchez kept half the pills himself? Was he truly innocent, or was he playing a more complex role in this deadly game?

Herrera knew there was more to be discovered to uncover the truth. Something was missing, a piece of the jigsaw which would render the whole picture. The fate of the agency, and the lives of those involved, depended on him finding that missing piece.