by J. P. Bowie
Still, as difficult as his situation had been, he could not compare it to the one in which Anthony now found himself. Jeff looked at his young friend’s sad expression and, not for the first time, wished he could confront Patricia Hastings and make her realize the damage she was doing to her son—and herself.
But this new development was going to be a hard one for him to explain to Anthony. To accuse his mother of writing threatening letters to Olivia Winters?
How on earth could he broach the subject?
He looked over at Peter who sat watching them both thoughtfully.
“Anthony…” Peter began, “Have you thought perhaps that your mother needs some help? I mean, some kind of counseling?” Anthony looked at him but remained silent, so Peter pressed the point. “I’m talking psychological counseling. This letter is a bit scary, isn’t it? It sounds almost like she’s threatening you…”
That’s putting it mildly, Jeff thought. “I think Peter’s right,” he said. “I want you to do me a favor, Anthony. Let me take this letter and compare it with some others we have in the office.”
“She sent you letters?” Anthony looked at him with surprise.
“Not exactly. We have letters that were sent to Olivia Winters that are very similar in tone and content…”
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“Oh my God,” Anthony interrupted. “You think she sent Olivia Winters this same kind of letter? Surely not…she couldn’t be that crazy…” He stepped away from Jeff. “I have to call her before she gets into serious trouble.”
“Wait, Anthony. There’s no proof that she’s threatening Olivia. It’s just a hunch I have right now.”
“But you said the letters were similar…” Anthony turned away in anguish.
“Oh Mom, what are you doing?”
“Okay, let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Jeff muttered, worried by Anthony’s reaction. “Let’s stay calm until we know for sure. Anthony, I’m sorry I’ve upset you…this was not cool of me.”
“No, it’s OK, Jeff. Mom has been going off the rails for a long time. Justin and I have talked about it a lot…I just didn’t think she would go to these lengths.”
“If it’s her,” Peter said.
“Guys, look…” Anthony appeared to pull himself together as he picked up Peter’s glass. “Look at that, I totally forgot why we came in here. I’ll freshen up your drinks and we’ll go back outside. Don’t let this spoil our evening together.
I don’t think Emily could take much more interference from our mother.” He glanced at Jeff as he threw ice in their glasses. “Take the letter Jeff. I don’t want to read it again anyway. If it’s helpful in your investigation, then so be it. Let’s just not tell Emily about this right now.”
Jeff nodded and pushed the letter into the back pocket of his shorts. He took the proffered drink from Anthony. “I’ll speak to you before we do anything about this, don’t worry.”
“Okay,” Anthony sighed. “Now, let’s join the others before they think something’s up.”
c h a p t e r 1 0
s
Luke pulled up outside his apartment in Dana Point and jumped quickly from his brand new BMW Z4 convertible—a gift from Olivia. He smiled to himself as he strode to the front door. Things were going just so right for him, he thought, pushing the door open—especially now, as Olivia had asked him to move in with her. At first, he couldn’t believe she meant it. True, their relationship had become more intimate over the weeks they had been together, but deep down, Luke had always been preparing himself for the old heave-ho that bitch Brenda predicted would happen at any time.
Well, she was wrong, wasn’t she? Luke smirked a little as he pictured Brenda’s face when Olivia told her he was moving in—bet she was pissed. He chuckled softly at the thought. He looked around the meager room he had lived in for the past two years. He would not be sorry to kiss this place goodbye. Grabbing a bag from the closet, he began throwing in a few personal possessions and dragging some of his favorite clothes from their hangers.
Oh wait, he thought. What happened to that camera?
So intent was he on searching through his dresser drawers that he did not hear the light footfall behind him. His first warning that all was not well was a sharp stinging sensation in his shoulder. He whirled round, his eyes wide with astonishment as he saw the person standing in front of him.
“Hey, what are you doin’ here?” His eyes fell on the syringe held in the person’s hand. “What did you do?” Luke gasped, a sudden fear hitting the pit of his stomach as he felt his strength evaporate. “What’s happening?” he whim-pered, reaching out, trying to stop himself from falling over. The camera slipped from his nerveless grip and bounced on the floor by his feet.
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“You’re dying, Luke. That’s what’s happening.” The voice was cold and uncaring.
“No, please…Why?” Luke’s eyes filled with tears as he sank to his knees.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I don’t have to give you a reason, Luke. You were just in the way.”
Luke felt his limbs go numb. His strength was ebbing away. He could no longer control the movements of his arms or legs. He couldn’t breathe. His mind screamed out for help, but his lips remained fast shut. He felt himself falling into a deep, dark chasm. He pitched forward, his big, muscular body hitting the floor with a loud thud. Searching fingers were placed on the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. There was none.
“Goodbye Luke,” the same cold voice muttered. But Luke could no longer hear anything at all.
“So, what d’you think?” Jeff looked intently at Nick, after he had read the letter Patricia had sent to her son.
“I think she’s one sick, demented woman,” his partner replied, his face hard with anger. “Jesus Christ…what kind of a mother would write something like that to her own son?”
“Well, Patricia Hastings is not the mothering type,” Jeff told him. “Never was, from what I understand, even before old man Hastings was bumped off.
Emily’s stories would make your hair stand on end. But, do you think there could be a connection between the letters Olivia’s getting, and this one?”
“Could be,” Nick mused, looking at the letter again. “There’s certainly a similarity in the text—same kind of flowery, religioso ranting.”
“Flowery, religioso ranting?” Jeff laughed. “Where did that come from?”
“Right here…” Nick chuckled as he smacked the letter. “Definitely flowery, certainly religioso—and boy, is she ranting.”
“Yeah, that she is…and threatening. That’s the part that gets me.” Jeff took the letter from Nick and glanced at it again. “The same sort of threats Olivia was getting.”
“Jeff?” Monica’s voice on the intercom interrupted them.
“Yes, Monica?”
“Peter’s on the phone. Says it’s important.”
“Thanks.” He picked up the office phone. “Hey babe, what’s up?”
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“Hi. Thought you might be interested to know that some preacher guy was on TV last night, urging viewers to boycott Olivia’s show.”
“Oh yeah? Who told you this?”
“Andrew. He and David saw it. Andrew’s here—having coffee with me and Mom.”
“He and David watch those shows?”
“No. Andrew was channel surfing and pissing David off, so he happened to stop on this religious type show and this guy was just going off about Olivia being the devil’s spawn and all that guff and how decent god-fearing citizens should stop watching the show until she sees the error of her ways and stops having heathens and perverts on her show…Gee,” Peter paused for a breath.
“D’you think he meant us?”
“I don’t doubt it. Does Andrew know the guy’s name?”
“Hang on…”
Jeff listened for a moment to some mumbling
going on in the background.
“The Reverend Jack Fellows, Andrew says.”
“Oh, that guy…”
“You’ve heard of him?”
“Uh huh. Used to have his own show some years back—kinda controversial.
Then he came up with some really stupid stuff, saying that some of the Mup-pets were gay and something about Elmo and Ernie…Can’t remember what that was. Anyway, he lost a lot of credibility over that.”
“What a surprise…” Peter laughed. “Well, anyway he must be back, ’cause he was on the box last night.”
“I’ll give Brenda a call—see if she caught it. They usually have people reporting this kind of stuff to them. Okay, say hi to Andrew and Eve. I’ll see you later, babe.”
“Bye. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Love you too…” Nick teased him, as Jeff put the phone down. “God, what a wuss you are.”
“Hey, don’t start.” Jeff fixed him with a look. “I’ve heard you on the phone with Eric, you know. Talk about a wuss…”
Nick chuckled. “Some of that stuff is definitely not for public consump-tion.”
“Too right. God knows what Monica must think sometimes.”
Nick reddened. “You think she hears us?”
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Jeff laughed. “Nick, she is aware of the fact that you and Eric are lovers, you know. You might think you fool some of the people out there with your machoer than macho act, but not Monica.”
“Yeah, but…Gee, now I’m embarrassed. You’ll have to fire her.”
“I’d fire you first.”
“Humph!” Nick pouted then started to laugh at himself. “I wonder what she calls her boyfriend?”
“Pretty much the same kind of stuff. My favorite is ‘lambkins—and the guy’s built like a brick sh…Oh, hi Monica…” Jeff broke off as their secretary peeked in.
“Just going to lunch,” she said, smiling at her employers. “Can I get you anything?”
“Uh…no thanks.”
“Okay. See you in an hour.” She winked at Jeff. “I’ll tell lambkins you said hi.”
“Oh no,” Jeff groaned, after she closed the door. “She heard me.”
“Now will you fire her?”
The phone ringing in the outer office stilled their laughter. “I’ll get it,” Jeff said, sliding off Nick’s desk. “Stevens & Fallon Investigations. Jeff Stevens speaking.”
“Just the guy I want.” The voice on the other end sounded familiar, but Jeff couldn’t quite place it. “Remember me? Louis McKenna. We worked together on the Hastings murder case, couple of years back?”
“Right,” Jeff exclaimed. “Detective McKenna. How the hell are you?”
“Oh, pretty good. You’ll be glad to hear I have a new partner. I remember Bob Sharpe got up your nose quite a bit.”
Jeff laughed wryly. “Not one of my favorite people, for sure. So, how’s it goin’?”
“Well, pretty quiet till recently. I’m investigating a homicide down in Dana Point.” He paused for a moment. “Know a guy, name of Luke Taylor?”
“Yes…” Jeff said, startled. “Is he in trouble?”
“Not anymore…he’s the victim.”
“You’re kidding!” He cupped his hand over the phone and whispered to Nick, “Luke Taylor’s been murdered.”
“Dead serious, Jeff. Reason I’m calling,” McKenna continued, “is a camera was found in the deceased’s room. When the film was developed there were photos of a party. Looks like your party—quite a shindig too, by the looks of things. I recognized the famous Olivia Winters among the happy revelers.
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There’s a couple of them with her lying flat out on her back on the floor. Not a pretty sight. We figure the Taylor guy was blackmailing her…”
“No, wait a minute,” Jeff interrupted. “Luke worked for Olivia as her bodyguard. In fact they are, or rather, were an item. She met him at the party where the photos were taken. She seemed crazy about him.”
“Wow,” McKenna murmured.
“I’m guessing Olivia doesn’t know about Luke then.”
“Right. His folks have been notified, but they didn’t say anything about Olivia Winters.”
“He mustn’t have got around to telling them.” Jeff suggested.
“Mmm. So I’ll put a call into Miss Winters.” McKenna gave a heavy sigh. “I just love being the harbinger of bad news.”
“She’s going to freak,” Jeff warned him. “Big time.”
“So why would Taylor have photos of your party?”
“Well, Peter’s camera was missing after everyone left. He thought he’d just misplaced it or it got thrown out with the garbage. Maybe Luke swiped it knowing it had those photos of Olivia…but I don’t remember anyone taking pictures of her when she was…uh, under the weather, so to speak.”
“Under the table’s more like it,” McKenna said. “My guess is, Taylor took the photos himself, then stole the camera for future use.”
“You could be right. He wasn’t working for Olivia at the time. She’d just met him, and called later for his phone number.”
“So he could have changed his mind about blackmailing her when she offered him the job.”
“Sounds right. So, how was he killed?”
“Lethal injection. One of his neighbors happened by, found him on the floor and called 911. The medics saw no sign of a struggle or weapon, so they assumed it was a heart attack. It wasn’t till the autopsy that they found traces of curare in his bloodstream, and a puncture wound on his left shoulder. Must have happened so fast he didn’t have time to defend himself.”
“Must have…Luke was a big boy. Not easy to take down.”
“Right. That poison works really fast apparently. Paralyzes the nervous system almost immediately. He’d have had no chance.”
“Poor kid,” Jeff muttered.
“Yeah, well…I thought I’d touch base with you on this. We’ll have to keep the camera and the photographs for a while, of course.”
“Oh great,” Jeff said with a rueful chuckle. “I bet we all look terrific.”
“Y’all look… happy.”
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“I bet. Okay, Detective. If I can be of any help, let me know.”
“Will do. Have a nice day.”
Jeff put the phone down and filled Nick in on all the details.
“Oh, brother.” His partner whistled through his teeth as he leaned back in his chair. “That Winters broad is gonna come unglued.”
“You got that right…” Jeff walked to the window and looked out at the busy street below him. “Now, who do you suppose would want to murder Luke Taylor?” he mused, almost to himself. “And not just murder him, but do so with a lot of premeditation.” He turned and looked at his partner. “A lethal injection, Nick. Whoever did this was taking no chances that Luke would be able to fight him off…Yet, he had to get close enough to deliver the dose. Could it have been someone he knew?”
“Well, certainly someone who knew him— and hate him enough to kill him.” Nick suggested. “Someone who was jealous maybe? Jealous of his closeness to Olivia?”
“Jealous enough to kill him, Nick?” Jeff shook his head. “It’s one thing to be pissed because someone is getting too close, but to go out and do him in—you have to be pretty mad to carry that out.”
“Mad—or insane,” Nick said. “Look at all the kooks out there writing letters of death and destruction and bringing God’s wrath down on the heads of those who’re different. Seems everyone’s going nuts these days.”
The long anguished wail that came from inside Olivia’s dressing room was heard throughout the entire studio. The technical crew, preparing for the afternoon show, stopped in their tracks as they listened to the terrible keening that seemed to go on and on.
One of the technicians grimaced. “What’s that all about, d’you suppose,” he muttered.
Grant Oliver, the show’s director, glared at him. “That’s not funny. It sounds as though something terrible has happened.” He strode off in the direction of Olivia’s dressing room.
“He’s right,” Larry said with a grin. “It’s gotta be at least a broken finger-nail.”
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Grant knocked on Olivia’s dressing room door. The wailing had stopped but he could hear loud sobbing from inside. Brenda swung the door open.
Behind her he could see Olivia lying face down on her chaise, her shoulders shaking with the effort to control her weeping.
“What on earth is wrong?” he demanded.
“That kid, Luke, her bodyguard…” Brenda looked at him without expression. “He’s been killed.”
“Murdered!” Olivia shrieked, sitting up and staring at them both with wild eyes. “Murdered—because of me. Oh my God, I will never forgive myself for this. Poor, poor Luke.”
Grant rolled his eyes at Brenda as he entered the room and sat down beside Olivia. “There, there…” he murmured. “You can’t go blaming yourself for this…”
“But I do,” Olivia moaned. “His being my bodyguard put him in danger from those nuts who’ve been threatening me with all kinds of punishment. It must have been one of them.” She jumped to her feet. “Call Jeff now, Brenda.
Tell him I need his help. He has to find Luke’s killer before he can get to me…oh my God—I could be next!” She sat down again, trembling.
“Pull yourself together, girl,” Brenda said. “The cops are on it…”
“Cops.” Olivia spat the word out. “They don’t know shit from shinola!”
“Olivia…” Grant put his hand on her arm in an effort to calm her. “Take it easy. There might not be a connection between those letters and Luke’s death.
He could have been into a lot of stuff down there…”
“What does that mean?” Olivia glared at him.
“Well, you know…He was a bit of a hustler…a surfer dude, into the stuff they do…” he finished lamely.