Forgotten Steele

Part Seven

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It was over an hour later before Remington led Tracy into the offices of Remington Steele Investigations. "What are we doing here?" she wanted to know.

"Spending what's left of the night," he told her as he locked the doors behind them. "I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier. These doors are the only way out of the office. The windows don't open- and the air conditioning vents are too small for you to get through."

Mildred came from the coffee room with a cup of coffee. "Mr. Steele." Her expression was cool as she looked at the woman beside him. "Miss Lord."

"Look, Miss Krebs, I only did what I had to do. If I hadn't gone, then those gems would be gone now."

"What's the word on Compton?" Mildred asked her "boss", ignoring Tracy's attempt to apologize.

"It will be morning before we know for certain whether or not it was the drug that killed him, but I'm certain it had something to do with it. Anything more about The Chameleon?"

Mildred went to her desk and picked up some papers. "Only that the last time anyone knows for sure he struck was almost ten years ago. A jewel theft in Paris. Got away with a cool two million in uncut diamonds."

Remington studied the report, then looked at Tracy. "You take the sofa in my office. Get some rest."

"Your office?" Tracy asked, eyeing the doors in the room.

"Through there," he said, pointing in the right direction.

"I am a little tired," she admitted. "It's been a long day."

"And don't get any ideas about slipping out. I don't plan on going to sleep."

Tracy just gave him a grin. "I wouldn't DREAM of it, Mr. Steele," she said, entering the office.

"I still say a klonk on the head, Chief," Mildred insisted as he sat down at her desk and picked up the telephone. "Who are you calling?"

"Daniel. He might know something about this Chameleon. I have a vague memory of hearing about him, but little else." He nodded toward his office. "Go make certain she doesn't take it into her head to eavesdrop on the conversation." As she turned, he added, "And NO head klonking, Mildred. Not yet, anyway."

"You're the boss," she told him, then shrugged. "For right now, anyway."

Remington's eyes narrowed as he waited for someone to answer the telephone. "Hello?" Hearing Daniel's sleepy voice, Remington glanced at his watch again.

"Daniel. Sorry to call so early-," he began.

"Harry?" Daniel sounded wide-awake now. "Is something wrong, my boy?"

"Several things, actually, but none of them anything you can do anything about."

"I thought perhaps you might be calling to tell me you had finally come to your senses," Daniel teased.

"I think I've come to my senses, Daniel. But it happened four years ago, when I decided to stay on here. The reason I called, well, the agency's guarding some precious gems for a private museum in town- and there was an attempt to steal them tonight."

"And?"

"I just wondered if you'd heard anything- about anyone who might be considering going after a haul like this one."

"I'd heard about the showing, of course. No one I know said anything about it- especially when they found out it was in Los Angeles and that might mean going up against you and Laura."

"Have you ever heard of someone called The Chameleon?"

"The- Chameleon?" Daniel repeated slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"It's quite possible that he's the one we're after. The secretary of the museum's owner was drugged with something he uses- and there's a security guard dead- possibly as a result of being given the same drug. I've heard of him, but we never crossed paths. I thought perhaps you might know a bit more."

"I hadn't thought of him in ages. Yes, we crossed paths a couple of times- never socially. I wouldn't know the man himself- not sure anyone does."

"Wouldn't happen to know his real name, would you?"

"Sorry. Wait a moment. I seem to recall someone mentioning it- years ago, of course, before I met you. We had a mutual friend who had known him for years. Emory--Emory Davenport, I believe. Yes. Emory Davenport."

"Where is this friend now?"

"Dead, I'm afraid. Harry, he's a nasty character, not above killing someone to get what he's after. If it is he that you're up against-," he paused.

"Why Daniel, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were going soft. I'll be careful."

"I was thinking of paying you a visit in a few weeks- if you think Laura won't put up too much of a fuss."

"As long as you come just to visit, I don't think she'll mind. Speaking of Laura- do you remember a friend here in LA named Sam?"

"Owns a second hand shop- does a few other things on the side," Daniel recalled. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"You might be getting a call from him about a friend of yours who came to him and stiffed him on a fee."

"A friend of mine, Harry? And does this friend have a name by any chance?"

"Tracy Lord. Look, it's too long to go into at the moment, Daniel- I just want you to be aware that he might call you. I promise I'll explain it all when you come for a visit."

"With that, I might just come sooner than later, my boy. Give Laura my regards."

"I will," he said. "Thank you, Daniel."

Mildred came back out a moment later. "She's asleep," she said. "What did Daniel have to say?"

Remington rose from her chair. "I need you to pull up whatever you can find one someone named Emory Davenport, Mildred."

"Emory Davenport?" she asked, sitting down and turning on the computer. "Who's he?"

"The Chameleon."

After setting the search for Davenport in motion, Remington sent a tired Mildred home. "Take a cab, charge it to the Agency," he told her. "I don't want you trying to drive as tired as you are."

Mildred gave him a grateful smile, then nodded toward the closed door to his office. "What about her?"

"She won't get away again." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and unlocked the doors for her. "See you tomorrow morning."

"Watch your back, Mr. Steele. She's wily."

"I will," he assured her, waving as she headed down the deserted hallway toward the elevator. He locked the doors again, then went in to check on Laura. She was still sleeping soundly, a blanket from the storeroom covering her.

Returning to the lobby, he dragged a chair across to the doors, placing it squarely before them, the back against the metal frame. Another chair was pulled across for his feet, and he quickly located a second blanket, silently thanking Mildred for her having the forethought to have placed them there.

He removed his jacket and tie, took off his shoes and sat down, covering himself with the blanket and put his feet up. It was damned uncomfortable, and he probably wouldn't get any sleep. He'd slept in worse positions, he recalled, at least this one was dry and warm. His eyes were on the closed door, his thoughts on the woman beyond it. Was this the part of Laura that had sent Wilson Jefferies running, he wondered? This wild, impetuous creature that called herself Tracy Lord? Or was her befuddled mind really playing out a female version of the man she thought him to have been before they met?

Either way, he wanted HIS Laura back. Even with all her insecurities, she was still the one he'd fallen in love with and wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Of course, he thought with a grin as his blue eyes closed, he wouldn't be averse to seeing her in that silk nightgown again . . .

***

The sound of his office door opening woke him, but he didn't open his eyes, tried not to move or change his pattern of breathing. He heard her cross the carpet, moving toward him. She bent down and pulled the bottom latch, and as she began to rise, Remington's hand shot out and grabbed hers. "I'd think twice about that if I were you."

Tracy frowned. "I knew you were awake. Thought it was worth a try. I was only going for some tea."

Remington tossed aside the blanket and rose from the chair- wincing as he felt a stitch in his back. He was getting too old to be sleeping in chairs. "There's a coffee machine in the storeroom," he told her, stretching the kinks out. "Which you would have found if you'd bothered to look."

"Didn't want to be accused of prying," she told him. "The sofa in your office was very comfortable."

Remington led her toward the storeroom and put on some coffee. "The water should be hot enough for tea, if you'd really rather have that."

"No, I'll have coffee," she told him.

"What time is it, anyway?" he asked, watching the machine work.

"Oh, nearly eight, I believe. I'm not normally an early riser. Unless I'm working, of course."

"Well, you're not. Not technically, anyway."

"I don't know about that. I'm protecting those gems."

"Hmm. So you can steal them yourself," he pointed out, suddenly realizing that if Laura didn't recover her memory before those gems left Los Angeles, she would try to follow them. He poured two cups of coffee, adding cream and sugar to his. He picked it up and was about to drink when he heard a commotion out in the other room. "What on earth?" he said, going back out.

Mildred was trying to push the door open, but the chair was blocking it. "Mr. Steele!"

Remington shoved his cup into Tracy's free hand and quickly moved the chair, opening the door for Mildred to enter. "Sorry, Mildred. Didn't expect you to be here so early."

"I wanted to check the computer, see if anything had come up on Emory Davenport," she told him, giving Tracy yet another look of disapproval.

"Who is Emory Davenport?" Tracy asked, handing Remington's coffee back to him as they followed the receptionist to her desk.

"Quite possibly the man who tried to steal the gems yesterday," he explained. "Would you mind going to get Mildred a cup of coffee?"

"I'm not a secretary," Tracy pointed out.

"Neither am I," Mildred told her, glancing away from the computer as the screen lit up. "Never mind, Mr. Steele. I'll get it later."

Remington turned to look at Tracy. "No, please. Allow me to get it for you," she said at length. "Do you take cream and sugar, Miss Krebs?"

"One of each," Mildred replied, intent on the information she was reading from the screen before her. She pressed the button to start the printer. "It's not much, Chief," she told him. "The only photo of Davenport is over forty years old." Tracy returned, placing the cup of coffee on the desk as Mildred continued. "He's an American. Served in the Army during World War Two, was discharged after the war ended, then dropped out of sight." She tore the pages from the printer and handed him the black and white photograph. "I'll send for a better one, but with it being so old, I doubt he looks much like that now."

Remington nodded, showed the photo to Tracy. "Too bad we couldn't find some way to age this face forty years," he said of the handsome young man whose smile gave no clue to his inner darkness.

"Maybe we can," Mildred told him. "Miss Holt's got a contact at the police station. A police sketch artist who could probably do it for me."

"Call him. And if he agrees, take the results to Gwen Stewart and found out if she can identify him as the man she was seeing. Take the limo. I'll use the Rabbit."

"Where are you going?"

"To change before going to the museum for the day. If I'm right, Davenport will find some way to get to those gems before they leave this evening."

Tracy hung back as he headed for the door. "What about me?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "We'll stop off at the loft as well so you can change," he told her. "Come along. We haven't got all day. Mr. Burton is no doubt already chewing his nails to the quick awaiting our arrival."

***

Burton met them both as the doors opened to the public for the second and final showing of the gem collection. "It's about time the two of you got here," he said. "I fully expected you to meet me here this morning after last night. I didn't get another moment's sleep after talking to you. I was so worried."

"Everything was in order, wasn't it?" Remington asked the man as they moved toward the gem room, his eyes scanning the crowd for signs of anything out of the ordinary. So far, everyone in the room looked as though they belonged. And there was nothing in the gallery to alarm him, either.

"Well, yes," Burton admitted. "But that's not the point. I expected you to have checked out everyone who worked for the security company. That this man got in here was very distressing, Mr. Steele."

"I'm sure it was distressing for Roy Compton as well," Remington told the client. "He's dead."

"Dead?"

"According to the police, he died as a result of the drug he was administered- the same drug which was given to your secretary."

Burton paled. "Oh, my."

Remington took the man's arm as Tracy took the other. "Steady on, Mr. Burton. I suggest we go to your office and discuss this further."

"Yes, yes."

***

The police had probably found Compton by now, he thought. His impersonation of the security guard would have been perfect if it hadn't been for the interference of Steele and his associate. He'd just have to find another way. They'd be more cautious, suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. He would need to find someone else who could close to those gems. He brought out his notes, reading through them again. At last he smiled.

He knew precisely what his next move was going to be.

To Be Continued . . .

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Original content ©1999 by Nancy Eddy