A Portrait of Emily

by J. P. Bowie

  “Hi Gloria,” Jeff said. “Start at the beginning again for me. How did this happen?”

  “Apparently, she had an old journal of Emily’s she’d kept for years,” Gloria explained, her voice seething with anger. “The old bitch must have stolen it. Anyway, it details the abuse Emily and Paula suffered from their father and several times Emily wrote she wished her father was dead.”

  “But that was just a child’s wish for revenge. I don’t think the police would take that very seriously.”

  “Well, what makes them suspicious, I think, is that Emily left my house just after Peter did. She was gone for some time. She told me she was going to get some things from the house, but her mother says she didn’t come home.”

  “What does Emily say?”

  “She said she decided she didn’t want to go back to the house, so she went to the mall and bought some stuff to hold her over a few days.”

  “And did she?”

  “Well yes, she had some new clothes, but the police are saying she could have done all that and still been at her father’s office. Oh God,” she moaned. “I wish Johnny was here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In Chicago until tomorrow. If the police decide to arrest Emily, she’ll need him right away.”

  “They’re not going to arrest her without something solid to go on, don’t worry—and if all they have is a child’s diary of events that happened years ago and an hour or so of missing time, that’s not enough. They might want to investigate this further, but they won’t arrest her. Is Jerry with her?”

  “Yes, he’s been wonderful, but neither of them can believe this is happening.”

  “I’ll bet. No word yet on Anthony?”

  “No, and Patricia is blaming that on Emily too. The woman is totally nuts.”

  “Are the police still there?”

  “No, they left just a few minutes ago saying they’d be back tomorrow for some further questioning.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there too. Let me talk to Jerry.”

  Jerry sounded very subdued as he muttered, “Hi Jeff.”

  “Listen Jerry, I’ll be over there tomorrow when the police come back. Tell them you’ve hired me to investigate the murder. That way I won’t get as much flack from the detectives on the case.”

  “Of course. And we do want you to help us, Jeff. Do you think they’ll arrest Emily?”

  “Depends on how much credence they put on her mother’s statement. It’s hard to say right now, but downplay it as much as you can. No point in getting her more upset than she is. We’ll talk more tomorrow. I suggest you all try to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “We’ll try, Jeff…and thanks.”

  “No problem, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hung up and groaned. “This is going to be quite a mess.”

  Peter gave him an anxious look. “You really think they might arrest Emily?”

  “Not right away. But they are definitely going to follow up on the mother’s allegations. They can’t just ignore that.”

  “I know she didn’t do it. She couldn’t have done such a thing. She’s too good and—”

  “Peter,” Jeff interrupted quietly. “You would be amazed what people are capable of when they’ve been pushed too far. Let’s face it; Charles Hastings was not a popular guy. What he did was despicable, and the cops are going to be as sympathetic as anyone else. But he was murdered, Peter, and they have to do their job.”

  “Just like they did when Phillip was murdered?” Peter couldn’t hide the cynicism in his voice.

  “Sometimes they do a better job than others. It’s not a perfect system by any means.” Jeff pulled Peter into his arms. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m sure you’re right. Emily couldn’t have done it. It’s not in her to take a life, but someone killed him, and who that someone is—is what we have to find out.”

  Jeff’s cell phone rang again after they’d gone upstairs to their bedroom. Jeff was in the bathroom so Peter yelled, “Want me to get that?”

  “Sure…”

  “Hello, this is Peter.”

  “Hi Peter, it’s Joe French. Jeff’s friend from the LAPD?”

  “Oh yes Joe, how are you?”

  “Good,” Joe replied. “Is Jeff there?”

  “Uh, yes. I’ll get him.”

  Jeff poked his head round the bathroom door. “Who’s that?”

  “Joe French, for you.” Jeff frowned as Peter handed him the phone. “Hi, Joe.”

  “Jeff, you know a Joey Fernandez?”

  “Yes I do.”

  “Thought so…” Joe sounded cautious. “I’m in his studio and there’s a couple of very good portraits of you on the walls.”

  “You’re in his studio? Why—what did he do?”

  “Nothing, Jeff. Was he a close friend of yours?”

  “Used to be. What’s happened, Joe?”

  “Well, looks like he was murdered, Jeff—strangled. We’ve got a suspect in custody.”

  Jeff, feeling as if his stomach had just been dropkicked, sat down heavily on the bed. “When did this happen?”

  “A couple of hours ago. Someone called it in. When the officers got there, they found Fernandez dead and a young guy sitting beside him. The kid said he found him that way and someone hit him from behind. The way it looks is, Fernandez hit him trying to defend himself, but the damage had been done.”

  “Who’s the kid?”

  “So far we don’t know. He had no ID on him and he refused to talk. Only thing we have is there’s photographs of him lying around. On one of them there’s a name—Adam.”

  “Anthony,” Jeff said dully. “His name is Anthony Hastings.”

  “You know this Anthony Hastings?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact Joe, he was over at our house just a few nights ago.”

  “What’s his connection with the victim?”

  “They were seeing each other I guess, but Anthony told Peter and me he was breaking it off.”

  “Lover’s spat maybe?” Joe suggested. “Got a little out of hand.”

  “Could be, but I wouldn’t have pegged Anthony for a violent type. There’s something you should know, though. His father was murdered earlier today. I’m not sure if he knows this or not.”

  “Jeez. Did he get along with his dad?”

  “Not at all. A lot of animosity there.”

  “So, could be he bumped off Dad, ran up here, spilled the beans—and Fernandez threatened to turn him in.”

  “Well, there’s more to the story that you should know. Are you charging him?”

  “Not yet, but we are going to hold him ‘til he makes a statement. He’s getting some medical treatment for the blow to his head. Medics thought he might be concussed.”

  Jeff shook his head. What a mess, he thought. Emily and now Anthony both under suspicion. And Joey dead… Aloud, he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow Joe. See if I can learn some more in the meantime.”

  “I’d appreciate any help you can give, Jeff.”

  “Talk to you later, Joe. Bye.”

  Peter sat by Jeff’s side. “Tell me,” he said softly.

  “Joey’s been murdered and they think it was Anthony.”

  Peter looked at him in disbelief. Could things get any worse? “My God,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Jeff. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Jeff leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder. “But it’s going to take some time to realize that crazy guy is gone.”

  § § § §

  Next morning, the first call Jeff got was from Johnny Pederson. Gloria had called him to let him know what was going on and he’d taken the first flight he could out of Chicago. He had already spoken with the police in Orange County and Los Angeles, telling them he was both Emily and Anthony’s attorney, and no more questioning would be allowed without him being present. He had also told them he had acquired Jeff’s services as a private investigator.

  Together with Gloria, they went first to the Hastings’ residence whe
re detectives Louis McKenna and Bob Sharpe informed them stiffly that they were not arresting Emily right away, but they were waiting for a warrant to search her room. Jeff was impressed with the way Emily was holding up under the stress. Jerry and she held hands as they sat on the sofa in the living room. Patricia stared sullenly at them from her wing back chair by the window.

  Johnny walked over to her. “Patricia…I’m afraid there’s more bad news. Anthony’s being held by the police in LA.”

  At the mention of her son’s name, Patricia jumped to her feet. “Why would the police be holding him?” Her narrowed eyes were fixed once more on her daughter. “He didn’t kill his father—she did!”

  “Stop that…” Jerry glared at Emily’s mother. “Stop saying that. You know Emily didn’t do it. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “Patricia,” Johnny said as Jeff put his hand on Jerry’s arm to calm him. “Listen to me. Anthony’s being held on suspicion of murder. He’s in a lot of trouble and I need to get up to LA to talk to him and the police. Jeff’s going with me. We’ll call you as soon as we’ve seen him.”

  With a low moan, Patricia collapsed back into her chair.

  Emily looked with shock at Johnny. “When did all this happen?”

  “Last night. When Jeff got the news from the police, he had Gloria call me, and gave me the details.”

  “But why did the police call you, Jeff?” Jerry asked.

  “Because the man they say Anthony killed was a friend of mine,” Jeff explained. “We found out the night you guys were over that they had been seeing each other. The detective in charge of the case is an old associate of mine, so he called me, figuring I’d want to know about Joey.” Jeff knew he had given them a watered down version of the facts, but there would be time later for a fuller explanation.

  “Not Anthony,” Emily whispered. “He couldn’t have done this, Jeff.”

  Johnny turned to the two detectives who’d been watching silently. “Okay, guys. No more talking to Miss Hastings without me being present. When you get your search warrant, get it over with as quickly as possible. I’m going to LA now, but you can reach me on my cell if you have anything to discuss.” He handed over his card. “Emily, Gloria’s going to stay here with you ‘til Jeff and I get back.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry, everything will be all right.”

  Emily gave him a wan smile. It seemed she’d heard that phrase too many times recently, and things were definitely not all right.

  As Jeff and Johnny walked outside, Peter’s car pulled up. “Hi—glad I didn’t miss you. I want to go with you guys. I promise I won’t get in the way,” he added when Jeff looked at him, surprised.

  “Let’s take two cars then,” Johnny said. “I want to get back here soon as I can. That way, Jeff, you can maybe do some more talking to your detective buddy.”

  Jeff shrugged and climbed into Peter’s car. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I just want to help, Jeff. Besides, I kinda thought you might like my company.”

  Jeff nodded, realizing Peter had intuitively felt this might be hard for him on a personal level. “Thanks,” he said, squeezing Peter’s thigh.

  “That’s what I’m here for.” Peter steered the car out of the driveway.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Anthony looked up through blood-shot eyes as Johnny and Jeff entered the interrogation room along with Joe French. They had left Peter outside reading a magazine.

  “How are you, Anthony?” Johnny asked.

  “I’m all right. Just a bit confused.”

  Johnny gave the young man’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “You know Jeff, I understand.”

  “Yeah, hi Jeff. Sorry to drag you into all this.”

  “No problem; it’s what I do.”

  “The medics said he had a slight concussion,” Joe remarked. “Nothing serious, though.”

  “The police want you to make a written statement, Anthony,” Johnny said, gently. “Can you remember everything that happened?”

  “Yeah, I told them already. I went into the studio. Joey was lying on his back on the floor. His eyes were wide open and I didn’t realize right away he was dead. I knelt down beside him. I was, shocked you know? Then I heard a noise behind me then, wham! Next thing, I woke up, totally dazed. I couldn’t stand up so I just sat there looking at him. The cops arrived, started asking me all kinds of questions. I told them someone must have knocked me out.”

  “You didn’t see anyone else in the studio?” Jeff asked.

  “No one.”

  “Any sign of anyone else being there?”

  “Forensics are checking that now,” Joe told him. “There’re zillions of prints, of course.”

  “Including mine,” Jeff reminded him. “How about on Joey’s body?”

  “Nothing so far, but it’s still early. What we do have though, are Joey Fernandez’s prints on the tripod used on Mr. Hastings’ head.”

  Johnny sighed. “That’s a given, don’t you think? If the tripod belonged to Mr. Fernandez, naturally it would have his prints on it. You’re saying the victim hit my client during the struggle?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  “Then if he hit him hard enough to knock him out, how did Mr. Fernandez end up dead?”

  “According to the coroner’s first examination, his larynx was crushed. Could be it was beyond repair when he hit his attacker. Even though the strangling stopped, he died from choking to death.”

  “A dying man with enough strength to knock out a physically very fit attacker?” Johnny raised his eyebrows as he looked at Joe. “I don’t think that’s going to hold up, do you?”

  “That’s not for me to decide, Mr. Pederson. I just present the facts and make the arrest.”

  “Are you charging my client, then?”

  “We’re going to hold him pending some more results from the lab and—”

  “Can I ask you something Joe?” Jeff interrupted.

  “Sure.”

  “The prelim…does it say if Joey’s knuckles were bruised?”

  Joe referred to the prelim in his hand then nodded. “Mr. Fernandez had severe bruising to his knuckles, meaning he got in some punches.” His look told Jeff he understood where Jeff was going with his question.

  “So whoever was on the receiving end of those punches would also be badly bruised,” Jeff said. “Anthony, would you mind lifting your shirt?”

  “Sure.” Anthony stood and raised his shirt revealing smooth, tanned skin devoid of any dark patches.

  “Nothing there.” Joe gave Jeff a wry smile. “I was getting to that of course.”

  “Then without physical evidence to hold him,” Johnny said, “I expect you to release my client.”

  Joe nodded. “There will probably be more questions, but looks like we can release Mr. Hastings under your cognizance, Mr. Pedersen. I’ll just go check on the paperwork.”

  Jeff waited until Joe had left the room before asking, “Did they tell you what happened to your father?”

  “Yes…” There was no sadness in the young man’s voice. “I think the cops thought I was capable of two murders, the way they told me. I didn’t go see my father yesterday. I was going to have it out with him, but then I changed my mind about going to his office. I was too damned mad at him after what he’d tried to do to Emily. I thought it best to stay away.”

  “Where were you all day?” Jeff asked him.

  “I came up here to LA. I went to the baths for a while, but I got bored so I went to a bar.”

  “See anyone you knew?”

  “No, but I did talk to a guy in the bar for a while. His name’s Justin if that’s any help. We arranged to meet later in the week. When I left the bar I was feeling a bit guilty about not telling Joey why I hadn’t called him, so I went to his studio to explain things to him. That’s when I found him…”

  Everything Anthony said had the ring of truth to it. He wouldn’t be completely off the hook, but unless the
police could come up with an explanation as to why there was no bruising on his body, it didn’t look like they would have enough to press charges.

  Jeff left Johnny to take care of the formalities with Anthony then went in search of Joe. He wanted to take a look inside Joey’s studio—to see if there was anything there that could help clear Anthony completely, and perhaps, find another suspect.

  § § § §

  Joe showed his badge to the police officer on duty at Joey’s studio then ushered Jeff and Peter inside. The first thing that caught Peter’s eye was the portrait of Jeff in the waiting area. He stood for a moment, finding himself admiring the artistry with which the picture had been taken. There was no doubt Joey had known his craft well.

  “Very nice,” he murmured to himself.

  They entered the studio and Peter shivered as he saw the taped outline of Joey’s body on the floor. God, he thought, what terror he must have experienced in those last few moments. As he stared at the floor, the hair on his body crackled with such intensity that, for a moment, he thought he could hear it. What the hell? He shivered again, his skin crawled.

  “Jeff… I’m feeling a bit weirded out. Like—like there’s someone else here…”

  Jeff crossed to his side quickly and gripped his arm. “What do you feel? Can you see someone?”

  “No, but what I feel is rage—it’s almost palpable in here.”

  Joe was giving him a strange look. “What’s going on?”

  “I know this sounds crazy Joe,” Jeff explained, “but Peter gets these almost psychic flashes sometimes. Ever since he came out of the coma, he’s had them.”

  Joe looked at them both skeptically but before he could say anything Jeff added, “Remember how he drew the sketch of Billy Bach, one of the men who murdered Phillip Jennings?”

  Joe nodded. “Yeah, that was weird.”

  “That’s how I feel.” Peter grimaced. “Weird. All I know is, or rather what I feel is, that there was someone else here.”

  “In addition to Anthony Hastings, you mean?”