Guardian Angel

by Adam Carpenter

  “Robbie Danvers was Henderson Carlyle’s lover. A neighbor of theirs confirmed it, so that brings us suddenly to an all-important question: what was Robbie Danvers doing here at your place on the day he was murdered?”

  “I don’t know, honestly, Jimmy. I wasn’t here. I was…out. That’s what I told the police.”

  Mallory jumped in. “So you have no alibi for when your original alibi was killed.”

  “Doesn’t appear so,” Serena said.

  “This won’t be easy,” she said.

  “Henderson,” Jimmy said, “did he ever have the same…uh, issue as Robbie?”

  “You mean could Henderson get an erection? Yes, he could. Proud of his tool too. He’d show it to the pope, if he asked. If Henderson and Robbie were indeed lovers, neither ever said a word to me about it. Trust me, Henderson was an attentive lover until he was done. That’s when he liked to smack me around like it was a coda to his pleasure.” She paused. “I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad someone sliced him up.”

  They were harsh words, almost like they came accompanied by their own slap. Jimmy saw his sister gather up her paperwork, toss him a wary glance. He knew what she was saying. She was saying Serena Carson was full of shit. He was starting to believe it himself. She was being evasive, defensive, and angry, and if you added up all of those emotions, tossed in a night of drinking and maybe a bitter confrontation on the steps of her brownstone, it was conceivable Serena had stabbed her exes to death. Jimmy stole a moment to look at the tree. It sparkled with the hope of the holiday season. Gifts promised riches beneath shiny wrappings. Serena herself resembled a present, but he wondered if what was hidden beneath the wrapping was a person who intended good will toward men.

  Just how damaged was she, and when had her soul given up hope?

  He thought again of the photograph of eight-year-old Serena, covered in ash And all alone, her first role as victim.

  “I think we have a party to get to,” he finally said.

  § § § §

  Banners with the words Help Is Here Annual Holiday Benefit hung from exposed metal rafters. A colorful assortment of Christmas trees stood in the various corners of the large space. Decorated tables and accompanying chairs were set up around the center of the room, red and green streamers giving further testament to the holiday celebration which awaited them. The room was abuzz with activity from an assortment of people, well-dressed women sipping at glasses of champagne and wide-eyed children running around looking at the piles of gifts. There was even a station for Santa Claus, a large chair and snow-white carpet on the floor, a couple of young adults dressed as elves getting the greeting area ready. Help Is Here had gone all out and spared no expense.

  Jimmy entered the room with Serena at his side. Officer Sanchez walked behind them. The two men held many gifts in their arms and set them down beside one of the trees. Jimmy could see a series of eyes trailing after them, more focused on the uniformed policeman than himself. It was a harsh reminder of the baggage Serena brought with her in addition to the numerous presents. They just didn’t like the way this man was wrapped up. Handcuffs and gun on his utility belt were evidence that suspicion existed. Sanchez made an exit by telling Jimmy he’d be right outside. Once he was gone, Serena segued into her regular self. Her smile was wide enough to make a crocodile envious. She was going to put on a show, but she had a long memory, and she knew which of her fellow board members had rejected her in light of her headline-making legal troubles.

  “Oh Serena…how are you holding up?” was the stock response.

  Jimmy decided he didn’t need to babysit her. He had another agenda there, to meet others who might have known or, worse, bedded Henderson Carlyle. He knew of only one other woman here who had succumbed to the man’s charms, and she was heading his way then.

  “Jimmy, I’m so pleased you could join us tonight,” Melissa Harris-J’Arnoud said, dressed in a gold dress that swept the floor.

  “A pleasure to be here, thank you.”

  “I’ll of course introduce you around. Perhaps you will learn something of importance?”

  “Perhaps I already have,” Jimmy said.

  “Awful business,” she said, not even questioning him about what he meant.

  She told him to make himself comfortable, and then she went about her job as hostess and CEO, a party-planner who was seeing the fruits of her tireless fundraising efforts come to fruition. Help Is Here’s annual party was the culmination of a year’s work, a time to celebrate themselves as well as the people they aided, A mutual appreciation society complete with gifts, Santa, and the hope that tomorrow would get better for even the rich. Jimmy grabbed a glass of fruit punch and took a back seat to the activity, playing the role of observer. There was an assortment of people there, Latino, Black, Caucasian, Asian. Suddenly Jimmy thought of Steven Wang. He didn’t see him and wondered if maybe he was stuck at the hospital. He had said he was being given Henderson Carlyle’s position on the board and that it was important to him to attend the party to show his support and his dedication, but sometimes the issues of life and death couldn’t wait. Not seeing him took a bit of pressure off Jimmy. He could concentrate on his job without any personal trappings.

  He was sipping his drink when a woman of about forty approached him. She appeared well heeled, her wardrobe probably costing what some of their guests made in a year, if that. She had a wide smile and big teeth like she could devour anyone who wronged her: Serena-lite.

  “You look positively miserable,” the woman said.

  “Not at all. Just taking it all in. It’s sad to see so many people live hand to mouth.”

  “That’s why we help them to get them back on their feet.”

  Jimmy eyed the woman. “You work for the charity?”

  “Alison DeSpielberg,” she said, as though Jimmy should already know the name. He didn’t but also didn’t say so. Offending her was the wrong first impression.

  “Jimmy McSwain.”

  “You’re a handsome man, Jimmy. What brings you to our party?”

  “I’m a bodyguard,” he said, wanting to get her reaction, “For Serena Carson.”

  “How interesting. From what I hear, it’s men who need a bodyguard from her.”

  “So you know Serena?”

  “Of course, for years. We’re both on the board of directors for Help Is Here.”

  “Bingo,” he thought. He didn’t even have to seek her out. She’d found him, gravitated toward what she called a “handsome man.” Was it the McSwain charm hard at work, or was this just her natural approach? He’d have to work this carefully, not let on that he was interrogating her even while that’s exactly what he intended. Could she also have been another of the rumored victims of Henderson Carlyle?

  “So I’m guessing you know the trouble she’s facing.”

  “Oh, Serena won’t serve a day in jail, even if she did it.”

  “You think she did?”

  “If she did, I wouldn’t blame her. I might even cheer her on.”

  “Not a fan of Henderson Carlyle?”

  “He had his attributes,” she said evasively. “Ultimately, though, he served no purpose here. Just a rich playboy—and by rich I mean his parents are. They who had him on an allowance—who was looking for a playground in which to find…playmates.”

  Jimmy said nothing, and waited for her to continue. He could see a red flush hit her cheeks.

  “It was only one time with him. He was a brute.”

  “A brute in what regard? Rough sex, or did he get violent with you?”

  “I think I’m not going to answer any more of your questions, Mr….”

  “Just call me ‘Jimmy.’ I didn’t mean to pry. Just, I’ve heard much about Henderson, much.”

  She sipped at her champagne. “That he was. It was a dumb move on my part. I was curious, and then I regretted it.”

  “Married?”

  “Divorced now, but not then. I did well in the settlement.”

  “M
s. DeSpielberg, may I ask if Henderson Carlyle ever hit you?”

  For such a sensitive subject, she actually laughed aloud. “Oh, Jimmy, who didn’t he hit?”

  She wafted off then, waving at one of her friends as if they’d just discussed the weather, not bothering to look back at Jimmy. It took him a moment to process. Was she being callous about Henderson’s violent tendencies, or was it a defense mechanism? She said she’d only slept with him once, so perhaps the extent of his beating of others hadn’t sunk in with her. But she certainly seemed aware of his reputation. Had that knowledge come before or after she’d gone to his bed? Jimmy shook his head. What good work these ladies did, obviously a helpful influence on families in need. Did it fill voids in their lives, fill holes that the men in their lives couldn’t? Was a spoiled rich brat like Henderson Carlyle a taste of forbidden fruit? Ironic, considering he was really gay.

  Jimmy circled his way around the room, stopping and talking with a couple of the kids and their parents, asking questions about Help Is Here, how they had assisted them. All he heard was good words about the charity. That was a promising development. At least on the surface Help Is Here was on the up and up, no hint of scandal, of fixing books, or of taking advantage of those in need for their even greater benefit. Help Is Here seemed legit in terms of its work.

  It was the staff he had to wonder about, specifically the board of directors. From what he’d read on their website, it was comprised of six women, two men, and led by CEO Melissa Harris-J’Arnoud with her husband Philippe as medical advisor. Jimmy gazed about, looking for someone who might fit the stereotype of a French doctor with a fancy name. Melissa had said he was handsome, and thus far Jimmy noted that the women far outnumbered the men at the event. Perhaps his flight had been delayed again, as it had been the night of the Nutcracker benefit.

  Jimmy saw Serena in discussion with a woman of about sixty: silver hair, attractive, and dripping with money, probably what Serena would be in ten years. She waved Jimmy over, and he sliced his way through a group of parents and kids who were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. Jimmy came before them, where Serena promptly introduced them.

  “Lady Precious Grey, this is James McSwain, the man I told you who is helping me.”

  “Actually, it’s just ‘Jimmy,’” he said. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Oh, how I detest that phrase. I might be a lady, but I’m no dowager.”

  Jimmy bowed. “My apologies. A lovely lady like you deserves only the highest respect.”

  Then dropping the haughty tone, Lady Grey said to Serena, “Where do you find them?”

  Serena touched her arm and laughed. “Oh no, it’s not like that with Jimmy.”

  “Too bad,” Lady Grey said. “A night with me, he’d remember to his grave.”

  It was Jimmy’s turn to blush. It was one thing to have women hit on him. It happened, but to have an elegant lady draped in silver and diamond brooches who could have been his mother or, worse, given Grandmother Hester a run for her money was quite another. He just nodded at her, as much of a compliment he could provide.

  “Jimmy likes the boys,” Serena suddenly said.

  “Oh, well that’s different. Of course he does. The good-looking ones do, like Henderson.”

  “Serena, could you get us all a refill of our champagne,” Jimmy said.

  She took the hint, made her way toward the bar, leaving Jimmy alone with Lady Grey.

  “Let me guess,” he said, “You’re from Queens.”

  “Richmond Hill. You are perceptive. But I married well. My husband was an English lord.”

  “‘Was’?”

  “They die young. Inbreeding doesn’t produce good genes.”

  Jimmy laughed. “I think you’re pulling my leg.”

  “Some men like you, they don’t mind a dalliance with a lady of experience.”

  “I assume you’re speaking of Henderson Carlyle again?”

  “Now that was a leg you could pull,” she said.

  “Are you telling me that you slept with Henderson?”

  “Slept? Hell no. I wouldn’t wake up to that slime, if you had eggs benedict and caviar on a plate in front of me. Forgive my frankness, but yes, I let the young stud fuck me, and why not. I was newly widowed, lonely, and in need of what he could give me. He was quite good. He returned several times, but then I tired of him, and…quite frankly, he really only wanted money. Shocker.”

  “Money? For services rendered?”

  “Nothing disappoints more than a poor rich boy. His parents liked to keep him on a tight financial leash. He always was on the hunt for a society lady, who could keep him in good straights. A fancy dinner party, and he would take them home. You can imagine the rest.” She sighed, took a sip of her drink. “Why ever did we go down this path?”

  “Because I’m guessing he beat the crap out of you,” Jimmy said, “Like he did to all those other women. Is that when he beat you, when you refused to pay him?”

  She didn’t even appear shaken. “He was a nasty brute. In bed that was more than fine, but then afterwards… The last time I had to leave town for two months. I received reconstructive surgery. I suppose I could thank him, as I’ve never looked better.”

  Jimmy’s stomach turned. Nothing like turning adversity to advantage. She sounded almost proud of her plight. “Fortunately, you can’t. He’s six feet under.”

  “If he’s sporting a hard-on, you might want to dig a bit deeper.”

  With that bit of crudity from the supposed Lady Grey, Jimmy wished her well and left her side. Jimmy tried to process what he’d learned. Henderson Carlyle had joined the board of directors of Help Is Here, and despite being gay and being in a relationship with Robbie, he’d seemingly slept with every female member of the charity’s board, all of them rich, entitled ladies looking for a fun distraction from lives otherwise filled with the humdrum. Perhaps they all talked and spoke of Henderson’s endowment, making them all curious to take their own ride on it. Had he beaten them all? Why? Because he knew he was being used, or because he couldn’t control an inner impulse? Had they all filed reports against him, or had they been too ashamed of their own behavior? Was Serena Carson the first to challenge him? Look where it got her: charged with his murder.

  Jimmy spent the next half hour circling the room, feeling out of place, sipping at his fruit punch, and keeping a wary eye out for anything untoward. He watched the society ladies go about their pleasantries: air kisses and fake laughter, bending down to greet the young children, who had hopeful expressions of being given toys and gifts in short order. The anticipation was building, and the buzz in the sizable room was loud. Jimmy assessed there were at least one hundred people here, most of them the underprivileged. Didn’t they always outnumber the rich? He knew he shouldn’t be so judgmental to the ladies of Help Is Here. Clearly they did good work. He just considered the reason why they did it. Altruism usually came with a motive.

  Turning, he saw Melissa Harris-J’Arnoud leap up from her seat, excusing herself from the small gathering of children around her, including two kids in wheelchairs. She joyfully went dashing to the entrance of the room, where she greeted a man who must have been her long-absent husband, Dr. Philippe J’Arnoud. Jimmy remembered her saying how handsome he was, and he had to admit the guy was very good-looking: thick dark hair, a bit of silver at the temples, tan skin, and no lines on his face, even though he was probably battling fifty, six two, slim frame, a suit whose cost might have challenged even Serena’s budget. He was distinguished, and he walked into the room with an elegant grace that had many of the ladies staring at him. Jimmy realized he was doing the same. Not exactly his type. Far too refined for him, but Melissa was obviously smitten. Jimmy noticed the two of them were heading his way.

  “Jimmy, you must meet Philippe,” she said, edging over in to the corner.

  “A pleasure, sir,” Jimmy said.

  “You’re the detective,” Philippe said.

  All business, his voic
e was accented with an air of condescension. Three words was all it took for Jimmy to take a dislike to him. “I am. Your wife hired me….”

  “Yes, yes, I know all about it. What have you discovered?”

  “I’m still gathering various theories.”

  “That sounds like bullshit to me,” he said, “On our dime. See that you wrap this up.”

  “Philippe, Jimmy is an excellent investigator…”

  “Let me ask you, Dr. J’Arnoud,” Jimmy said, “As a surgeon, what is your take on the brutal way in which Henderson Carlyle and Robbie Danvers were killed? I mean, they were sliced up something awful, that first impact must have hurt. How difficult is it to catch a person so unaware, you can inflict such damage?”

  Philippe shifted, sent a pair of dark eyes his wife’s way. He turned back to Jimmy. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. I’ve opened many a thorax in my day, but those on my operating table are willing patients not victims of crimes, and they are always under anesthesia. I don’t need much assistance from them. I just go about my surgery as routine as it gets. It’s quite a different way of life, different procedures, healing someone and murdering them in cold blood.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Jimmy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I just meant from an anger standpoint. Would only a man have had the strength to pull off such a brutal crime?”

  “From what I’ve learned, Mr. McSwain, any person is capable of anything.” He paused to let that sink in then made his own extra incision. “As a private detective, I would think you too would have witnessed the brutality of our fellow man and woman. Mel, be a dear, let’s get some champagne and say hello to the Deneuves. I owe ole’ Harry a box of cigars from our last football bet. I wish you well, McSwain, in bringing a discreet end to our little situation.”

  With that Philippe J’Arnoud moved on, Melissa trailing after him like a puppy eager to please. It was all Jimmy could do not to laugh about the pretentious jerk so filled with arrogance. He could only imagine what it was like to be married to such a man. No wonder Melissa had gone in search of someone else even if was a slime like Henderson Carlyle.