[center][h1][color=8882be]Ashley Gallagher[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][h2][color=8882be]The Home of a Star[/color][/h2][/center]


Ashley wondered if Lovegrove was trying to imply something or if he really harbored the thought that Ashley was a shit detective. He knew Cal was lying to him about something, but to his frustration he simply couldn’t deduce what. The other detective was barely keeping his cool composure that Ashley was used to. It had begun directly after the club. He eyed Cal with a sidelong glance, tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants casually as the man spoke to the desk clerk. Perhaps Lovegrove was sweet on a dancer there. Tragic. Ashley just hoped it wouldn’t interfere with the investigation. 

A small tendril curled out of his mind like black ink spreading through water, the thought of Smith slowly forcing its way into his consciousness. He pushed it out, slamming the metaphorical door in its face. He had to put that away for now, he needed to be in his best mind.

Ashley sifted through the case in his mind as Cal rapped on the door, and was in no way prepared for the gentle face that answered. She was an angel, fallen from heaven and trapped in the thick gunk that was New York. Her face was that of a renaissance painting, the ones just trying to capture the sublimation of such a beautiful human woman. He fancied he could even see her wings, draped over her lovely shoulders in a delicate fall of ivory feathers. She was beautiful. Ashley was speechless. He shook his head out as the angel invited them into her home, and attempted to regain his focus. [i]Focus, Ashley, damn it![/i] 

He scrubbed a weary hand across his forehead as he took a seat, politely declining the scotch, temptress though it was. The woman was clearly distressed, but Ashley made a point to remind himself she was an actress, and a successful one at that. 

In a sudden unwanted wave, her face took over his mind, but it wasn’t her beauty that he saw. The woman he saw before him was suddenly a horror, her beautiful lips hanging open as blood dripped from them. In place of her lovely gems for eyes were two roses, shoved in unceremoniously, organic sludge framing them and escaping from the sockets. Her locks of strawberry blonde hair were matted with blood and bone shards, her delicate hands now claws as they curled and contorted helplessly in death.

It was the slip of reality he needed, and his mind was cleared. “Let’s start with some basic questions uh…” He paused to look at his pad, momentarily forgetting her name. “… Miss Raymond. What was your business at the Carousel Club?”