A Steele To Remember
Laura's Story
Part Two
Back at the office, over a cup of coffee, Laura filled Mildred in on what had happened. "It doesn't make any sense, Mildred," she insisted. "I feel like I'm missing something important. Why go to all this trouble just to steal a contract? Any luck with Stanley Grayson?"

"I traced him down to a Malibu address- but he moved about a month ago. I've started a skip trace."

"Good work, Mildred. Background?"

Mildred picked up a computer printout. "Here's Rachel's sheet. And the report on Mr. Davis. As for Stanley Grayson, I can trace him back ten years- then nada."

"Nada?"

"Nothing. The trail ends ten years ago. Or starts, I should say. It's almost like he didn't exist before that."

"Maybe he didn't," Laura said, picking up the telephone to place a call, only to hang up again as she heard noises in the outer office. Looking a Mildred to confirm that she'd heard them as well, Laura slowly rose and went toward the door, Mildred close behind.

"Laura Holt?"

The question caused her to pull up short with no warning, making Mildred bump into her. "Sorry."

There were three men in the office, all wearing dark, conservative suits. Each has a suspicious bulge under their coat. "Yes," she said. "I'm Laura Holt."

"Is Mr. Steele in?" the middle man, who Laura judged to be in his mid thirties, with light brown hair and a boy next door face, asked.

"No. Mr. Steele is out of town. On personal business. Can I help you?"

"Someone at this agency is looking for Stanley Grayson."

"And if we are?"

"I'm asking you to back off."

"WHO is asking?" Laura wanted to know.

"A friend of Stanley's," he responded. "I won't ask next time, Miss Holt." He motioned to his companions, and they left the office.

"What was THAT all about?" Mildred wondered.

"I'm not sure, Mildred," Laura said. "But I intend to find out. I don't like being intimidated."

"Miss Holt," Mildred said, "those three had FED written all over them."

Laura looked from Mildred to the door. "What?"

"Take it from a former bureaucrat, hon. They were Feds."

"Wait a minute. Larry Davis is supposed to be finding Grayson FOR the government. Why would they warn us off?"

"Who knows?" Mildred said with a smile. "Believe me, one agency never knows what the other is doing up there."

Laura turned to the computer. "Let's find Stanley Grayson, Mildred. I think he's the only one who's going to be able to answer these questions. And while you're doing that, I'm going to see if I can't have a little chat with our client."

But Davis was out of pocket, the hotel didn't know where he was. Laura hung up, frustrated, then called Harve at the morgue again. Still no sign of Rachel Richard's body. Picking up the rap sheet, Laura read it, then stood up, grabbing her purse.

She paused on her way out. "Anything yet, Mildred?"

"Anytime."

"I'm going to check a possible lead," she told the woman. "If you get anything, call me in the limo."

"Will do."

= < @ > =


Rachel's arrests had all taken place in what had once been a glamour area of the city, still frequented by tourists during the day. But when the night came, it was a different world. A dangerous world, full of pimps, prostitutes and drug pushers.

Laura, after having stopped by her loft to change clothes, had Fred drop her off around the corner, then rounded it to approach a group of mini skirted, stiletto heeled women. She was pleased with her own appearance, feeling that she at least had managed to look the part. But she was an unfamiliar face, and the other women eyed her warily. "Well. Lookie here. New talent on the block," one of them said.

"Move it, honey. Not enough to go around these days as it is."

Laura snapped her gum. "I'm lookin' for an old friend," she explained. "Rachel? Rachel Richards? Any of you know her?"

"Why're you lookin for Rachel?" the first woman asked, her heavily painted eyes narrowing.

"I've been in Vegas for a few years. Thought I'd- touch bases with her while I'm here."

"She's takin the night off," another woman said. "Scored big last night. Some high roller downtown."

"Yeah. Said she might take off longer if things work out."

"She stay around here?" Laura asked.

"The Bellman- down the street. Room Six."

"Thanks," Laura said, starting to turn away as one of the women sighed.

"Oh, damn," she said as several police men approached. "Leave us alone, man. Can't you see that we're not doing anything?" she asked.

"Yeah," the cop commiserated. "All dressed up and nowhere to go. You know the drill, ladies. Either move it on down the street or we'll give you somewhere to go."

Laura breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was to have to call Mildred to bail her out of jail. She found the Bellman Hotel easily enough. It was a seedy, run down little building that had seen better days. Once, it had probably been home to movie stars. Now, hookers were the main source of income.

The desk clerk was sitting in his office, his attention glued to a television set that was turned up far too loud. Laura could hear the dialogue from the old gangster movie as she moved toward the stairs. Gunshots rang out from the TV- but one came from the top of the stairs- and Laura ran up the last few, turning a corner in time to see the dark outline of a man run down the shadowy hallway and out onto the fire escape.

She paused by the open door of the room he'd come from: Room Six. She'd found Rachel Richards- the only trouble was, instead of a knife wound, there was a bullet hole in her chest. The woman was dead.

= < @ > =



Laura didn't take the time to change out of her costume before returning to the office, and Mildred's eyes were wide with shock. "Miss Holt?"

"I'll explain later, Mildred. I found Rachel."

"You did?"

"She's at the morgue- with a bullet through her heart, fired from point blank range. I want you to try to get in touch with our client again. He and I need to have a little talk."

"In a minute, Miss Holt," Mildred said, following her into the other office as Laura dug out a change of clothing. "I found Stanley Grayson."

"You did?"

"He's in the valley. Works at a little computer place there."

"Okay. We'll go talk to Grayson, THEN we're going to talk to Mr. Davis," she decided.

= < @ > =



Stanley Grayson hadn't come into work that morning. "He's been sick for the last two days," his boss told them.

"Oh," Laura said, wincing, then glanced at Mildred. "Well, Aunt Millie, I guess you'll just have to wait."

"I guess so," Mildred agreed with a glum expression.

"Wait for what?" the man asked.

Laura moved closer to him as Mildred pretended an interest in a nearby system. "Stanley's the only person that she trusts to work on her computer. When he moved away from Malibu, everything was just fine. But last night- poof!"

"Poof?"

"The entire system crashed. She lost everything, poor dear. And to top it off, she had a dream that something terrible had happened to Stanley. She insisted that we come up here and see him."

The shop owner smiled nervously at Mildred, who managed a worried expression. "Listen, I guess it wouldn't hurt for me to tell you where he lives since you're old customers and all-," he quickly wrote out the address on a slip of paper. "He hasn't called in today, and I haven't been able to get an answer on the phone. I'm a little worried myself."

= < @ > =



Laura parked the car in the driveway of the small house, looking it over carefully as she tried to remain inconspicuous. Slowly, she and Mildred approached the front door, where Laura pressed the button for the door bell. When there was no response, she knocked. Still nothing. Another knock. "Mr. Grayson? Are you there?"

Mildred shrugged. "I guess he's not home," she said.

"Maybe," Laura muttered with a bit of frustration. She hadn't come all the way out here just to be put off by a locked door. Reaching into her purse, she told Mildred, "Cover me."

Mildred stood between her and the street as Laura worked the lock. It was open in a heart beat, then she and Mildred were inside the dark house, closing the door quietly behind them. "Mr. Grayson?" Laura called again softly, noting the drawn window shades and curtains.

"Stanley?" Mildred added as they moved stealthily through the room toward a side door that probably led to the kitchen.

Afterward, Laura couldn't be sure why she chose that moment to duck and pull Mildred with her, as a bullet hit the door frame near them. She and Mildred stayed where they were, looking up at the thin little man who stood, weapon at ready. His graying hair was pulled back into a pony tail, and with the beard that covered his face, he looked like a refugee from the sixties.

"Don't move. I don't want to hurt you. Why can't you people just leave me alone? It's been ten years. Well, I warn you, if you think you're going to kill me without a fight-," he said rapidly, obviously frightened.

"Kill you?" Laura questioned. "WE'RE not the one holding a gun," she pointed out. "We just want to talk to you."

"Who are you?"

"I'm a private investigator. Laura Holt. My ID is in my purse."

"Slide it over here. SLOWLY." When he had the purse on a nearby table and was looking for the identification, he said, "Who's she?"

"Mildred Krebs. My associate. We were hired to find you."

He glanced from the ID back to Laura, then back again. "By who?"

"A man by the name of Larry Davis. He said he had talked to you about a job."

"I've got a job. And I've never heard of a Larry Davis."

"How about Rachel Richards?"

"Who's she? Sounds like an actress."

"Close," Mildred commented.

"Can we get up now?" Laura asked Grayson.

He debated his answer for a moment. "Slowly. I still don't know if I can trust you or not."

Laura helped Mildred to her feet. "Listen, you can call Lt. James Jarvis of the LAPD to verify my credentials," she was saying as another, slightly familiar voice spoke.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Holt."

As the three dark suited men came from the kitchen, Stanley lowered his gun and sat down. "Took you long enough to get here, Fiske."

Fiske, the group's spokesman, turned to Laura. "I warned you to stay out of this, Miss Holt."

"Would you mind telling us what we're supposed to stay out OF, Mr. Fiske?"

"Ten years ago, under his real name, Stanley here worked for some- shall we say- less than nice people."

"They were scum," Stanley growled. "The lowest of the low. Into everything. Prostitution, racketeering, gambling, drugs. They had their grubby hands in all of it."

"He was the accountant for one of the most powerful crime bosses on the East Coast," Fiske continued. "Knew were all the bodies were buried- knew how much in back taxes he and his employers owed the government."

Mildred's eyes widened as she peered more closely at Stanley. "YOU'RE Bobby Vance?" She shook her head. "The computer expert. I should have made the connection."

"Mildred," Laura said.

"Very good, Miss Krebs," Fiske commented.

"He looks so different now. He was so- clean shaven, with short hair. Always wore a suit-."

"Mildred?"

She grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, hon. I was an investigator on the case. When we busted Vance for tax evasion, he agreed to cut a deal: He'd testify against his boss for immunity and if he could get into the witness program."

"I see. But the computer?"

"My boss destroyed all the records- or thought he did," Grayson/Vance explained. "I had them all on disk- stashed in a place he'd never think of looking."

"So you testified and got a new identity," Laura said, disliking the bad taste in her mouth from all of this.

"Yeah. Worked, too, til you started nosing around," he said, glaring at her.

"I've told you what's going on, Miss Holt," Fiske said. "Don't you think it's time you leveled with me?"

Laura told him about Larry Davis and Rachel. "He must have killed Rachel because she wanted more money to keep quiet about what she'd seen. Damn! I feel like a fool. He used me to do his dirty work for him."

Fiske gave her a probing look. "Would you like a chance to even the score, Miss Holt?"

To Be Continued . . .
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Original content © 1999 by Nancy Eddy