Murphy Michaels turned from talking to a police sergeant to see Laura Holt entering the police station. He might have smiled- except for the fact that *he* was at her side. "Laura," he said, joining them.
"What did you find out, Murphy?" she asked.
"What's *he* doing here?" Murphy asked, nodding toward Harry, who merely smiled in response. "He's bound to be recognized."
"He can handle himself," Laura insisted.
"It's not like you to risk the Agency this way, Laura," Murphy worried. "If someone makes the connection-"
"Really, Murphy," Harry sighed. "Poor Elliot Markham is in jail at this very moment, fighting for his life. Don't you think that should be our first concern? We can settle anything else later, I believe?"
"We'll settle, alright," Murphy promised, giving Harry a warning glare.
Laura sighed and placed herself between the two men. "Did you find that information about Markham's accident in 1949 that I asked for, Murphy?"
"When did I have time? After I went through that list of friends- none of them have spoken to Markham for almost a month, by the way. But I can tell you that they're worried about him- apparently he's a habitual poker player- never missed their weekly games until four weeks ago. According to them, he's been a model citizen and father since his wife's death in that crash," he told them.
"Well, he was cleared of any manslaughter charges," Laura reminded her partner. "Who is the dead woman?"
All Elliot Markham had told her on the telephone was that someone had been murdered in his motel room while he was out getting something to eat, and asked her and Steele to meet him at the police station. Laura had tried to convince Harry not to come with her, but he had been insistent, even agreeing to ride in the Rabbit instead of waiting for Fred to arrive.
"Her name was Maria Santera."
"Who?"
"Miss Holt! Mr. Steele!" Laura and Harry turned to see Eileen Markham approaching them. "I hired you to *help* my father," she told them. "And now he's in jail!"
"Miss Markham," Laura began, noticing the attention that her client's hail had garnered. She looked around for a more private place for the four of them to talk. Maybe if she got Harry out of sight, they'd forget about having heard Miss Markham calling him "Mr. Steele". Her only option was a small alcove nearby, and she moved toward it. "Mr. Steele, Mr. Michaels and myself have spent the best part of the afternoon trying to help your father. Mr. Steele and I even managed to circumvent the alarm system in his house to find out that he's been making large withdrawals from his personal account for the past weeks."
"Circumvent the alarm?" Eileen asked. "Whatever for? He never uses it."
Laura lifted her gaze to Harry, who merely shrugged. "Better safe than sorry?" he suggested by way of apology.
"And I find it strange that you didn't tell us that the accident which sent your father into relative seclusion in 1949 resulted in the death of your mother."
"I saw no reason to dredge up old gossip, Miss Holt," Eileen informed her. "I didn't think that my mother's death would have any bearing on what was going on. I mean, it happened so long ago. I was only five years old when it happened." She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes. "My father went through hell with people thinking that he'd killed her. It nearly destroyed him."
"There, there, Miss Markham," Harry said in a soothing voice, placing an arm around the woman's shoulders. "I'm sure it must have been difficult for both of you."
"Thank you, Mr. Steele," Eileen said, sobbing softly. "And now this-" she waved her handkerchief toward the jail area of the station. "After all these years, that she would have come back like this-"
Laura and Murphy looked at each other before Laura asked, "You know who the murdered woman is, Miss Markham?"
"Maria? Of course. She was my nanny- before the accident. On the night happened, she just- vanished without a trace. No note, no warning. Father always thought that she left because she was here illegally, and was afraid that the publicity surrounding Mother's death would cause her to be sent back to Mexico."
"Why would she come back now?" Harry asked. "After all these years?"
"The police think that she was blackmailing my father about the accident. That she could testify that he deliberately killed my mother that night." Eileen looked up at Harry. "Please, Mr. Steele, you've got to prove that he didn't do it. He couldn't have."
"Kill your mother?" Harry questioned, obviously confused by her rambling speech pattern.
"No, that he didn't kill Maria. He was in love with her all those years ago."
A man approached the group, and Laura tensed, certain that Harry was about to be unmasked. "Mr. Steele?" he said, holding out a hand to Harry. "Remington Steele?"
Harry's smile hid the nervousness that Laura was certain he was feeling, and wished for that same ability to cover her own. He took the offered hand. "And you are?"
"Lt. Greg Halloran," Laura supplied. She and Halloran had met on other cases. In Laura's opinion, the man was a chauvinistic Neanderthal who thought she should give up and leave the detective work to men.
Halloran gave Harry probing look. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Steele. You've been the topic of many a conversation around here these last few weeks. Some of us were beginning to wonder if you really existed."
Laura gave a nervous laugh, and Murphy lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. "As you can see, I'm quite real," Harry assured him.
Halloran's eyes narrowed. "You know, it's funny. You look familiar. Have we met before somewhere?"
"Not that I recall." Harry moved closer to the detective, as if imparting a confidence. "Perhaps you're mistaking me with my- cousin. Lord Bryce-Davies? I believe he recently moved to your fair city."
"Could be," Halloran decided. "My wife's always watching those local programs on cable. You know, the ones about who's who in Los Angeles? I don't remember hearing anything about a cousin-"
"What's the word on Elliot Markham's case, Lt. Halloran?" Laura asked the detective. "Has bail been set?"
"The hearing's tomorrow morning, Holt. Bright and early. Looks like your client will be spending the night as the guest of the City, so I suggest you go home and get some sleep. And find Markham a lawyer- he's going to need one."
"You're that certain that he's guilty?"
"Holt, the woman was found on a bed in a motel room registered to Elliot Markham using an alias. He claims that he went to get something to eat, and that when he got back, the woman was already dead."
"Have you asked around the neighborhood?" Murphy questioned. "Tried to find someone who saw him during that time?"
Halloran's eyes moved to Murphy as he spoke. "We're working on it, Michaels. But even if they did, he might have killed Maria Santera before he left the room."
"How was she killed?"
"Shot through the heart at close range. A .22 pistol was found beside the body. We're running the registration number and checking it for prints. It was likely the murder weapon."
"Likely?" Harry asked, and Laura glared at him for drawing Halloran's attention again.
"We'll know more after the crime scene is dusted and ballistics finishes. They're doing the autopsy right now."
Laura looked at Murphy, sending him a silent suggestion to pay a visit to the coroner's office, see what he could find out. He frowned in Harry's direction, then slipped away unnoticed by Halloran.
"Go home, Holt. This one's a losing battle."
Eileen began to sob again. "There, there, Miss Markham," Harry said once more. "Why don't I see you out to find a taxi to take you home, eh?"
"Oh, Steele, when you get a minute, I'd like to have a word-"
"By all means," Harry replied, smiling. "I shan't be a moment," he promised, looking at Laura before guiding the still crying woman toward the front doors.
Laura noticed that Halloran watched them go. "Cousin, hmm?"
"Poor relation," Laura lied. "His Lordship disapproved of his cousin's career choice and disowned him. They don't speak at all."
"Could be his twin," Halloran commented.
"Yes, he could be, I suppose. But- Mr. Steele's much better looking. And much nicer," she added for good measure. "Not nearly as stuffy as Lord Bryce-Davies."
"Still, it's strange that immigration has no record of a Remington Steele being in this country from England."
"It's an alias," Laura told him. "He doesn't dare use his real name. His Lordship would be furious. He hasn't even told *me* what it is. All I know him by is 'Remington Steele'."
"Shouldn't have taken this long for him to put Miss Markham in a taxi," Halloran noted, taking a step toward the doors.
"Uh, why don't I go and find him?" Laura suggested, moving past him before he could react. "I'm sure you have tons of paperwork to take care of, cases to handle, that sort of thing."
"You've got five minutes, Holt, and then I'll come looking for you."
"Five minutes should be more than enough time, Lt. Halloran," Laura confirmed, moving toward the doors as quickly as she could without arousing any further suspicion.
She approached the Rabbit cautiously. "Harry?" she called softly, looking behind her to make sure Halloran hadn't followed her out. Just in case, she said, "Mr. Steele?"
She opened the car door to find Harry sitting there, waiting. "Close call, wouldn't you say?"
"Too close. And we're not out of the woods yet," she told him, starting the car's engine and setting it out of the parking area, glancing in the mirror all the while, expecting to find Halloran there.
"He's suspicious."
"Let him be. I'm sure I can come up with some plausible explanation for why -"
"I told him that your 'cousin' disapproves of your being a private detective," Laura informed him.
"You know, that might just work. Brilliant, Miss Holt."
"I don't know why I'm going to all of this trouble. You're *not* Remington Steele. I shouldn't even have let you come along tonight. I can't imagine what got into me, taking a risk like that."
Harry's smile brightened the dim interior of the small car. "Perhaps because you like me- just a little?"
"Too much for my own good," Laura muttered under her breath, hoping that he couldn't hear. "I'll drop you back by your condo."
"I'd rather you not," he told her, wincing. "I'm not up to another scene with Felicia. I know that I told her to be gone when I returned, but- I'm sure she's still there, waiting for me- If you'll just drop me at a hotel somewhere, I'll be fine."
"A hotel?"
"It's either that, or impose upon your warm, generous nature by staying with you- and I would heartily dislike putting you out that way."
"I *do* have a guest room," Laura told him. "I suppose- this once- it wouldn't hurt to-"
"I'm not sure that it would be at all advisable, Laura," Harry insisted. "I mean, we barely know each other-"
"Nonsense," Laura said, dismissing his excuses, all the while knowing that he was right, that she was courting disaster. "You're a client," she reasoned, trying to convince herself as much as him, "and it's not as if I haven't let clients sleep over before when they're having problems. The Agency *is* responsible for your security, Lord Harry, so tomorrow I'll find a way to remove the barracuda that's currently turning your castle into a dungeon."
"Ah, you're a good woman, Laura Holt," Harry said, sitting back and smiling.
Laura heard a bit of Ireland in those words, and looked at him, but couldn't see his face clearly now. Was there a hint of a triumphant smile hovering about that perfect mouth, she wondered, then dismissed it as her paranoid fear of being played by the con man turned English Lord.
***
Laura showed him into the guest room upon their arrival at the house. "You know," he told her, "we never did have anything to eat," he told her after passing approval on his quarters for the coming night. "Perhaps I could find something in your kitchen-"
"Why don't you take a shower, while I take care of dinner?" she suggested.
Harry looked uncertain. "You? But I thought you couldn't - cook."
"Even *I* can manage a packet of noodle soup," Laura assured him with a smile. "You know where the bathroom is."
Once he was alone in the bedroom, Harry removed his jacket and hung it carefully over the back of a chair, then went to take a quick shower. Laura's bathroom was much like her- nothing out of place, everything neat and tidy. There was something almost- domestic about using her bath, Harry decided.
Disliking the idea of putting his worn clothing back on before they'd at least had a chance to air, Harry wrapped a white towel around his waist and started looking for a comb to bring some order to his hair.
He opened a cabinet to reveal men's cologne and aftershave- and a razor as well. Sniffing the cologne, he frowned. It wasn't something he'd wear.
With the towel still around him, Harry returned to his room and went to the closet, looking for a hanger on which to place his shirt and trousers, as well as something else to put on, but the only thing there was some of Laura's clothes, probably items she seldom wore and had in storage. Digging a bit, he located a pair of men's white shoes- *white shoes?*, and a white belt. Suppressing a shudder, he came upon a tee-shirt and a pair of men's slacks. The slacks were too short for him to wear. The tee-shirt had "Bankers do it with Interest" imprinted across the front on a field of green money. Harry winced at the bad pun, and wondered to whom they belonged.
"Dinner's nearly-" Laura said, then froze as she saw the slacks and tee-shirt in his hands. "What are you doing?" she asked, coming into the room to grab the items from him. "I didn't agree that you could snoop around-"
"I wasn't snooping," he told her. "I was looking for a hanger for my clothes. And I hoped you'd have something besides a towel for me to put on." He watched her eyes as she suddenly seemed to realize that he was indeed wearing only a towel and nothing else. Her fingers twitched as her eyes moved quickly down his body, and then back up to lock resolutely on his chin.
She tossed the pants and tee-shirt into the back of the closet and got a hanger out. Harry took it and put his trousers and shirt onto it, watching her as she dug a little deeper to find a bag with the name of a well-known men's store on it. She pulled out a green robe with dollar signs embroidered on the lapels and held it out for him. "Here."
Harry's brow rose upon seeing the silk robe, but he took it from her without verbal comment.
Laura turned back to the door. "Dinner's ready when you are. I'll be in the kitchen."
Harry looked from the robe to the closed door, his mind filled with questions. Donning the robe, he went to get some answers.
To Be Continued---