A Portrait of Emily

by J. P. Bowie

  “I mean it,” Gloria said. “You deserve the best. Are you the best, Jerry?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Jerry stuttered. “I’ve never thought about it. All I know is, I love Emily and nothing can change that.”

  “You’d better mean that.” Gloria looked him straight in the eye. “Or you’ll have me to reckon with, pardner.”

  Emily stared at her cousin. “Gloria, what on earth…?”

  “I’m just so mad at the way your mother has turned on you, Emily. That old, bitter witch is determined to blame you for everything. It’s obvious she even blames you for what happened years ago—and now you and Anthony are close again, she feels threatened—so she has to get rid of you.”

  “But, surely she knows this would never stand up in court?” Jerry interrupted. “Who’s going to think Emily capable of murder?”

  “What her father did to her for years is good enough reason for some people to think she just might be capable. And people have murdered for a lot less. Johnny is taking this seriously, Emily. Don’t think he isn’t.” Her expression softened. “All I’m saying is this, Jerry; you need to be strong over the next few days to see Emily through whatever comes her way. She’s going to need all our support, but yours especially.”

  “You know she has that,” Jerry said, putting his arm around Emily’s waist.

  Gloria sighed. “You’re just so darn cute, the pair of you. It tears me up to think that old shrew of a mother of yours would want to ruin everything for you, Emily.”

  “She won’t,” Emily said. “No matter what happens; Jerry and I are getting married when all this is cleared up.”

  Gloria hugged them both. “Well, I’m taking my tea upstairs. So, I’ll let you two say goodnight properly and I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” they chorused at her retreating figure.

  Jerry’s smile was rueful. “She is really something, that cousin of yours.”

  Emily took his hand. “She’s been a wonderful friend to me all these years. She was the only one, apart from Anthony, who knew what I’d been through and who cared about me.”

  “Well, now you have me to care about you.” Jerry drew her back into his arms and kissed her.

  Her response to the urgency in his lips filled Jerry with a need he found hard to control. Both of them were trembling. They broke off their kiss and looked into each other’s eyes.

  There, in her shy, sweet smile of longing, was the answer he desired above all else.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you too.” Emily took his hand and led him upstairs.

  They must have dozed off for a while afterwards, for they were suddenly aware of a soft light creeping in through the windows of the bedroom. Jerry sat up, shivering and rubbing his eyes. He smiled sheepishly at her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Better than okay...wonderful.” She looked around at their clothes scattered on the floor. “But, we’d better tidy up in here before Johnny or Gloria wake up.”

  He kissed her gently on the lips. “Thank you.” He gathered his clothes from the floor and began dressing quickly. “I’ll call you later,” he said, kissing her again.

  They grinned at each other like errant children as he ran downstairs and slipped out the front door. From the bedroom window, she watched him run to his car and drive off. Smiling, she crawled under the bedcovers and for the first time in a long while, she slept soundly until Gloria came to wake her a few hours later.

  “Did you sleep all right, Emily?” her cousin asked.

  “Never better.” Emily stretched luxuriously.

  Gloria gave her a long look then sat beside her on the bed. “Oh, my God—you got laid.”

  “Gloria, don’t be so vulgar.”

  The two laughed together and Gloria hugged her. “Well, it’s about time.”

  “You’re right. It was way past time actually.”

  “And it was obviously much better than you thought it would be.”

  Emily blushed. “It was wonderful. He was wonderful. Oh Gloria, I’m so happy.”

  “And I’m happy for you. Now come on, get showered and changed. I’ll make us some breakfast before you and Johnny have to leave.”

  “Oh, yes—that,” Emily said, coming down to earth.

  “Don’t worry—”

  “I know,” Emily interrupted “Everything will be all right. Boy, have I heard that a few times recently.”

  “Well, it will,” Gloria said with conviction. “I know it will.”

  When Jeff accompanied Johnny, Emily, and Anthony to the police department later that morning, they were met by the two detectives who had been at the Hastings’ residence the day before. Detective Louis McKenna was a tall good looking African American. He shook Jeff’s hand then muttered he’d like a word with him in private. Jeff followed McKenna into a side office, feeling pretty certain he knew what was coming.

  “Look, Stevens…” McKenna frowned at him. “We don’t like PI’s sniffing around so soon in our investigations. You guys tend to get in the way.”

  “Believe me, I have no intentions of getting in the way,” Jeff told the detective. “I was a cop with the LAPD. I understand how you guys work.”

  “Right.” McKenna nodded. “Your buddy up in LA, Joe French, called to tell us as much. Said you could be useful as a matter of fact, so we’re going to cut you some slack here, but don’t take advantage of our good humor.” McKenna allowed himself a little smile at that.

  “Got anything yet?”

  “Only the journals and the fact that everyone in that screwy family has motive and could have done it. Any one of them, or all of them!” He lowered his voice. “Can’t say I’d blame ’em either, after having looked through those journals the girl wrote.”

  “Hastings was a disgusting human being,” Jeff said. “And for the record, I don’t think Emily, or Anthony Hastings, had anything to do with it.”

  “Well, she doesn’t look like a killer, I’ll give you that. But that would just make our job easier—if criminals looked the part.”

  McKenna led Jeff to the other office where Sharpe was interviewing Emily. As they entered the room, Johnny was reminding the detective that Emily was here voluntarily and that no arrests had been made. A recorder was standing in the middle of the desk.

  “Right, right,” Sharpe said impatiently. “Now Miss Hastings, can you give us an idea of your whereabouts at the time of your father’s murder, which we know happened between twelve thirty and one o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “Yes,” Emily replied, her voice calm and even. “I was staying with my cousin Gloria after the row with my father. I told her I had to go back to the house for some clothes, so I left her place around eleven.”

  “And you went home?” Sharpe asked.

  “No, as my mother so happily told you, I did not. I went instead to the mall to buy some clothes. I just couldn’t face going back home at that moment, after what had happened the night before.”

  “And the mall being the one very close to your father’s office.”

  “That’s right, but I did not go there, believe me. The last person I wanted to see was my father.”

  “So you didn’t feel like you wanted to have it out with him or confront him in any way?”

  “I may have felt the need for that—but there was no way I was going to that morning. I was still too angry.”

  “Angry enough to kill him?”

  “Probably. All right Detective, you want some kind of confession from me, so I’ll give you one.”

  “Emily!” Johnny interrupted her, but she put her hand on his arm.

  “Let me say this, please, Johnny.” She stared at the two detectives who leaned forward expectantly. Jeff held his breath and looked quickly at Anthony. The young man was staring at his sister, his hands clenched on the arms of his chair.

  “No Emily,” he said, softly. “Don’t…”

  Emily smiled at him. “Don�
�t worry Anthony, I’m only telling them the truth.” She turned to Sharpe and McKenna again. “I confess to hating my father. I confess to wishing he were dead many, many times throughout my life. I confess to actually wishing I could be the one to do it. I confess to feeling relief when I was told he had been killed, because it meant I could stop wishing for it—it had actually happened. And, I confess to feeling absolutely no grief whatsoever. But, I did not kill him. I don’t know who did, but whoever it was, did me and my family a favor.”

  Sharpe and McKenna stared back at Emily, their faces grim, while the other three men let out an almost collective sigh of relief.

  Emily smiled at the detectives. “By the way, I brought these with me.” She handed over two slips of paper. “These are receipts from the stores I was in. You’ll notice not only the date, but the time of day is printed on them. I think one of them is timed at ten minutes before one o’clock. Is that a good enough alibi?”

  The detectives glanced at each other and McKenna shrugged. “Well…it does shave down the time you had to get to your father’s office.”

  “Right gentlemen,” Johnny said. “I think you’ve got enough going here to realize Miss Hastings could not have been at her father’s office at the time he was killed.”

  Sharpe frowned, but didn’t argue with Johnny.

  “We would also like to get a statement from Mr. Hastings, here,” McKenna said.

  “No problem,” Anthony muttered. He recounted the same story he had told Jeff and Johnny earlier. Jeff watched as Sharpe’s face expressed displeasure when Anthony mentioned his visiting the baths in LA. McKenna’s expression did not change.

  “So this guy you say you talked to in the bar,” Sharpe asked, his voice cold. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “I had never met him before.”

  Sharpe shook his head and looked at McKenna.

  “I have checked out that part of Anthony’s story.” Jeff parried the look of disgust Sharpe threw him and directed his next statement at McKenna. “I called the number of the guy he met in the bar. It checked out.”

  “Sounds flimsy to me,” Sharpe said.

  Johnny intervened. “Just a minute. Mr. Hastings has given you his statement. Mr. Stevens, whom we hired to help in this investigation, has told you he checked it out. If you want to take this further, Detective, I suggest you go about it appropriately.”

  “Oh, we’ll do that all right, believe me.” Sharpe turned off the recorder, signaling the meeting was over.

  McKenna caught Jeff’s eye and nodded imperceptibly. Jeff waited outside the office as Johnny shepherded Emily and Anthony to the parking lot. McKenna joined Jeff a few minutes later. He guided him toward the coffee area away from the office.

  “You think the boy is telling the truth?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Sharpe thinks he’s lying about something, but he’s already prejudiced because the kid is gay.”

  “He needs to disguise his feelings better than he does,” Jeff said. “That kind of bigoted reasoning can screw up an investigation.”

  “I know.” McKenna grimaced. “I’ll tell him to cool it, don’t worry. You talk to the guy Hastings says he met?”

  “No, there was an answering machine that identified him as the right guy. For obvious reasons, Anthony doesn’t want him to know he might be a murder suspect.”

  “Well, he may have to know, unfortunately. Did you check out the baths?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’d suggest you do. Sharpe is going to want to follow up on that and you’ll probably get more cooperation than he ever will.”

  Jeff grinned at him. “Think so?”

  “I know so!”

  “What did McKenna have to say?” Johnny asked when Jeff joined them in the parking lot.

  “He suggested I keep checking out Anthony’s alibi. Sharpe wasn’t happy with your story, Anthony.”

  “That guy’s a damned homophobe.” Anthony kicked the ground angrily. “As soon as he realized I was gay, he figured I just had to be capable of murder.”

  “McKenna will keep him in line. He’s assured me of that.”

  “What do we do now?” Emily linked arms with Anthony.

  “Well, they’ll be following up on both your stories,” Jeff replied. “You certainly threw them with your statement, young lady. They weren’t expecting that.”

  “Neither was I,” Johnny remarked. “I’ve told her, next time please warn me when she’s about to make any kind of confession.”

  Emily blushed prettily under the men’s protective stares. “Thanks for the tip about the receipts, Jeff,” she said. “I’m glad I kept them.”

  “I’m heading up to LA to visit the baths—but for God’s sake, don’t tell Peter.” Jeff grinned at them. “Just kidding. I’ll need a photo of you Anthony, for identification purposes. Do you have one on you?”

  “Just my driver’s license.”

  “Here,” Emily said, digging in her purse. “I have one you sent from military school.” She handed it to Jeff and Anthony peered at it over his shoulder.

  “God, I was only nineteen there, Emily.”

  “It’ll do,” Jeff said, looking at the young man in uniform who gazed sternly at him from the photo. “You haven’t changed much in four years.” He started toward his car. “I’ll call you later, Johnny.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  On his way up to LA, Jeff called Joe French. He wanted to thank him for putting in the good word for him with the O.C. detectives.

  “No problem,” Joe answered cheerfully. “Always ready to oblige a friend. By the way, I followed up on your lead on Thomson, the landlord.”

  “Anything?”

  “Not yet. He’s out of town for a few days, his secretary says. She didn’t know where he’d gone. We did get hold of your friend’s sister in Puerto Rico. She’s making arrangements to have the body shipped back there for burial.”

  “Oh. That’s good, I guess.”

  “Yeah, there’s a deal of paperwork involved, of course. It’ll take a few more days. So, what’re you up to today?”

  “I’m on my way to check out Anthony Hastings’ alibi. The O.C. police consider him a suspect in his father’s death.”

  “Oh yeah? Let me know how that goes, will you?”

  “Will do, Joe. Thanks again for your help.”

  Traffic was fairly light on the 405 that day, so Jeff made good time up to West Hollywood. He knew where the Lion’s Den was. He’d been there a couple of times some years ago, but the baths had never been his scene, even when he was single. A quick grope or anonymous blow job was never fulfilling, and he’d been young enough then to have felt crushed by the general air of disinterest he’d encountered when he’d try to get to know someone better. His friends had told him he was a naïve romantic.

  And they’d probably been right, he thought as he pulled open the door to the Lion’s Den Baths.

  The young man at the reception desk gave the tall handsome man who entered the Lion’s Den reception area a long appraising gaze then he smiled. This one was definitely going to brighten his day. He couldn’t wait to see him come out of the locker room with just a towel wrapped round his hips, or better still, without the towel.

  “Hi! Welcome to the Lion’s Den. We have special discounts this early in the day.”

  He felt his cock stir when his smile was returned with a slow sexy one. What a living doll, he thought, his mind chasing endless possibilities.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind, uh…?”

  “Bryan. I’m Bryan, with a ‘Y’. And you can ask me anything, anything at all. Did you want a tour of the place or something?”

  “No, not really. My name is Jeff Stevens, by the way. I’m a private investigator.” He handed Bryan his card who gave it a long look then stowed it the pocket of his tee shirt.

  “And what is it you’d like to investigate?” Bryan asked, running his tongue over his lower lip, the movement made
as an invitation.

  Jeff pulled out Anthony’s photograph. “Have you seen this guy in here recently?”

  Bryan took the photo and studied it closely. “Oh, yeah. This guy I remember. Hot, hot, hot! A body to die for and such a cute, sad little smile. Believe me; he looks better out of that uniform.”

  “Was he here the day before yesterday, say around one in the afternoon?”

  “Let’s see…” Bryan pretended to think, though he remembered exactly when Anthony had been there. “Has he done something wrong?”

  “Well, I’m hoping he hasn’t. And if he was here when he says he was, then he’s probably not in any trouble.”

  “Yeah, he was here. I’d never forget that face—nor yours either. Are you two buddies?”

  “Acquaintances. Well, listen Bryan with a ‘Y’… thanks for your time. I appreciate your help.” Jeff took Anthony’s photo from the young man’s unwilling fingers.

  “Tell him I’m still hoping he’ll come back.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “Sure you don’t want to relax for a while?” Bryan asked with a hopeful expression. “I give a great massage—free for you.”

  “Maybe another time. Thanks again.” Jeff turned to go and Bryan watched him leave, disappointment creasing the corners of his mouth.

  Shit, he thought mournfully. Two great looking guys and I strike out on them both!

  On his way back, Jeff decided to pay Charles Hastings’ secretary, Dorothy, a visit. As of yet, he had not been at the scene of the crime and the secretary may just have more to tell him than she had the police. Sometimes, people were less intimidated by a private investigator and more liable to open up. Then again, of course, they could refuse to say anything.

  When Jeff introduced himself to Dorothy, she proved to be of the former kind. A very talkative lady who delighted in telling her story over and over again to whoever would listen. Jeff accepted her invitation to sit and leaned back, listening intently as Dorothy relayed her version of what had happened.

  “You see, it was unusual for Mr. Hastings to schedule any appointments in the lunch hour,” she began. “I was never ever asked to bring him a sandwich before; really took me by surprise. He always went out for lunch—someplace really ritzy you know—different places. Places I’ve never been to of course, not on my salary. He did take me out once, on my birthday, just once and I’ve worked for him for ten years. The Seasons, very nice. I think that was his favorite place. He sometimes stopped there for a drink on the way home too.”