Poor Hector hadn't expected everything that spilled from Devi that morning. He sat bug-eyed, mouth slackened, gawking. He'd expected a bit of drama, sure—given who Devi was—but the sheer awkwardness and breadth of craziness that was her life? Unfathomable. Did people truly have that much going on in their lives?

On the bed, Devi Dhungel sat, chewing her lower lip, staring at the flummoxed young man before her, silently begging him to say something. Anything. You see, Devi had never been to a confessional, on the part that she was a Hindu and no such guilt-driven designated activity was part and parcel of her culture. Any confessions of any kind usually involved her, alone in her room, praying to the high heavens that something or other would go her way. Otherwise, Devi wasn't exactly the religious sort. The only thing she'd ever tried to uphold—and completely missed the mark on—was one of the biggest teachings: never hurt another person emotionally, ever.

With multiple jilted lovers, ruffled and angry family members, Devi hadn't exactly succeeded on that front.

But the 'new' and broken, Devi Dhungel, sat there, legs out in front of her under the covers, busting to go to the loo thanks to the coffee Hector had plied her with. She scratched at her collar uncomfortably, needing to both take a break and figure out what Inspector Hector thought about it all. Her story.

"So?" she began, cautiously,trying not to spook the young man. "What do you think? I was a horrible person ...?"

"I don't think that." Hector flashed a dull smile, even though he thought something adjacent: how many men have you slept with? A pertinent question for an attempted murder investigation, surely!

"So? Who do you think it could be?" Devi shrugged.

Who could it be? Hector stared at her. Was she serious? Any of them could have been it, given what he'd just heard. Almost all seemed to have a motive right then, right there during that debacle of a dinner.

He pretended to consult his notebook, chewing on the side of his cheek. "Umm ... it's too early to say. Before I can theorise"—he pointed at her lounging body on the bed—"what happened after the dinner?"

"What's that face for?" Devi asked instead.

Hector bit his lips and glanced her way. A question was bugging him to no end. "Who is Miles?"

"Miles?"

Hector tapped his notes, at the name scribbled in all caps. MILES?

"Yeah, you mentioned there was something familiar about the bartender, like you knew him from before. You said you finally realised who he was. So who was he?" A burning desire to know what this 'best screw' Miles looked like flared in his chest. Best screw, my ass! "He might be a person of interest as well ..."

"Miles? The guy who saved my sister's rescue?" Devi blinked.

Hector tried not to recall how flirtatious Devi had sounded during the Miles segment of her story. "Yes, that Miles. Anyone and everyone on that boat is a suspect, so how do you know him?"

"Oh ..." Devi blinked. "Miles ..." trying to recall the bartender, to recall his face. "He was my old assistant, back when I was becoming a household name in publishing."

Well, that was news. "He was your old assistant, and you didn't recognise him?"

"You can't expect me to remember every Tom, Dick, and Harry I meet." Devi huffed.

Am I a every Tom, Dick, and Harry you meet? Hector tried not to let that thought derail him. "But he was your assistant. You worked closely ..." It was taking all of his energy not to spring to his feet and shake Devi like a pair of maracas. "When did he work for you?"

Devi stared at the ceiling. "It has to be over ten years ago now ..."

Hector made a note of it. "What was he doing on your boat?"

"Yacht, Inspector." Devi chuckled lightly.

"You know what I mean!" Devi winked at him. Hector ignored her and asked again, "Why was he on your yacht?"

"Maybe the guy needed a job." She shrugged. "It's not like anyone in the industry would readily hire him after what he did."

"Why not?" Hector sat up straighter, already imagining Miles as the criminal sort. Bet he was the one who stabbed you ... for ... for ... something ...

"Understand, he was a brilliant assistant. I was quite fond of him ..." An unmistakable blush flushed Devi's cheek.

Despite not having anything to do with the investigation, Hector made a note in his book—Devi was fond of him!—while his insides churned with loathing.

"He could have gone places if he hadn't ..." Devi seemed to have slipped back into her memories, and all Hector could do was listen to her story once more—despite hating it.

#

It had been a muggy summer day. I was on a deadline. I was writing my fifth thriller, and I had an early flight to New York for a convention I was a guest speaker on. I'd barely moved from my desk all day when I heard the front door slam and Adrian ran in with his packed bag and some dinner for us. He knew when I got into a writing mood, I barely remembered to breathe let alone eat or shower. And I'd asked him to stay over that night. I'd asked him to come to New York with me. With him there, I knew I wouldn't miss our flight or look like a grub who had no business flying first class.

That night, he virtually dragged me from my desk—"Stop it Devi, the book can wait, sleep can't"—and frog-marched me to my room and then shoved me in the bathroom. When I finally got out, I looked like myself again. He'd even put my robe out, with a note, 'Dinner is served' and boy, did he serve it. Candlelight dinner, table perfectly set for two, just the way I liked it, but this time, instead of eating alone, I had company. Where Charlie would have sat once, Adrian sat. There was wine, there were shrimps tossed in light chilli oil over linguini with the perfect sprinkling of shaved parmesan cheese; there was laughter and chatter, and the air-con blasting at an icy eighteen degrees.

I don't exactly recall who started it, him or me ...

#

Him, I bet! Hector sneered, hating the expression on Devi's face. Was she still fond of Miles? But wait ... she hadn't said Miles in her recollection. "Wait!" He held up his hand. "You're supposed to be telling me about Miles. So who the fuck is this Adrian character?"

"Adrian is Miles." Devi frowned as if he should have known who she was talking about.

Hector suddenly felt something was amiss. Was Miles Adrian's lastname? "So his name is Adrian Miles?"

"No. Miles is Adrian Malloy. Why?"

"You're kidding me, right?" Hector stood, itching to pin this whole thing of Adrian or Miles or whoever the hell the guy was. "He used an alias on your boat. You don't think that's sketchy? You're a crime writer ..."

"Oh, shit. You're right." Devi blinked in shock. "Why the fuck was he using a different name?"

"And what the fuck was he doing on my boat?" Hector glared. Miles did it. It was him! "So let me get this right. This Adrian, you ex-assistant, boards your boat as a jack-of-all-trades under the name Miles and some days later, you're attacked?" Hector wore a smug smile, circling Miles' name and next to it, writing, 'main POI' as in person of interest.

He paced then, with a spring in his steps, throwing glances at the fascinating woman before him. The more she spoke, the crazier her world seemed. "Can you think of any reason Adrian might want to harm you, Devi?"

Devi shifted on the bed uncomfortably. "Can we do this after a break? I really need to pee." An excuse that didn't exactly delight Hector. He was finally getting somewhere!

Hector eyed his watch. It was almost midday. They'd been talking for nearly three hours. His stomach was also rumbling, come to think of it. But he didn't want to take a break just yet. Not yet. Give me some dirt on this Adrian! "We'll break for lunch soon ... but just answer me this while we're still on the topic. Is there any reason he'd want to hurt you?"

Devi sighed and stretched her neck, mumbling, "He believes I destroyed his writing career ..."

"What?" Hector asked, unable to catch all her mumbled words. "He thought you destroyed ..."

"His writing career!" Devi nearly shouted in frustration. "I really have to go pee, Hector! So either take me to the bathroom yourself or run and fetch Dr Chen for me, or, be prepared to buy a new mattress."

But Hector just couldn't drop the subject. "How did you destroy his career?"

Devi stared at him, her jaws clenching, "I'll tell you if you give me a damn break."

Hector held up both his arms as a sign of surrender. "Fine," and rushed to the doorway to yell for the doctor. "Now, continue."

Devi sighed. "He and I were fairly close at one point. You could almost describe it as a relationship. He had clothes in the spare room kind of close ... I was enamoured. I was. I was a young widow. He was sweet and kind and funny. We got along ..." Just then, Hilde appeared in the room, and Devi visibly slumped on the bed with relief. "Oh, thank god you're here, doctor! Hector's killing me."

"Everything all right?" Hilde rushed past Hector to her patient.

"He's like a dog with a bone. My bladder can't take it anymore!" Devi swung her good arm around the doctor's proffered shoulder and shimmied to the edge of the bed.

"Grab the wheelchair, Heck!" Hilde said.

Hector did as he was told and wheeled the chair over. "And then what happened?"

Devi threw him the dirtiest look. "Really? Shall I finish telling you about Adrian and just pee all over the bed, the carpet, and poor Dr Chen?"

"Hector." Hilde's voice carried a gentle warning. "Take a break." She struggled to aid Devi onto the wheelchair alone and Hector, without hesitation, tucked the patient's other arm gently over his own neck to assist. "You're mum was asking what she shall make for lunch, so maybe go help her out for a few."

"But ..."

"No buts." Hilde snapped. "She is tired. She needs a break."

"Fine. But we're not finished yet." He let go and Hilde wheeled the chair to the ensuite.

"Didn't think you were!" He heard Devi call out as Hilde closed the bathroom door closed behind. "Gotta say, Inspector. I didn't expect you to last this long. Hope you're staying power isn't just limited to conversations!"

"Eww, gross!" he mumbled, marching out into the corridor, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. Was Devi hitting on him?