"Regarding the assault of a cab driver and the kidnapping of my wife," Remington told Jarvis. "Neither one of which fall into your bailiwick," he reminded the homicide detective. "But you're in charge," he agreed, feeling a bit like he was talking to Laura in the old days.
Jarvis nodded and opened his door. "Let's go."
Remington remained slightly behind Jarvis as they stood waiting for someone to respond to the door bell. His eyes scanned the white siding on the house, which reminded him more than a little of Laura's old bungalow. "Perhaps he's not home," he suggested after several minutes.
"Or he's expecting us," Jarvis countered. He pressed the button once more as the porch light came on.
"Who is it?" a voice asked through the door.
Jarvis fumbled to find his wallet and opened it. "Lt. James Jarvis, of the LAPD," he explained, holding his shield to the peep hole in the door. "I need to ask you about a black Ford LTD that's registered in your name."
The door opened and a short, gray haired man stood there in his bathrobe. He was well into middle age, Remington decided, and his look of confusion was a bit too practiced. "My LTD? What about it? I loaned it to a friend to use while he's in town."
"That friend's name wouldn't be Anthony Roselli, would it?" Jarvis asked.
Johnson ran a hand through his tousled hair, as if trying to bring some order to the thinning strands. "As a matter of fact, yes. Why? Has Tony been in an accident?" His eyes moved to where Remington was standing, just out of the porch light.
"No," Jarvis said quickly as Remington moved into the light. Remington stood there, listening. "But we need to locate Mr. Roselli as soon as possible. Do you know where we can reach him?"
"He didn't say where he'd be," Johnson said, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Remington. "You're Remington Steele, aren't you?"
"Yes. It's very important that we locate Mr. Roselli, Mr. Johnson. Are you sure he didn't mention anything about where he might be going? Or what he might be doing?"
"He's trying to figure out what he's going to do," Johnson informed him. "He's- at a bit of a loose end right now. Some-problems with his last job."
Remington met that look squarely, fully aware of what those "problems" with his last job had been. "When did you last see Mr. Roselli?" Jarvis asked into the silence that followed.
"He got here last night- took the car this morning. Talked about driving to the coast- down near San Diego. But he could have gone anywhere."
"You just let him take your car without knowing where he was going?" Remington asked.
"I've known Tony for ages," Johnson revealed. "I trust him."
"Let's just hope that trust isn't misplaced," Remington replied.
Jarvis handed Johnson a card. "If you hear from him, give me a call."
"Sure, Lieutenant," Johnson said, putting the card into the pocket of his robe. "First thing. Nice meeting you, Mr. Steele. Not every day an unimportant nobody like me gets to meet a world famous Private Detective."
Jarvis turned to leave, but Remington remained where he was, his blue gaze doing silent battle with Walter Johnson's dark ones. "Perhaps we'll meet again, Mr. Johnson. One never knows about these things, do they?"
"I couldn't be that lucky, Mr. Steele," Johnson replied.
"Let's go, Steele," Jarvis called from the car.
Remington gave Johnson a final glance, then turned toward the car. Once he was inside, Walter Johnson went back into his house and pulled the card out of his pocket. "Sorry, Tony, old friend," he said. "Whatever you've got yourself into, you're on your own now," he finished, tossing the card into a nearby trash can before going back upstairs. He had much to get done, and little time to do it.
As Jarvis started the engine, he shook his head in Remington's direction. "I thought we agreed-"
"He knew exactly who I was. He's in it up to his neck."
"Anyone who reads the newspapers would recognize you, Steele," Jarvis pointed out. "Maybe he's just big on current events."
"Just reading about me in the tabloids wouldn't cause that look of anger, Jimmy," Remington said with a negative shake of his head. "He knew exactly why we were there. I'm sure that Antony filled him in on what happened in Ireland."
"What exactly did happen in Ireland, Steele? I read the news reports, but they didn't mention this- Roselli character."
"Roselli is the government agent that was cleared," Remington informed him. "It's a long story, and right now, I'd feel better if I knew someone was keeping an eye on Johnson, just in case he tries to get in touch with his friend Antony."
Jarvis nodded. "Already covered. That car we passed a second ago was an unmarked unit. They'll let us know if Johnson makes a move. Why don't we go back to the station and do some research on Walter Johnson? If this Roselli is an agent, I'd be willing to bet that he's one as well."
Mildred pressed a button on her computer, then smiled as Eileen placed a fresh cup of coffee on the desk. "Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell."
"Oh, please. Call me Eileen. Have you found anything?"
"Only that Tony still doesn't officially exist- no fingerprints on file, nothing. It's like everything about his life has been sealed away. If I could get into the CIA database, I could probably clear a lot of it up. But that's beyond me, I'm afraid."
Eileen picked up her own cup. "I still can't believe everything you told me. Remington being blackmailed into helping Antony, then saving his life and clearing HIM of espionage. And then Antony fell in love with Laura?"
"Yeah. Believe me, I tried more than once to warn the rat off-" she winced, remembering that she was talking to Tony's aunt. "Sorry, Eileen."
"I understand. If I had known about all of this, I'd probably feel the same way."
"You don't know how long I'd waited for those two kids to get together. And once they did, I wasn't about to let some Italian interloper come between them."
"You're very close to Laura and Remington, aren't you?"
Mildred hesitated, uncertain about how much she should say. "Well, I never had any kids of my own, and they just- well, they both needed someone."
"Laura doesn't have any family?"
Mildred smiled slightly. "She's got a sister who's married and lives in Tarzana. Her mother lives on the East Coast. They don't get along."
"So you became surrogate mother to them both," Eileen speculated.
"Especially to Mr. Steele," Mildred admitted. "If there was ever a man who needed a little mothering, it was him. We didn't get along when we first met, but once I started working and got to know him, well-" she paused again before continuing. "He's been kinda like the son I never had."
"So my sudden appearance isn't a happy one for you, then," Eileen guessed.
"Oh, no. I'm delighted for you and Mr. Steele. He needs a family. I guess I just always thought that Mrs. Steele and I would be that family."
Eileen reached out to touch Mildred's arm. "You are. I can tell that you're very important to him."
"You can?" Mildred asked in a hopeful voice.
"Oh, indeed. Truth be told, Mildred- my I call you Mildred?-" she asked, and Mildred nodded. "Truth be told, Mildred, I'm a bit jealous of you."
"Of me?"
"You know so much more about my son than I do. You've been
through so many things with him that I wasn't there to share.
That's a bond I don't think I'll ever be able to break- even if
I wanted to." She smiled, and Mildred saw Remington in that
face. "You can be a big help to me, you know, in understanding
him, in knowing how to handle all of this. I don't want to be
a possessive mother, but I want him to know that I'm here if he
ever needs me. Can you understand what I'm trying to say?"
"I think so." The telephone rang, and Mildred picked it up, sniffling through her tears. "Remington Steele Investigations."
"Mildred? Are you crying?" Remington asked.
"Oh, Eileen and I were just talking, Chief. Nothing important. Girl talk."
"Ah." Remington knew from past experience not to ask any further questions. "Any luck on the computer?"
"Nothing on Roselli. Still a goose-egg there."
"I need all the information you can get me on Walter Johnson," he told her, then gave her the address. "Jarvis is trying to search, but what he's getting is just a bit TOO tidy. I thought you might have a few more avenues to follow with your magic fingers."
"Who is this Walter Johnson, Mr. Steele?"
"A friend of Antony's apparently, who loaned him a car to use while he's in Los Angeles."
"How did you find that out?"
"Laura left us a note," he informed her. "How's Eileen holding up?"
"Just fine. Would you like to talk to her?" She didn't give him a chance to answer, just held the receiver out for the other woman.
Eileen took the telephone. "Hello, Remington. Are you all right?"
"Just worried about Laura," he said. "This is liable to take some time- why don't you have Mildred call a cab to take you back to the hotel?"
"I wouldn't dream of leaving until Laura's safe, Remington," Eileen insisted. "I've been keeping Mildred supplied with fresh coffee," she told him.
"Thank you," he said softly as Jarvis sighed in frustration once more. "Tell Mildred to get me whatever she can as soon as she can, okay?"
"I will, dear."
Remington hung up the telephone then turned his full attention to Jarvis. "Still nothing else?"
Jarvis indicated the computer screen. "Read it yourself. Walter Johnson, born 68 years ago in Columbus, Ohio. Served as a foot soldier in the Army during the War. When he got out, went to work in a factory, retired five years ago when he moved to Los Angeles. Never been married. The man's never even had a parking ticket- or any kind of ticket, for that matter."
Remington read the information himself as Jarvis recounted it. "Sounds just a little too perfect. And I have to wonder how someone from Columbus, Ohio would meet someone like Antony Roselli, much less develop a lasting friendship."
"You think Johnson's CIA, too, don't you?"
"Probably retired. All of that," he said, nodding toward the screen, "is a cover."
"It'll take forever to get a court order to force the CIA to open up their files," Jarvis said.
Remington smiled. "Maybe we don't need a court order," he said, picking up the telephone. "Maybe all we need is an answer man."
"What are you talking about, Steele?"
When the operator came on the line, Remington asked, "Do you have a listing for a Sheldon Quarry, by any chance?"
Remington was surprised to find Sheldon waiting for him at the Los Angeles offices of the Central Intelligence Agency. "Hiya, Mr. Steele," the still-thin man said in a cheery greeting. He was dressed casually, his shirt slightly rumpled, his dark rimmed glasses too wide for his narrow face.
"Thanks for coming down, Sheldon," Remington said. "Lucille didn't sound any too pleased about my calling you out at this time of night."
"Oh, she's used to it," Sheldon assured him as he turned the key in the lock and opened his office door.
Remington wasn't surprised to find file folders everywhere, wondered again about the lax security of the office. Anyone could break in here and take these files. He waited for Sheldon to move a stack of them out of the chair in front of the desk, looking at the photos of Sheldon, Lucille and their son on the wall. "The baby's growing up, isn't he?"
"Henry? Yeah," Sheldon said, his face glowing with pride. "He'll be three this month."
"Three," Remington sighed. Where had the time gone? "Time flies."
"Yeah," Sheldon agree, sitting down at the computer on his desk. "Okay. What do you need to know?"
"Two names. Walter Johnson and Antony Roselli."
"Whoa. Tony Roselli?"
"You know the name?"
"We got an alert about him last week," Sheldon confirmed, rifling through the correspondence that covered his desk. "Something about his having been terminated and on the -never mind," he said, glancing at Remington.
"On the what, Sheldon?"
"On the watch list. It's standard procedure- when an agent is terminated for any reason, especially because of an incident such as the one Roselli created in Ireland, he's put under surveillance, to make sure he doesn't decide to go over to the other side, you know? Since Roselli was already suspected of being a double agent, it makes it that much more important." He grinned. "I heard about how you and Miss Holt- I guess it's Mrs. Steele now, isn't it?-cleared Roselli in Ireland. How you ever came up with that idea-I mean, coffins. It would never have occurred to me in a million years."
"My father's idea, actually," Remington said truthfully. "I just improved on it a bit. What about the other name?"
Sheldon turned to the computer. "Nothing. Let me widen the search a little," he said. Remington watched him work. "Did you say WALTER Johnson?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Hmm. There's a Russian sleeper agent with the name John Walters- reported to have been killed five years ago- by Roselli, as a matter of fact. "
"Do you have a photo of Walters?"
Sheldon dug through a file, then dug to find another one. "Here you go," he said, holding out a grainy, black and white photograph of a man who could have been Walter Johnson. "Same guy?" he asked.
"Very possibly," Remington confirmed, confused. "Sheldon, why would Roselli be in contact with a Russian sleeper agent that he supposedly killed? In such close contact that the Russian would let Antony use his car while he's in town?"
The "answer man" looked worried. "There's only one reason that I can think of, Mr. Steele. Roselli's gone over. I need to report this to my superiors."
Remington placed a hand on Sheldon's shoulder to prevent his getting up. "When you do, find out if they know where Roselli is right now."
"Sure. Why?"
"Because he has Laura," Remington told him.
"Russian?" Jarvis repeated.
Remington nodded, his expression grim. "Five years ago, his name was John Walters. Walters was reportedly killed five years ago- about the time Walter Johnson came to Los Angeles. And Antony is the one who supposedly killed him."
Jarvis gave a low whistle at the information, then said, "Mildred called the station. She thinks she's found something." He turned the car toward Century City.