Murder in Paradise - 7. Chapter 7

Niomi Asouta had watched the scene unfold with a mix of envy and frustration. Roland, the man who once held her attention, was completely infatuated with Alex Mason. His eyes lit up whenever Alex was around, his focus unwavering. It was as if Alex had cast a spell over him, a spell that Niomi couldn't break.

She had tried to gain his attention, to remind him of her importance, but he was oblivious. Instead, he had turned his attention to Giovanni Salvatore, the powerful figure from Ardmani. The two men seemed to have formed a bond, their conversations intense and private.

Niomi couldn't help but wonder what it was about Alex that captivated them both. Was it his beauty, his charisma, or something else entirely? She had beauty, she had talent, but she lacked the certain je ne sais quoi that made Alex so alluring.

As she had watched Giovanni and Roland disappear into the elevator, a plan had begun to form in her mind. She needed to regain control of the situation, to reassert her dominance. But how? She would have to be careful, to play her cards right. The stakes were high, and the consequences could be dire.

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Herrera found Alison sitting at the bar, a glass of Chardonnay in her hand. She looked a little tipsy, her eyes heavy with fatigue. "I'm glad I found you," he began, his voice low. "I wanted to confirm something you said earlier."

He flipped open his notebook and pointed to a particular entry. "You said you saw Mr. Fairbanks and Mr. Salvatore leave the party together?"

Alison nodded, her gaze distant. "Yes, that's right. They seemed to be in deep conversation." She took a sip of her wine and looked at him across the top of the glass. She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Niomi followed them out a short time later," she added.

Herrera's interest piqued. "Followed them? Where did they go?"

Alison shrugged. "I don't know. I was sitting at the bar." She smiled a little drunkenly.

Herrera thanked her and left, his mind digesting this new information. The night of the party was becoming increasingly complex. There were more players involved than he had initially thought. And each new piece of information added other possibilities.

As he was leaving the hotel lounge he bumped into Nora, the photographer. The striking woman, her eyes sharp and observant, stopped as he addressed her. "Señorita Lessing," he greeted her with a smile. "You've arrived just in time to rescue your friend Alison. She's over there, looking a bit lost."

Nora nodded, her expression concerned. "This whole business has affected her badly," she remarked.

Herrera paused, his gaze fixed on her. "I'd like to ask you a couple of things," he said. "Perhaps after lunch?"

Nora hesitated, then nodded. "Sure, I'll be here."

As Herrera watched Nora walk over to Alison, he wondered about exactly what was the relationship between the two women. It was also to the forefront of his thoughts that each person he interviewed, each piece of information he gathered, seemed to lead to a new mystery. The puzzle was becoming increasingly difficult to decipher, but he was determined to solve it.

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Herrera found Nora alone in the hotel lounge, a look of concern etched on her face. "Alison's gone to rest," she explained. "She's been through a lot."

Herrera nodded sympathetically. "I wanted to talk to you about Niomi Asouta," he began. "What's her situation with Ardmani?"

Nora sighed. "She's on her way out. Her contract is up for renewal and I don't think she's going to get it extended. She's been desperate lately, trying to win back Roland's favour. And she's been making overtures to Giovanni, but he seems more interested in Alex."

"Do you think she might have been involved in Roland's death?" Herrera asked, his voice low.

Nora hesitated. "I don't know. She's certainly capable of anything. She's desperate, and she's ruthless."

Herrera thanked Nora for her time and left the lounge. Niomi Asouta, a woman driven by ambition and desperation, could be a key to unlocking the mystery of Roland Fairbank's death. He would need to investigate her further, to see if she had any motive, any opportunity to harm Roland.

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Herrera found Niomi Asouta waiting in the hotel lobby, she had got his message. The woman whose beauty was undeniable, was dressed casually, but still she moved with the style of a model on the catwalk. Her eyes held a certain sharpness, a knowing glint that suggested a mind both calculating and intelligent.

"You were close to Mr. Fairbanks," Herrera began, his voice low and steady. "Tell me about your relationship."

Niomi sighed. "We were colleagues, friends. He was charming, charismatic, but also... complicated."
"By complicated you mean what exactly?"

Naomi turned her gaze on the commissaire. "He was infatuated with Alex Mason, to the point of caring about nothing else. That's what I mean by complicated, but surely you must already know this?"

Herrera nodded. "You were hoping to renew your contract with Ardmani," Herrera observed. "How did that go?"

"Not well," Niomi admitted. "I tried to talk to both Roland and Giovanni, but they both seemed more interested in other things, particularly Alex Mason."

"You were jealous of Alex, weren't you?" Herrera asked.

Niomi nodded. "Of course. He's young, talented, and he has the world at his feet. But that doesn't mean I wished him harm, or Roland for that matter."

"You left the party shortly after Roland and Giovanni?" Herrera prompted.

"Yes, I wanted to confront both of them, but I didn't. I went my room then decided to go back to the party. It was then I saw the two of them in the corridor outside Roland's room."

"You saw Roland and Giovanni together the night of the incident," Herrera confirmed. "What were they doing?"

"They were... discussing something," Niomi replied, her voice hesitant. "I couldn't hear what they were saying."

Herrera studied her face, searching for any sign of deception. But Niomi's expression remained calm, her eyes steady. He couldn't help but believe her. She was ambitious, yes, but she didn't seem capable of harming anyone, despite her acting the femme fatale.

As he left the lounge, Herrera couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. The puzzle pieces weren't quite fitting together. He was missing a crucial piece that would unlock the mystery of Roland Fairbank's death.

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Commissaire Herrera was facing pressure from his superiors, the powers that be wanted the case tied up and closed and he had no real argument against this. Only perhaps one course of action. He sent a message to Alex Mason.

Herrera found Alex in a small, quiet cafe, a place where he could speak freely without fear of being overheard. The detective sat down, his expression grave.

"Alex," he began, "I need you to understand the gravity of the situation. Roland Fairbank's death is going to be classified as a natural cause. Without a formal accusation of assault by you, the case will be closed."

Alex's eyes widened in disbelief. "But he... he did something terrible to me."

"I know," Herrera replied, his voice gentle. "And I believe you. But for the investigation to continue I need you to make a formal accusation. This is absolutely necessary."

"But," Alex hesitated, his mind thinking in all sorts of directions. He knew the consequences of coming forward. The public scrutiny, the invasive questions, the trauma of reliving the assault. "you can't prosecute a dead man."

He wanted Roland brought to account, but it was too late!

Herrera paused and took his time before responding. "True," he finally said, "but it would buy me a little more time to pursue the puzzle of Roland's death."

"Look, let's be real, none of this is good for me. The guy's dead. I didn't kill him, you believe me. In a way justice has already been served."

"Has it though?" Herrera questioned. "Are you certain it was Roland who assaulted you?"

Now Alex became agitated. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Herrera looked straight at Alex. "Giovanni Salvatore was seen with Roland leaving Orlando's room. From what I can work out it fits with the approximate time your assault took place. Let me ask you, do you have the clothes you wore that night?

"I guess, I threw them in the laundry basket."

"Well, how about we retrieve them so I can get them tested at the lab. Nothing else, no formal accusation. If nothing comes back, that's it. We'll see. Can we do that?"

"I'll do it," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll get you the clothes."

Herrera nodded, relief washing over him. "Thank you, Alex."

Herrera now had to rely on something turning up, he didn't really hold out much hope, but it was all he had left.