Page 96 of Don't Shoot Me Santa

“DS Parry.” Kenny exhaled, breath fogging as he rubbed his gloved hands together.

“They’re finishing scene photography. I can give you access. Just you.” She glanced at Aaron. “He’ll need to stay behind the line.”

Kenny turned to him gently. “You can wait here.”

“The fuck I can. If she tried to reach me before she ended up here, then I’m going in. If even to prove, at least to myself, that I got here. For her.”

Kenny held his gaze for a moment, then turned back to Parry. “Get him a suit. I’m not going in without him.”

Parry glanced between the two of them. Then took a breath. “Actually…well, I’m sure you understand that at the moment he’s our first line of enquiry. So I need a verbal statement. For the record. Of his whereabouts.”

Aaron scoffed violently. “Are you fucking joking?”

“We’re not making assumptions,” Parry replied evenly. “But she reached out to you. Or at least tried. You could’ve been the last person she saw. So we’ll need to account for your movements. To rule you out. Estimated TOD is between one and six a.m. pending pathology. If you can tell us where you were around that time?”

Aaron glanced up to Kenny. He gave a subtle nod. Cooperate.Please.

So Aaron huffed. “Last night? One a.m.?” He gestured lazily at Kenny. “In bed. With him. Think that was somewhere between orgasm number five and me trying to remember my own name.”

Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

“Blasphemy, lover. Though you did have me calling to Him last night.” He smiled at Parry. “Might wanna check if God logs witness statements?”

Parry blinked.

“And if that’s not enough to clear me, feel free to run the numbers on my blood sugar. Estimated fluid loss. Check for signs of strenuous exertion followed by total upper-body failure. Pretty sure I couldn’t have twisted the cap off a tube of lube, let alone the neck of a girl half my size afterhewas done with me.”

Parry’s mouth twitched. “Right. Well. That… clarifies things.”

“I can clarify more—”

She raised a gloved hand. “That’ll do.” She turned to the nearest SOCO officer. “Get them both suited.”

Parry sauntered off.

Kenny turned to Aaron with a death glare.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Aaron folded his arms. “You know I deflect. I’m growing the prickles back. You said you love me even when I’m like this. My prickles slot right into you, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wish you’d tone it down at a fucking murder scene.”

“That’s when it comes out more! Fucking hell, youknowthat. You probably have a diagnosis for it!”

“Maladaptive coping mechanism. Humour as shield. Trauma linked hypervigilance with oppositional reflex. Classic defence pattern.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes. “That’s very wordy for ‘doesn’t cope well with being blamed for murder.’”

“They’re not blaming you, baby. They’re doing their job. Due diligence. Imagine if they skipped over the obvious connection because the main suspect claimed he’d been too thoroughly fucked into a mattress for four straight hours to commit homicide.”

“I mean…fair. But you’ve got to admit, it’s one hell of an alibi.”

“It’s also an overshare.”

“Says the man who just diagnosed me out loud like I’m a fucking patient.”

“Mypatient.”

“You better be kidding.”