The Heart of Lies

chapter 5



Emily had tossed and turned throughout the night. She’d fought off a barrage of questions about Evan’s secret life that her subconscious had mercilessly thrown at her. Over and over in her mind, visions played out, possible scenarios, like a series of movies running in her head—spy movies, conspiracy theory movies, witness protection movies.

After several cups of coffee in the morning, she was wired and looking for a way to release her pent-up anxiety. Emily spent much of that day scrubbing and cleaning anything that got in her way. She tried to keep her mind focused on other things, working out her stress, but she kept returning to the old photo of Evan and the mystery woman, as well as the other suspicious finds in the secret safe deposit box.

Colin called her shortly before seven o’clock that evening—just checking in, he said.

She told him about her upcoming meeting with Isabel and her FBI friend and about her hopes for some real answers to who had killed Evan, and why.

“Sounds like an incredible opportunity, Emily. This Jethro character may open some new doors you haven’t had access to before.”

“I know.” She paced the bedroom floor in her bare feet. “I owe Isabel, but I’m going nuts just waiting for them to get here.”

“Just breathe, they’ll be there soon. Call me as soon as they leave—I want to hear everything.”

“I promise,” she agreed, resting against the edge of her bed. “I have a stakeout later tonight—”

“Corporate espionage?”

“Ha, ha. No. Another philandering husband, but I’ll call you as soon as I can. Maybe you can keep me company on the phone.”

“It’s a date. I so enjoy being near you, in your Bluetooth, I mean. Bye, love.” Colin hung up.

Bye, Colin. She sighed. I love you, too.

Emily checked her watch again and went to the living room window to peek out. No one yet. She paced from her living room to the kitchen and back as seven o’clock approached. Any minute, Isabel would be bringing the man she could only refer to as “Jethro” to her little bungalow for a hush-hush meeting. It all felt so clandestine. Emily knew a bit about clandestine actions, but this felt different somehow—it felt national, maybe even international—and it felt personal.

With a pair of black leather flats by the door, she was prepared to sling them on before letting her guests in. Dressed in jeans and a stretchy black top, she was more comfortable when her feet were bare, so she left her shoes for the last second. What kind of impression would that make if I greeted this seasoned federal agent in my bare feet? She figured Isabel would be mortified with embarrassment and she would owe her doubly.

To prepare for her meeting, she had set out a tray of cheese and crackers, with beer and wine chilling in the refrigerator. The infamous photo lay on the coffee table next to the food, along with a copy Jethro could take with him, if he chose to.

What else will Jethro want? She tried to anticipate. Something with Evan’s fingerprints or DNA maybe.

Emily went to her bedroom and rifled through the top drawer of the highboy. Though she had packed away Evan’s things from the closet months ago, she still had not cleared out the top drawer of this chest. It was too intimate. He kept things like his brush, comb, and other personal items here. It was where he threw his keys, change from his pockets, and his wallet before coming to bed.

Lifting the brush out of the drawer by the bristles, she slid it into a new plastic baggie and took it to the living room to set it next to the photo.

As she set the brush down, the doorbell rang and Emily dashed to the door. She saw it was them through the small row of windows across the top and she opened it to welcome her guests.

“Hello,” she greeted. “Please, come in.”

Isabel stepped in first, followed by an older gentleman. His hair was an attractive silvery gray and he had eyes the color of black coffee. For a man in his early sixties, he had kept his body in good shape. Emily gave Isabel a quick hug and offered her hand to Jethro.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily said. “I appreciate your coming, more than you know. I’m sure Isabel has told you—”

She noticed he was looking down at her feet.

“Would you like us to remove our shoes?”

Emily looked at him, then to Isabel, as her cheeks flushed red. She had forgotten to slip her flats on as planned.

Isabel glared disapprovingly at her.

“Oh, please, no. I just forgot to put mine on.” She turned to slip them on.

“Don’t put them on, on my account. I’m just a country boy. I’d go around barefoot all the time if I could.” He chuckled and Isabel relaxed.

“That’s kind of you to say,” Emily responded. “Let’s go in the living room.”

Isabel led the way and motioned to the sofa.

“Can I get you something to drink? I have Dr. Pepper, beer, and wine.”

“I’ll take a beer,” Jethro replied.

Isabel asked for a small glass of wine.

Emily hurried to the kitchen and brought the drinks back, finding Jethro already studying the photo.

“Either of them look familiar to you?” Emily asked, kneeling on the floor next to the table.

“He does look vaguely familiar,” Jethro noted. “I can’t say exactly how I know him just yet. I’m flying back to DC next week. I can take the photo and ask a few long-timers if they know him.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Emily said.

“I wonder where this was taken.” He held the photo at arm’s length, scrutinizing. “The building in the background looks very old—like Europe somewhere.”

“Funny, I thought that, too,” Emily agreed. “What about the woman?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her. She’s a looker, I’d remember.” He smiled as he held the photo closer. “Yeah, she’s a beauty. Reminds me of my third wife.”

“Your third wife? How many times have you been married?” Isabel asked with a chuckle.

“Four—well, no, five if you count Lola. I married her in Vegas one night when I got real drunk. I was working undercover, getting close to a mob guy. He was having a big party and I had to keep up with him so I didn’t blow my cover. Lola was one of the girls at the party and we connected somehow. Woke up the next morning married, but we had it annulled a few weeks later.”

Emily’s eyes widened as he spoke, her gaze shooting to the beer in his hand.

He followed her gaze. “Don’t worry, I don’t have a drinking problem. That was in my early days, before I learned some tricks to only look like I was drinking.”

Both Emily and Isabel sighed in relief.

“If we could run Evan’s fingerprints or DNA, maybe that would help to identify him,” Jethro suggested.

“I had the same idea, so I put his hairbrush in a baggie. I was careful not to touch it and smudge his prints.”

“Good thinking.” Jethro tucked the baggie in his coat pocket. “I’m not promising anything, but I’m happy to check with my friends at the CIA, see what I can turn up. Maybe the FBI had him in witness protection or something, too. Did you consider that? Fits the facts.”

Emily ran her fingers through her hair as she sat cross-legged on the floor. “Could be.”

After a few more minutes of playing what-ifs, Jethro stood, so Isabel and Emily followed suit.

“You have no idea how much it would mean to me to finally know the truth,” Emily said, facing the retired federal agent.

“Yes, my friend, your help is huge,” Isabel agreed, patting his shoulder.

“Before you go, I have one more question—a hypothetical question.” Emily looked at Isabel, who nodded for her to proceed.

Jethro’s eyes fixed on Emily’s with a serious stare. “Okay.” He drew out the word as he crossed his arms across his chest. “What’s your question—hypothetically?”

She paused for a moment and swallowed hard before speaking. “What if Evan had been involved in something where a gun was used and he hid the gun so it wouldn’t be found?”

“Go on,” Jethro encouraged.

“And let’s say, hypothetically, the gun was found by a friend. What should that friend do with the gun? Give it to the police?”

Jethro frowned. He turned and glanced at Isabel, then back to Emily. “Hypothetically?” he asked, raising his brows.

Emily nodded.

“Hypothetically, the friend should give it to the FBI. If the friend gave it to Isabel, for example, she could make sure it’s checked against any federal investigations first.”

“I agree—hypothetically, of course,” Isabel concurred.

Jethro explained that Isabel could also check with the CIA to see if the gun was used in any cases they were involved with. Then, if it was cleared by the FBI and CIA, the gun could then be turned over to the police to search for a match in any of their investigations.

“I see,” Emily replied, feeling overwhelmed.

“So, one could start with the federal agencies, then go local, or vice versa—either way,” Isabel said.

“Good to know,” Emily replied, “if I ever run across something like that.”

“So,” Jethro grinned, “can I get a look at this hypothetical gun?”

~*~

After Isabel and her friend left, Emily cleared the food and drinks, then raced back to her bedroom to change into her black jeans and thin black sweater. She pulled her hair up into a stretchy skull cap and tugged a curly dark brown wig on over it—just a girl getting ready to go to work. She stuck a pair of black framed glasses on and admired her handiwork in the bathroom mirror. Grabbing her purse and camera, she headed out.

Emily stuck her Bluetooth earpiece on as she drove to the Hilton Hotel to catch her mark in the act. The wife, her client, had found credit card charges to this hotel dated every Monday for the last month, when her husband claimed he was working late.

Emily had a friend, named Trudi, who worked the evening front desk at the hotel. Trudi had experience with a cheating husband, and she happily agreed to help Emily and temporarily loan out a hotel uniform jacket to catch the scumbag, as her friend put it.

On the drive over, Emily called Colin and told him all about her meeting with Isabel and Jethro.

“And then he asked to see the gun,” Emily said with a hint of disbelief.

“You didn’t really think he’d buy the hypothetical thing, did you?” Colin asked. “I wouldn’t have either.”

“No, it was more of a veil. I couldn’t exactly admit I had a gun that could have been involved in a crime, but I wanted his advice.” Emily pulled her car into the hotel’s nearly empty parking lot and turned the engine off.

“Are you going to turn it in?” he asked.

“Probably, but I want to discuss it a little further with Isabel.” Emily looked around for a silver Lexus SUV, as the wife had described, but it was nowhere to be seen. “I might as well. We’re not going to find out the whole truth until I do.”

Just then, the Lexus pulled in and parked. A middle-aged, balding man with a paunch climbed out and headed into the hotel, carrying a briefcase. Emily recognized him from the photo her client had provided.

He didn’t come with anyone. He must be meeting her at the room.

“Sorry, Colin, but I need to go.” Emily kept her eyes on the man.

She hung up, then stuck the small camera in her front jeans pocket. Emily glanced around the parking lot as she hurried to the hotel.

Entering the lobby, she saw Trudi standing behind the check-in counter, her red hair neatly pulled back in a French twist, dressed in her forest green hotel uniform. Catching her eye, Trudi nodded her head toward the bar. Emily hung back and peeked in. The man was talking to the bartender, ordering drinks to be brought up to the room perhaps.

Emily eased backward, around the corner and out of sight, before the man turned to come out of the bar. She inconspicuously waited for him to get on the elevator. Then she glanced around the lobby before ducking into the hotel bar to wait, giving the man time to get to his room and become involved in whatever questionable activity he had planned.

Standing in the doorway, she took a quick look around the dimly-lit room, searching for a small table where she could sit alone and wait. Her breath stopped as she caught a glimpse of Lucas, sitting at a table in the corner, with a dark-haired woman. The woman’s back was to Emily, and she couldn’t tell who she was, a potential investor maybe.

Lucas leaned over and whispered something in the woman’s ear and she looked to the side and laughed. It was Fiona.

Surprise mixed with anger sizzled just below the surface, sending heat to Emily’s face. Should she go and confront them? Were they carrying on behind Maggie’s back? Maybe it was just an innocent drink after work with a co-worker. Either way, she didn’t have time to deal with it right now, especially with the wig and glasses, but it would not be overlooked.

She checked her watch, then peeked again in Lucas and Fiona’s direction. She figured she should wait at least twenty minutes for her mark to settle in and his guest to arrive, so she had a few minutes to do a little reconnaissance. Feeling her wig and glasses to make sure her disguise was in place, she nonchalantly moved to a table next to theirs.

“Can I get you anything, ma’am?” a young waiter asked, taking Emily by surprise and putting her on the spot. Now she’d have to speak, which may expose her.

“No thanks, I’m waiting for a friend.” Emily raised her voice a few decibels and answered sweetly. She watched out of the corner of her eye for any hint of recognition by Lucas or Fiona, but there was none. The pair was speaking to each other in low tones, and Emily’s conversation with the waiter obliterated any chance of overhearing what they might have said.

The waiter left her alone as Lucas and Fiona stood. Lucas threw a fifty on the table and they walked out. Either Lucas is a big tipper or they’ve been here awhile.

Maggie taught an aerobics class at the Y on Monday evenings, so she’d never suspect Lucas would be with anyone else. Emily shook her head, trying to focus. Maybe it was all these wayward men she’d been tailing that made her hypersensitive to the situation.

Checking her watch again, she decided she’d left the man upstairs long enough—it was time to pay him a visit. She went to the front desk.

“Room three-ten,” Trudi muttered, looking around as she discreetly handed the hotel jacket to Emily.

“Did you see anyone come in who may have gone up to his room? A woman perhaps?” Emily asked, keeping her voice down.

“No, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have let someone in through the side door,” Trudi uttered lowly.

“All right. Thanks.” Emily turned toward the elevator.

“Go get him, girl.”

“Will do.” Emily smiled, grateful for the help, and moved to the elevator, waiting until she was inside to put the coat on.

Stepping off the elevator, dressed in the dark green hotel worker’s jacket, she walked down the hallway, the camera in her hand, reading the room numbers as she went. Emily noticed a room service tray outside of one of the other rooms with an empty champagne bottle and two glass flutes. She picked them up as a prop to get the perp to open his door.

Emily knocked on the door and called out, “Room service.”

She put her eye up to the peephole and saw the man walking toward her. She stepped back and gasped, trying to stifle a giggle. Oh, my gosh, what is going on in there?

“Room service already delivered,” the man shouted back.

“This is champagne—on the house,” Emily replied, holding the full tray close up to the peephole where the man could only read the label.

Emily heard the door unlock, so she rushed to set the tray down on the floor. She whipped the camera out of her pocket and hit the On button. He opened the door a crack, which gave Emily the opportunity to shoulder it open all the way. He stumbled back a couple of steps.

There stood Harry Wykoski, attorney-at-law, father of six, married to the same woman for twenty years, wearing a sheer red negligee and matching high-heeled slippers with little fuzzy pom-poms on them.

Emily took the shot, the light flashing in his eyes, capturing his look of shock and terror. She struggled to contain the laughter that was bubbling up inside her.

“Are you alone in there, Harry?” She looked past him but didn’t see any movement.

“Who are you?” he demanded, as he snatched a white hotel robe from the back of a chair. “Why are you taking my picture? Gimme that.” He lunged forward and reached out to grab for her camera, but she stepped back and slipped it into the waistband of her jeans. She felt safe in assuming he wouldn’t come out into the hall after her.

“Uh-uh, Harry.” Emily chuckled and shook her head. “Your wife hired me to find out what you were doing at this hotel every Monday night. She thought you were having an affair. She’ll be happy to learn that isn’t the case.” Emily chuckled again.

“Please, lady, don’t show that to her,” he hollered.

“Look, Harry, your wife already paid me for this job—I have to. How about you come clean with her tonight? Before I give her the picture. Believe me, she’ll be thrilled you weren’t with another woman—you just like wearing women’s clothing.”

“I can’t do that, she won’t understand.”

“Enough of the lies, Harry. Don’t keep secrets—they’ll eat you up. Trust me, I know.”

“Please…” he begged.

“Do you love her, Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Then be honest with her. Tell her you love her, but tell her why you do this.” Emily gestured toward his outfit. “Work it out, because you can’t keep doing this and trying to hide it from her. The lies will destroy your family.”

Emily turned and ambled down the hallway. “I’ll give you forty-eight hours before I give her the photo,” she said over her shoulder.