“Cyrus was the man of my dreams.” Al wore a wistful smile.
Christ, was there anyone whowasn’tin love with Cyrus prior to his death? Cope shook his head and turned his full attention to the former dancer.
“He was tall, dark, handsome, rich, and up for anything. I was one of those guys who just wanted to have fun. I didn’t want to be tied down to one man. I wanted to fuck them all.”
According to what Cope had seen in Al’s mind, he’d done just that and then some. “So, you and Cyrus had a similar life philosophy.”
Al nodded. “Exactly. We were perfect for each other in that we didn’t put expectations on our friendship. He came to watch me dance. His cash kept food on my table and the lights on when all the tourists had gone home. I made him home-cooked meals a couple of times a week. When his time in Old Orchard Beach ended for the season, that was it. We didn’t write letters or call each other. There was never any talk of me going to New York to meet up with him or of the two of us going on vacation together, but come next summer, our relationship picked up right where it left off.”
Cope had to admit that sort of arrangement wouldn’t have worked for him. Jude, on the other hand, looked at Al as if he were a god.
“Where were you the night Cyrus died?” Jude asked.
“I was at the club. Cyrus had been in earlier that night. I was on the stage and saw him come in.”
“Was he alone?” Cope asked.
“No, he was with that reporter, what’s his name?”
“Chet Hines?” Jude suggested.
“Yeah, that’s him. Annoying little fucker. Wanted Cyrus in the worst way. We’d all tried to tell Hines that Cyrus wasn’t the marrying kind, but he didn’t believe it. The man was totally pathetic, acting like a dog following him around and begging for his attention. That last night, they had words, and Hines stomped out. He reminded me of a little kid, you know, the kind who throws a tantrum, takes his ball, and goes home?”
Jude’s eyes widened as Al spoke. Cope knew his husband was thinking the same thing he was, that Chet Hines claimed not to have seen Cyrus that night. He supposed it was possible that Al was lying or that he confused which night the tantrum happened. It had been fifteen years since that tragic night, but Cope didn’t think that was the case. “Did Hines come back to the club that night?”
“No, not that I saw. Cyrus motioned for me about fifteen minutes after the altercation. He had a few drinks and bought some time with me and two other dancers in the VIP lounge. I’d noticed that he wasn’t quite himself that night. He was quieter than usual and tame with what he wanted from the dancers. I knewthere was something wrong, but we didn’t have the kind of relationship where I could ask him what was up.”
Jude shook his head. “You’d never seen him like that before?”
“No. Never. Cyrus was all about having fun. That last night was the only time I spent with him where his dickwasn’this top priority. He seemed distracted and on edge about something, which wasn’t like him at all. So far as I knew, Cyrus had no enemies. He had more money than he ever could have spent in a lifetime. I never asked him what was wrong and didn’t let him know he could lean on me if he needed a friend. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. When he left the club that night, he shoved some cash into my hands, kissed me, and was gone. I never saw him again.”
“Fuck,” Jude muttered. “In hindsight, do you have any idea who could have killed Cyrus?”
“Hines,” Al said without hesitation. “Not to be crude, but Cyrus’s golden dick paid the bills. There’s no way in hell any of us at the club would have risked our livelihood by killing him. It served no purpose. Mark my words. It was the reporter. He’s spent the last fifteen years on a crusade to solve the crime, but if you ask me, that’s just to keep the heat off of him. If I’d been the one to kill Cyrus, I sure as shit wouldn’t have stuck around here and definitely wouldn’t have kept the case in the public eye, but I’m not the brightest bulb in the drawer, you know?”
Cope understood Al’s point. Only a madman would have kept revisiting the crime, as if to dare people to figure out he was the killer. Was Chet Hines crazy or crazy like a fox?
15
Jude
“Was he telling the truth?” Jude asked when Al walked away. His story sounded pretty convincing, but he’d also had nearly two decades to perfect his spiel.
“From what I could tell, yes,” Cope said. “I could feel the warmth Al still carries for Cyrus. He’s got a lot of regrets, chief among them letting Cyrus leave that night without asking him what had been bothering him. Cyrus was the one great love of his life. He still mourns the man all these years later. It feels like a case of not knowing what you had until it was gone.”
Jude had been thinking the same thing.
“What was that all about?” Ronan asked, taking a seat in the lounger Al had vacated. Fitzgibbon sat beside him.
“That was Baked Alaska,” Jude said.
Fitzgibbon’s eyes widened. “Did he give you anything?”
“Maybe. He told us that Chet Hines showed up at the club that last night. Apparently, he and Cyrus had words, and Hines stormed out.”
“Interesting,” Ronan said, looking lost in thought. “He told us he didn’t see Cyrus that night.”
“We need to have another chat with Mr. Hines,” Fitz grumbled, looking pissed off. He got to his feet and walked back to his own chair. Taking a seat, he brushed the sand off his feet before slipping into his flip-flops. He rooted through his beach bag and pulled out the keys to the van. “He lied to our fucking faces. Let’s go get this asshole.”
