Murder, They Tweeted #6
Nov. 30th, 2018 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsWhen further investigation gets them nowhere, Quentin goes to drown his sorrow and mourn the inevitable loss of his cousin. Until Diane gives him the last clues he needs.
Quentin and Hank had spent the better part of the last 2 hours poring over their evidence, following up with their interviews, and trying to find any conclusion that made sense. And so far, they had found nothing. All signs still pointed to Raph as Trevor's murderer. They were going to fail. Adding another to his already long list did not upset Quentin so much as the object of his failure. He had promised Raph he would exonerate him. If he could not keep his word to his cousin of all people, then what good was he?
The agony of imminent defeat manifested as an intense throbbing in his head that had him seeing stars for a moment. He excused himself from Hank to get something for this headache and headed to the empty tasting room, which would serve just as well as a pharmacy. He grabbed the first bottle he could find and a corkscrew, and did not even bother to pour a glass.
He had chugged a quarter of it before he realized he was not the only person making poor decisions. Diane sat at the other end of the bar, also holding a bottle of her own. She wore the same dress she had at the rehearsal several hours earlier. In fact, it looked like she had not done much since then. Ire rose to join the pain when he thought about all the work he was doing on behalf of her husband-to-be while she sat here all sorry for herself. But he forced that indignation down. What could she do that he could not, anyway?
So he joined her, pulling up the stool next to her. "Hey. You doing okay?"
"No," she replied, voice raw and whispered as she took another sip of her drink. This was her....fourth? Fifth? She had lost track, but who cared, she wasn't driving. "I just....this is my wedding, Quentin. Our wedding. And....I know I'm biased, but there is no way Raph could have done anything like this. He hates the show Criminal Minds because it's too gory! He can't even watch Kill Bill! And I'm getting shitfaced while he sits in jail," she hadn't been able to stand the well-meaning condolences and nattering of her bridesmaid or mother, so she had retreated here to be in....peace wasn't the word.. Solitude. Quentin wasn't the sort to give platitudes though.
"If there was ever a reason to get shitfaced," he commiserated with her, and tapped the tip of his bottle to her glass in an ironic toast. "I know you're right. I'm sure he can get mad, but not mad enough to curbstomp a guy. Definitely not someone he's been so tight with since he was a kid. And he'd have to be extra stupid to dump the body in a place we'd all find it a couple hours later." Something was still nagging at Quentin's brain but try as he might, he could not identify it. He did not expect Diane to have any answers, but he turned to her, anyway. He had nothing left to lose at this point, except the modicum of patience he yet retained. "Your Uncle Felix told us about the app Trevor was building."
"Yeah," she agreed, voice warbling despite her best efforts, but she didn't break into tears ago, so that was a win in her book, minuscule as it was. She'd take what she could get, "Uncle Felix offered to help back it, for a percentage of the profits, all that. Said it looked like a good business investment and talked to Raph and I about going in, too. Start a college fund for our kids one day, you know?" She blinked back tears, then continued, "Trevor didn't want to do that. Refused even the thought of investors. It was a lot of money, but the returns would have been amazing."
Quentin pondered over that for a moment. He found it hard to believe a person like Trevor would have turned down such an offer when it would invariably lead to more money. He was not some altruist doing this out of the goodness of his heart. No, much more likely he thought he could maximize his profits another way. Online fundraising, maybe, or advertising. In any case, that still left questions. "The prospect of losing all that money because of Portsmouth's intransigence must've pissed off Felix. But they seemed awful chummy today."
Diane shrugged finishing her drink and signalling the bartender for another, "That was Felix. Probably wanted him to think no hard feelings, then go try again," she explained, "He was like that. Kinda had blinders on in a way, but good at what he did."
"You think he would've changed Portsmouth's mind, then?" he asked. "Or Portsmouth would've even allowed his mind to change? How much money are we talking?" His mind was running a mile a minute. That headache was growing more painful despite the analgesics of the alcohol. Or maybe that was fuzzying his mind too much to make the connections he needed.
"Don't really know," she mused, "Raph and I discussed putting in a few thousand, enough of our savings to get substantial returns, without risking too much. Starting out is always hard, you know?" she hiccuped, wiping tears from her eyes and further smudging her already destroyed eye makeup, "Uncle Felix probably offered a lot more. 50k? Something like that."
The bottle nearly slid from Quentin's hand. That was a hell of a lot of money, especially for an individual developer and not an actual company. Felix must have been totally assured of success. And returns on such a large investment were mind-blowing. Slowly, the pieces started to fall into place. "What do you think your uncle would've done if Trevor said no?"
"Don't know," Diane mused, "He's very good at what he does. And nothing seems to bother him, he always has a solution."
"It's a fuck-ton of money, Diane. If I were capitalist scum, too, I'd be livid I'd lost all that money just because some child thought he knew better than me. It'd be enough to, I don't know, bash someone's brains in." He was leading her, and this was probably really sloppy detective work, but it was making sense. Money is the root of all evil, after all.
It took her alcohol-sloshed brain longer than normal to work her way through that, but when she did, she gasped, "You really think he would? Uncle Felix? No!" But then again, she also knew that Raph hadn't and Quentin made way too much sense. "What are you going to do?!"
"Going to nail that fucker and get your fiance to the altar."
Quentin and Hank had spent the better part of the last 2 hours poring over their evidence, following up with their interviews, and trying to find any conclusion that made sense. And so far, they had found nothing. All signs still pointed to Raph as Trevor's murderer. They were going to fail. Adding another to his already long list did not upset Quentin so much as the object of his failure. He had promised Raph he would exonerate him. If he could not keep his word to his cousin of all people, then what good was he?
The agony of imminent defeat manifested as an intense throbbing in his head that had him seeing stars for a moment. He excused himself from Hank to get something for this headache and headed to the empty tasting room, which would serve just as well as a pharmacy. He grabbed the first bottle he could find and a corkscrew, and did not even bother to pour a glass.
He had chugged a quarter of it before he realized he was not the only person making poor decisions. Diane sat at the other end of the bar, also holding a bottle of her own. She wore the same dress she had at the rehearsal several hours earlier. In fact, it looked like she had not done much since then. Ire rose to join the pain when he thought about all the work he was doing on behalf of her husband-to-be while she sat here all sorry for herself. But he forced that indignation down. What could she do that he could not, anyway?
So he joined her, pulling up the stool next to her. "Hey. You doing okay?"
"No," she replied, voice raw and whispered as she took another sip of her drink. This was her....fourth? Fifth? She had lost track, but who cared, she wasn't driving. "I just....this is my wedding, Quentin. Our wedding. And....I know I'm biased, but there is no way Raph could have done anything like this. He hates the show Criminal Minds because it's too gory! He can't even watch Kill Bill! And I'm getting shitfaced while he sits in jail," she hadn't been able to stand the well-meaning condolences and nattering of her bridesmaid or mother, so she had retreated here to be in....peace wasn't the word.. Solitude. Quentin wasn't the sort to give platitudes though.
"If there was ever a reason to get shitfaced," he commiserated with her, and tapped the tip of his bottle to her glass in an ironic toast. "I know you're right. I'm sure he can get mad, but not mad enough to curbstomp a guy. Definitely not someone he's been so tight with since he was a kid. And he'd have to be extra stupid to dump the body in a place we'd all find it a couple hours later." Something was still nagging at Quentin's brain but try as he might, he could not identify it. He did not expect Diane to have any answers, but he turned to her, anyway. He had nothing left to lose at this point, except the modicum of patience he yet retained. "Your Uncle Felix told us about the app Trevor was building."
"Yeah," she agreed, voice warbling despite her best efforts, but she didn't break into tears ago, so that was a win in her book, minuscule as it was. She'd take what she could get, "Uncle Felix offered to help back it, for a percentage of the profits, all that. Said it looked like a good business investment and talked to Raph and I about going in, too. Start a college fund for our kids one day, you know?" She blinked back tears, then continued, "Trevor didn't want to do that. Refused even the thought of investors. It was a lot of money, but the returns would have been amazing."
Quentin pondered over that for a moment. He found it hard to believe a person like Trevor would have turned down such an offer when it would invariably lead to more money. He was not some altruist doing this out of the goodness of his heart. No, much more likely he thought he could maximize his profits another way. Online fundraising, maybe, or advertising. In any case, that still left questions. "The prospect of losing all that money because of Portsmouth's intransigence must've pissed off Felix. But they seemed awful chummy today."
Diane shrugged finishing her drink and signalling the bartender for another, "That was Felix. Probably wanted him to think no hard feelings, then go try again," she explained, "He was like that. Kinda had blinders on in a way, but good at what he did."
"You think he would've changed Portsmouth's mind, then?" he asked. "Or Portsmouth would've even allowed his mind to change? How much money are we talking?" His mind was running a mile a minute. That headache was growing more painful despite the analgesics of the alcohol. Or maybe that was fuzzying his mind too much to make the connections he needed.
"Don't really know," she mused, "Raph and I discussed putting in a few thousand, enough of our savings to get substantial returns, without risking too much. Starting out is always hard, you know?" she hiccuped, wiping tears from her eyes and further smudging her already destroyed eye makeup, "Uncle Felix probably offered a lot more. 50k? Something like that."
The bottle nearly slid from Quentin's hand. That was a hell of a lot of money, especially for an individual developer and not an actual company. Felix must have been totally assured of success. And returns on such a large investment were mind-blowing. Slowly, the pieces started to fall into place. "What do you think your uncle would've done if Trevor said no?"
"Don't know," Diane mused, "He's very good at what he does. And nothing seems to bother him, he always has a solution."
"It's a fuck-ton of money, Diane. If I were capitalist scum, too, I'd be livid I'd lost all that money just because some child thought he knew better than me. It'd be enough to, I don't know, bash someone's brains in." He was leading her, and this was probably really sloppy detective work, but it was making sense. Money is the root of all evil, after all.
It took her alcohol-sloshed brain longer than normal to work her way through that, but when she did, she gasped, "You really think he would? Uncle Felix? No!" But then again, she also knew that Raph hadn't and Quentin made way too much sense. "What are you going to do?!"
"Going to nail that fucker and get your fiance to the altar."
