Exposure by Therese Fowler Page B

gotten delayed at all. Maybe she’d tricked Amelia into coming back home, where she could then confront her. And, apparently, sic the cops on him.
    The officer said, “Miss Wilkes has photos, and she has given us an account of their origin, but we’d like to get your side of the story.”
    Miss Wilkes has photos . His relief over knowing she wasn’t sick or hurt was quickly giving way, replaced by dread over what she must have endured in order for this pair, these boys in blue whose smug expressions told him they’d seen everything he had to offer a woman, to now be at his door. No way had she given up the info voluntarily.
    He said, “Even if it was me, how would this be, you know, something involving the police?”
    The dark-haired officer said, “Right now, it’s important that you answer the question. Do you know how Miss Wilkes came to have these photos?”
    Though Anthony was wary of saying too much, he wanted to deflect any responsibility from Amelia, so he said, “I sent them to her just, you know, for fun. She didn’t have anything to do with it. Why?”
    “So she didn’t invite you to take and send the photos?”
    This made him pause. If she’d told them she asked him to send them, would it be better to back up her account, or contradict it? And either way, he didn’t see why the police were getting involved—maybe as a favor to Harlan Wilkes? Had Wilkes set this up in order to scare him?
    Anthony said, “She’s seventeen, you know. Eighteen in February. The age of consent—not that that is what this is about, but, you know, where sexual stuff is concerned—is sixteen.”
    The blond officer said, “We’re aware of the law—and it’s good to know that you are, too. All we need to know is whether what Miss Wilkes said is accurate. You’re not accused of anything related to sexual … er, relations.”
    “Okay. Because, you know, not that I’m saying we’ve had ‘relations,’ but if we had, she’s old enough to decide to have them.” He wiped his clammy palms on his pants.
    “The photos?” the dark-haired officer prompted.
    Anthony weighed the matter as best he could with the two cops staring at him, and decided he should back up Amelia’s statement so she couldn’t be accused of lying. And maybe there was a way to lessen the trouble, make her look innocent just the same.
    He said, “Well, now that I think about it, maybe she did ask me. Yeah, I think that’s how it went. I think she was intending to use them for an art project, something like that. Did she say?”
    The officer made some notes. “Did you send the photos using email?”
    What difference did that make? He thought of the various ways she’d gotten the photos. Her phone, his phone, his camera, hers, email, text message. Email seemed no better or worse than the others, so he said, “Um, yeah. I think so.”
    “All right. Your account is pretty much what we heard from Miss Wilkes. As of now, we’re going to file our report, but we’ll need you to remain available this afternoon, in case we have any further questions.”
    “I have to work.” He told them where, and they took down his cellphone and work phone numbers. Then they put their hats on and left the house.
    Anthony followed them onto the porch, watched them get into the cruiser without either of them saying a word, and watched them drive away. He could only imagine the conversation they must be having right now: rich girl who lives in a mansion surrounded by forest, a girl so lovely that none of them (himself included) could possibly rate a real chance with her, keeps provocative, show-all photographs of guy who lives in little row house with a single tree growing on its pitiful square of lawn. Rich, lovely girl gets busted by mother—who would without a doubt be extremely pissed, so complaint gets filed with the cops. What a joke it must be to them, doing the bidding of people like the Wilkeses. He could just see them placating Sheri Wilkes by agreeing