The Night Visitor

by Dianne Emley

  Rory set down her pen. She still wasn’t used to Anya being a routine part of her life again and didn’t quite know what to make of it, especially in a business setting. “I’m good.”

  “That painter boyfriend of yours is coming along great on my portrait.” As usual, she said it as if Junior were a housepainter on purpose. “How can you stand him touching you with those paint hands, all up under his fingernails and everything?”

  “I like it just fine. And he’s my fiancé.”

  There was a knock on the door. Rory’s assistant carried in the coffees and handed Anya’s to her.

  “Thank you, Lindsay,” Rory said.

  “Thanks, doll.” Anya popped the lid off her cup and took a sip, then licked the foam from her lips. “So, I’m thinking of retiring from modeling.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m twenty-five. Model years are like dog years, you know?”

  “You’re telling me this after we’ve just announced that you’re the face of Langtry.”

  “Ro, lose that deer-in-the-headlights look. It means that I’ll be available to do more promotion for Langtry. You and me, we can send this thing flying. Big time. And maybe I’ll do what all retired supermodels do: marry a rich man.” She sipped her coffee and looked at Rory over the rim of the cup with those famous sable eyes, the left angled slightly higher than the right.

  Rory sat back and crossed her legs. She was enjoying talking to Anya. They hadn’t talked like this in a long time. She knew that everything could change in a nanosecond and go to hell in a blustering stream of cutting remarks between them. But at this moment, she was enjoying herself.

  “Thought things had chilled between you and Jonah.”

  Anya looked mischievous. “There are a lot of fish in the sea.”

  “Why so secretive?”

  There was a sharp knock on the door and Rory said, “Come in.”

  Gilles, the makeup artist, entered.

  Anya took his hand that he held out and let him pull her up. They kissed each other’s cheeks and then Gilles stepped back and gave her a hard look.

  Anya grinned at him. “Gilles, I was just saying that you’re a magician.”

  “I am, but I am not a miracle worker. Your face is puffy. Dark circles under your eyes. Anya, Anya, Anya.”

  “Gilles, you’re the only one who can get away with talking to me like that.”

  He again took her hand and started with her toward the door. “Allons-y. Let’s go.”

  She stuck her head back into the room before she left. “Hey, Ro. Have to tell you something. You’re the best.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “Seriously. This whole place. Langtry. You came up with the idea, got the money—you had to bend over for the Tates, but you got it—you hired the best people in the business, convinced them that this was the only place they should be, and you’ve managed to keep me in line. You’re dope, sis. Just wanted you to know.”

  With that, Anya was gone.

  In the TV room of the Casa del Fuente, Rory stared at the television, not seeing it. Tears streamed down her face, but no one paid any attention.

  A loud ruckus jolted Rory back to reality. A new patient was being brought in, unwillingly. Other patients wandered in to watch the commotion. Rory stood to watch but she didn’t care about the struggle. She was looking at the locked door to the ward. It was fully open and no one seemed to notice.

  Rory crept sideways down the corridor, nearly reaching the open door. An orderly closed it before she got there and gave Rory a disdainful look.

  The still-struggling patient was hustled away.

  Rory moved from the door and leaned her back against the wall. She let herself slide to the floor, then reached behind her and tucked into the waistband of her pants the cell phone that had flown from one of the orderlies’ pocket. She went to her room and closed the door.

  53

  Auburn squinted as if it would make him hear better. “Say again?”

  The voice on the other end of the line was nearly inaudible.

  Auburn shouted “Quiet, please” to the group gathered near his desk. They moved their conversation a few feet away.

  “Rory? Something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She didn’t want him to know where she was and risk discrediting what she was going to say as the ramblings of a deranged person. She needed him to believe her. “My cell phone signal isn’t good.”

  She was fully clothed and standing in the shower in her room. The water was on and she was trying to avoid the spray. She knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d come searching for the missing cell phone.

  “In the loft at Five Points…” She was rushing, jumbling her words. “The Killingsworth Building.”

  “Yes.” Auburn drank the last of his coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup into a wastebasket under his desk.

  “There were two paintings that had been slashed.”

  “One painting. The nude of Anya.” That juicy fact about the crime had been released to the public.

  “No. There were two.”

  Anya’s murder book was on his desk. He didn’t need to double-check this but he did anyway. “Hang on.”

  Looking through the crime-scene photos, he found a photo of the two easels. One had a portrait of Anya on it, slashed. Each time the blade had entered at Anya’s face.

  “There was just one. Rory, what are you getting at?”

  “But there were two easels side by side.”

  “Yes.”

  “There was a painting on the second easel that night. Slashed like the other one. Removed before the police got there.”

  “By who?”

  “The murderer.”

  “Is this something you saw in one of your dreams?”

  “Sure. Leave it at that.” Rory accidentally stepped into the shower spray, getting halfway wet. “Detective, this is important. You have to find that second painting. You have to believe me.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Look, Junior slipped in Anya’s blood, didn’t he?”

  This was a detail that had always troubled Auburn. She gave the explanation that he’d always felt was correct, that didn’t jibe with the official story.

  “Junior didn’t know Anya’s body was on the floor behind the orange velvet couch. In the moonlight, he saw the paintings were slashed. He went over to them and slipped in Anya’s blood. That’s when someone came up behind him and shot him in the head.”

  Auburn turned to a photograph of the smeared blood with Junior’s footprints in it. “Are you still at your mother’s house? I’ll come see you.”

  “We don’t need to speak in person. Look, no matter what anyone says about me, I’m telling you the truth. I wasn’t there that night but I know what happened. Oh, crap.” She heard the door to her room open. “And that rhinestone cell phone—”

  “Hand it over, now.” A male orderly had come into the bathroom and was holding his hand out for the phone.

  Rory blurted, “It—”

  The orderly grabbed the phone from her hand and ended the call.

  “Did you get it?” A second male orderly stuck his head into the bathroom.

  “Yep.” The first one walked out, putting the phone into his back pants pocket.

  The other guy said, “You’re lucky. Dr. O would have had your ass.”

  Rory walked into the room. The other guy had already left.

  The one who’d lost the phone said to Rory, “Don’t screw up again.” Before he was out the door, he turned back. “The less said about this the better.”

  * * *

  Rodriguez passed Auburn’s desk and caught a glance of a photo of Anya’s dead face. “She did something to piss somebody off.”

  Auburn closed the murder book and stood, fishing in his pocket for his car key. “Be back later.”

  54

  Richard Tate opened the front door of the villa holding a scotch on the rocks. If finding Auburn on his front p
orch disturbed him, he didn’t let on. “Detective. Just in time for cocktails. Come in.”

  Auburn followed Richard into the villa.

  Walking to the ballroom, Richard said, “The bar’s in here. What can I get you?”

  “Nothing, thank you.”

  “Evelyn’s dressing for dinner. I’ll tell her you’re here.” He took out his cell phone and began typing a text.

  “I’m not here to see Evelyn.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m here to see Rory.”

  Richard used tongs to drop fresh ice from a crystal bucket into his drink. He uncorked a bottle and splashed in more scotch. “I’ll let Evelyn talk to you.”

  “Isn’t Rory here?”

  Richard’s cell phone buzzed and he looked at it. “Evie will be right down. Have a seat.” He walked to a grouping of chairs and sofas. Before he sat, he asked, “Sure I can’t get you something?”

  “No, thank you.” Auburn sat when Richard did. He looked around, annoyed.

  Richard took a quick sip of his drink and blurted, “You golf?”

  “A little.”

  “We should get a game together. I play with your boss sometimes. The chief.” He imbued the title with momentousness. “I told him I wouldn’t play with him anymore if he doesn’t let me win at least once a year. There’s my bride.”

  They both stood when Evelyn entered the room.

  “Hello, Detective. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  Richard interjected, “He’s here to see Rory.”

  “Rory?” Evelyn sat on a wing-backed chair and plucked at her slacks. “She’s not available.”

  “Where is she?” Auburn struggled to keep the irritation from his voice.

  “That’s a confidential matter,” Evelyn said. “Why is it so urgent that you speak with her?”

  “I just got off the phone with her.”

  “That’s impossible.” Evelyn nearly stood but regained her composure. “How?”

  “She called me at the station.”

  “When?”

  “Half an hour ago.” Auburn recalled Rory’s urgent, muffled voice followed by the voice of a man who seemed to have taken the phone from her. “Where is she?”

  Evelyn shot a glance at Richard. He said, “Detective, Rory’s in a hospital. A convalescent hospital…to rest.”

  “They don’t allow her to make phone calls?”

  Evelyn said, “She needs to rest.”

  “Is she under a mental health hold?”

  Evelyn stood and began pacing. “This is painful for me to talk about. Rory started hallucinating and nearly jumped off a fire escape.” She faced Auburn with her hands out. “I had no other choice.”

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “At Casa del Fuente. Please honor my wish that she not be disturbed. I’m sure they won’t let you talk to her anyway. I have no idea how she got access to a phone.” Evelyn rubbed her arms. “What did she talk to you about?”

  “That’s confidential.”

  Evelyn stood in front of Auburn and planted her hands on her hips. “Confidential! You can’t keep that from me. I have a right to know what my daughter’s doing.”

  Richard got up and stood behind Evelyn, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Evie…Let’s calm down.”

  She shrugged him off. “Calm down? This is my baby’s life we’re talking about.” She angrily pointed at Auburn. “He can’t keep secrets from us.”

  Auburn watched her dispassionately.

  Richard managed to lead Evelyn to a chair.

  “Mrs. Tate, it appears that both your daughters kept secrets from you,” Auburn said.

  Evelyn coldly eyed him. “I sincerely hope that you’re not referring to Anya’s pregnancy. Dr. Templeton told me you were in his office. I don’t know what you intend to make of that.”

  “It looks as if she planned to become pregnant,” Auburn said. “Dr. Templeton’s file shows she’d been using a birth control implant for years. She’d had the implant removed three months before her murder. Dr. Templeton remembers Anya being ecstatic about the pregnancy.”

  Evelyn said, “Anya was losing Jonah Donati and desperate to do anything to hold on to him. She got pregnant by him and it didn’t make any difference, I’m sorry to say.”

  Auburn said, “I spoke with Jonah earlier today. Anya never told him she was pregnant.”

  Evelyn threw up her hands. “You think he’d admit that? He’s married now, to that cocktail waitress he dumped Anya for.”

  “I still have to wonder why the medical examiner didn’t include Anya’s pregnancy in his autopsy report.”

  “Detective, I happen to know Gene Hedges. He’s a fine doctor with an impeccable reputation.” Richard took the lid from a silver box on a side table, scooped out a handful of peanuts, and fed them into his mouth through his cupped fingers.

  “I’m aware that you’re friendly with Dr. Hedges, Mr. Tate. You sit on two boards with him and Tate Partners has a large investment in a start-up venture of his.”

  Richard looked surprised that Auburn knew this.

  “You’ve been busy, Detective Auburn.” Evelyn started laughing. “You remind me of the detective in my movie Kill Quiet, Kill Fast. He found conspiracies everywhere too.” Her amusement turned to anger. “No one in this family had anything to do with Anya’s murder, Detective. It’s time you move on and let us live our lives. Haven’t we been through enough?”

  Richard downed the last of his scotch and stood. “Detective, thank you for enlivening our ordinary day with your tales of intrigue. These discussions upset my wife, so please direct any further communications through our attorney, Leland Declues.”

  “I can find my way out.” Auburn stood but instead of heading toward the door, he went to admire the portrait over the fireplace. “A member of the family?”

  Richard said, “My first wife, Abigail. She passed away many years ago.”

  Auburn looked at the painting of the beautiful young woman with pale skin and dark hair standing alone wearing a deep-blue evening gown. He moved closer and peered intently at the portrait.

  Richard stepped up to Auburn. “Can I help you with something, Detective?”

  “Good evening.” Auburn went up the ballroom steps and left.

  55

  It was the middle of the night in the subacute unit. Junior’s noises and movements didn’t immediately draw the janitor’s attention. He resumed emptying the garbage can. He’d seen the patients in the vegetable garden acting creepy before. He also worked in the hospital morgue, but he hated the subacute unit more. At least in the morgue you knew who was dead.

  Still, something about Junior didn’t seem right, even for that place. His eyes were frantic and his lips were blue. His crooked arms and legs spastically jerked.

  The janitor stepped into the hallway. There was no one at the nurses station. Soon he saw the night nurse heading down the hallway. “Hey, Keith. Something’s wrong with Junior.”

  Keith picked up his pace. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t think he can breathe, man.”

  “What?” Keith jogged to the room. From the doorway, he saw that Junior’s respirator tube had been removed and the monitor had been unplugged.

  Keith bolted inside, pushing past the janitor. Junior wasn’t breathing.

  “Oh shit.” Keith retrieved the respirator tube and hurried to reattach it. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. The trach tube’s been pulled out. Go get the on-call doctor.”

  Keith threw the respirator tube aside, pinched Junior’s nose, slapped his hand over Junior’s mouth, and put his mouth over the hole in Junior’s neck. He inhaled and exhaled into it.

  The panic in Junior’s eyes faded as they clouded over.

  * * *

  Rory was asleep in her room at Casa del Fuente, dreaming about her and Anya. They ran through an open field near their Aunt Donna’s house. Rory stopped. She couldn’t breathe.

  Anya turned back. “What’s
wrong?”

  Rory was suffocating. She started to panic. There was a hole in her throat. She reached in and pulled out a snake. It came and came…

  She tumbled from the bed to the floor, grabbing her throat, her breath strangled. This wasn’t a dream. She crawled to the door and tried to turn the doorknob with both hands. She got it open and fell into the hallway. She crawled on the polished linoleum, vaguely aware of footsteps coming toward her. She felt herself sliding down, deeper into the creeping blackness.

  56

  Rory was wheeled into a treatment room directly from the ambulance that had sped her to Huntington Hospital. A nurse was taking her vital signs while another nurse asked her the same questions the EMTs had asked her in the ambulance. “What’s your name?” “What day is it?” “What year is it?” “Who’s the president of the United States?”

  Rory correctly answered all their questions.

  “Do you remember anything before you passed out?”

  “I was asleep. Dreaming. In my dream I was suffocating and then I woke up and couldn’t breathe.”

  “You were unconscious for a while. We’re going to do an MRI. I’ve called your mother and she’s on her way. How do you feel now?”

  “Thirsty.”

  “Any nausea?”

  “No.” Rory pulled at the restraints that bound her wrists to the bed. “Can you please untie me? I’m not going to hurt myself or do anything.”

  The nurse looked over Rory’s chart. “Sorry, honey. I can’t do that. They’ll be here soon to transport you for the MRI. Here’s the remote for the TV. That button is the call button for the nurse.” She put the remote in Rory’s right hand.

  “Can I have some water, please?”

  The nurse left, returned with a cup of water, held it to Rory’s lips, and told her to take a small sip. When Rory swallowed that fine, the nurse gave her the rest. As the nurse left, she pulled the curtain partially closed over a window into the hallway.

  Rory was alone. She felt okay. She was still wearing the T-shirt, drawstring pajama bottoms, and socks she’d worn to bed. She moved her wrists inside the cloth restraints, which were attached by Velcro. They were loose, but not loose enough to pull her hand through. Her ankles were not restrained.