Free The Agency by Ally O'Brien Page B

when I first heard about Lowell’s death: If I know Lowell, he found himself a Julia Roberts look-alike who freaked when he stopped breathing.
    “So again, what does that have to do with me?” I asked him.
    “We’re talking to everyone at the agency,” Hadley said. “It’s routine background.”
    “Well, what is it you want to know?”
    “What kind of person was Mr. Bardwright?” Hadley asked.
    “Lowell? He was a player. Knew everybody. Liked to be in the limelight, attend the parties, see and be seen.”
    “Did you work with him regularly?”
    “Of course.”
    “In what way?”
    I shrugged. “He was the head of the agency. Every deal went across his desk.”
    “Was he a person of integrity?”
    I thought about it. “Yes, Lowell usually played fair. I could trust him not to go behind my back. That’s not always the case in this business.”
    “Did he have any enemies?”
    “When you’re the head of an agency, you always have enemies,” I told him. “But nothing worth killing someone over.”
    “No? Doesn’t the Bardwright Agency handle a lot of multimillion-dollar deals?”
    “Sure.”
    Hadley nodded. “Then, believe me, he had things worth killing over.”
    “Are you saying he was murdered?” I asked.
    “I’m not saying anything of the kind.” Hadley added, “Did his death surprise you?”
    “Of course.”
    “Not that he died, but
how
he died. The sex thing.”
    “Nothing surprises me anymore,” I said.
    “Are you familiar with erotic asphyxia?”
    “I’ve heard of it. Beyond that, no. I’ve never tried it.”
    “Did Mr. Bardwright like to experiment sexually?”
    “I have no idea,” I said.
    “Did he ever make a pass at you?”
    I nodded. “Once or twice, in the early days. He made it clear that if I was interested, he was interested. But I wasn’t. He had the good taste to drop it. It was never an issue between us.”
    “So you never slept with him?”
    “No. Is that something you’re asking everyone at the agency?”
    “Do you think I should?”
    “I have no idea. I just wondered why you’re asking
me
.”
    Hadley didn’t answer. “Have you ever been in Mr. Bardwright’s apartment?”
    “What the hell is this about?”
    “It’s a simple question.”
    “No, I’ve never been in Lowell’s apartment.”
    “Never?”
    “Never. I’ve never been in his apartment. I’ve never slept with him.”
    Hadley nodded. “I understand you’ve been telling people that Mr. Bardwright was found dressed in a white corset.”
    “I have a crass sense of humor,” I said. “Is that a crime?”
    “Not at all. Except that Mr. Bardwright really
was
wearing a corset, and we deliberately didn’t release that information to the press. So I was wondering how you knew about it.”
    Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! What are the odds of that? Did God think this was funny?
    “It was a joke!” I insisted.
    “That’s quite a coincidence.”
    “I’m sorry, but that’s all it is. I simply made it up, because I know how the rumor mill works in this industry. It was stupid. I had no idea he was really dressed that way.”
    “Where were you the night that Mr. Bardwright died?” Hadley asked.
    “In my apartment. Sleeping.”
    “Alone?”
    “Yes, of course, alone. Look, I can understand why this corset thing would make you suspicious, but I swear to you, it is just a hideous coincidence.”
    “You never had any kind of sexual contact with Mr. Bardwright?”
    “None.”
    “You were never in his apartment?”
    “I already told you, never.”
    “Did you have any dispute with him? Problems at the agency?”
    “No. I think this conversation is over, Mr. Hadley. I’m not answering any more questions.”
    I got up from the bench. My legs felt like rubber.
    Hadley made no move to stand up. He reached inside his Bur-berry and slid out a magazine that had been folded in half. It was a month-old, wrinkled copy of the
Bookseller
. He opened it and found a dog-eared page.
    “Do you remember this