A Portrait of Emily (16 page)

Bob Thomson’s face flushed with anger at Joey’s words. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he fought to keep control of his temper. “Joey, I’m asking you for the last time and I
mean
for the last time, please—”

“Get out of here,
now
.” Joey’s expression was one of contempt. “I don’t want to hear anymore whining.”

“Please Joey, don’t do this. I’ll get down on my knees and beg if that’s what it’ll take.” His eyes filled with tears. “I’m dying inside. Can’t you see? Are you so insanely in love with that kid Adam that you’re blind to everything else around you? I could have thrown you out of here for non-payment of rent ages ago, but I didn’t because I love you, Joey. You mean everything to me, don’t you understand that? Forget Adam. He doesn’t want you like I do.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Joey regarded him with scorn. “Don’t you get it? I can’t stand you anywhere near me. I never could. You’re
ugly
. You’re disgusting. You haven’t one redeeming feature. Get out of here and get the fuck out of my life.”

Tears slid down Bob’s cheeks. “You can’t mean that. Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

“What you’ve done for me?” Joey sneered. “You think
this
…” He gestured around the studio with a deprecating wave of his hand, “
This
, could make up for all the times I had to grit my teeth and stop myself from screaming every time you touched me? You think you can mention yourself and Adam in the same breath? Have you looked in the mirror lately?” He turned away in dismissal then looked back at Bob, his face twisted with disgust. “
You poor fool
.”

The color was swept from Bob’s face as a murderous rage built inside him. “You
fuck
.” Snarling, he lunged at Joey and gripped him by the throat. The two men fell to the floor, struggling like maniacs. Joey was strong and physically very fit, but the mad rage inside Bob gave him strength that Joey could not match. Desperately, he clawed at Bob’s face.

“
No
,” he croaked. “Bob no, please, no—!”

But a fury now possessed Bob. All the months of pent up disappointments and frustrations Joey had inflicted upon him were now manifested in an intense rage that surged through his very being. All reason left him as he slowly squeezed the life from the man he had once loved above all else. Oblivious to the punishing blows to his body, he continued his paralyzing hold on Joey’s throat until the man’s struggling weakened, then stopped. Joey lay still and unmoving beneath him. Only then did he relinquish that devastating grip. Moaning softly as reason returned and the realization of what he’d done flooded over him; he lay down beside Joey’s body and wept.

How long he lay there, he did not know, but when his senses returned he looked about him furtively for evidence that he had been there. No one had seen him come in. The other offices were long since vacated for the evening. Panicked, he scrambled to his feet, and unable to look again at the man he had just murdered, started for the door. His breath caught in this throat as he heard footsteps outside. Darting back into the studio, he slipped in to the dark room and waited.

“Joey?” someone called. “Are you there? It’s…uh, Adam.”

Bob, peering through the crack in the door, could just see the young man enter the studio. He watched as he ran to where Joey’s lifeless body lay.

“
Joey
. Oh, my God.”

Opening the door to the dark room, Bob spied a metal tripod leaning against the wall. Grabbing it, he rushed at the young man, taking him completely by surprise. Viciously he swung the tripod against his head, grunting with satisfaction as Adam slumped over Joey’s body. For a moment he stood staring at the two men at his feet. Then he wiped his fingerprints from the tripod, thrust it into Joey’s right hand, and placed the other man’s hands around Joey’s throat. Picking up the phone from Joey’s work table, he dialed 9-1-1.

“Give me the police,” he whispered.

§ § § §

Later that night, Gloria called Peter in a panic. “I can’t believe what’s happening.”
Peter could hear in her voice that she was very close to tears. “That
bitch, my aunt Patricia, has more or less told the police that Emily might have killed
her father.”

“What?”

Jeff looked up from the book he was reading as he heard the shock in Peter’s
voice. “Listen Gloria,
you’d better tell Jeff about this. He’ll know what to do.” He handed the phone
to Jeff, muttering, “Emily’s mother is accusing her of the murder.”

“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 where 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.