Jimmy Jarvis indicated the chair on the other side of his desk. "Have a seat, Steele. I heard you had a some excitement a little while ago."
Remington paused as he sat down, and then frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
"Almost ran that car of yours under a truck, if I heard correctly."
"Ah. That's one reason I'm here, Lt. Jarvis. I told the officer who investigated that it was simply mechanical failure, but-"
Jarvis sent him a concerned glance. "You're telling me that you made a false statement to a police officer?"
"Because I don't want Miss Holt to find out that someone damaged my brake system so that I would have an accident," Remington clarified.
"Someone?" Jarvis asked, all traces of his trademark "Huck Finn" routine gone. "Do you have any suspects?"
"I know exactly who did it. But I can't accuse him of it at the moment."
"Why not?"
"Because he's Laura's father." Remington slid the folder across Jarvis' desk. "I need your help, Jimmy."
Jarvis opened the file and read the information that Remington had gathered. "Okay. So his lady friend died in an accident-"
"Edward Holt was under a restraining order to keep away from Grace Davenport," Remington said. "At her request, because she told a judge that he had threatened to kill her. But a neighbor claims to have seem him leaving Grace's house the night she died."
Jarvis glanced at the report again. "Says here that Holt had an alibi-"
"Another woman," Remington nodded. "Who has since vanished as well. Grace's mother asked the local police to check into things further, but they insisted that Holt was cleared of Grace's death, and the case was closed."
"I'd have probably closed it, too," Jarvis told him ruefully. "Look, Steele, I'm not sure what you think I can do here."
"I need to find Grace Davenport's mother. She still lives in this area, according to what I've found, but I don't have a physical address for her."
"Why do you want to find her?"
"Perhaps her daughter contacted her, sent her some letters- I need something to show Laura as proof of my suspicions. Perhaps make her realize that something's not quite- right about her father." He saw the uncertainty on Jarvis' boyish face. "Look, if I wasn't onto something, why would Holt try to kill me?"
"Who says it WAS Edward Holt?" Jarvis countered. "You've made a few enemies, Steele."
"Descoine is still in prison, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is."
"And Edward Holt was hanging around the car when I last saw him. He practically threatened me then."
"Any witnesses?"
"Of course not. The man may be a sociopath, but he's not stupid." Remington sighed. "Look, I'm not asking you to do anything about it, Jarvis. All I want is Marge Davenport's current address."
Jarvis read the report again, then picked up the phone. "You're gonna owe me one, Steele."
"I thought I already did," Remington replied with a grateful smile.
"Yeah, I need some info- could you do a look up on a Marge Davenport? Last known address - Really?" Remington saw the tension fill the other man's slight frame. "When?…How did it happen?…Yeah…Who's on it?…Tell him that I'm taking the case…If he has any questions, he can talk to me…Right." He wrote something down. "Thanks."
"What is it?" Remington asked as Jarvis rose and picked up his jacket.
"Marge Davenport was found dead an hour ago- she fell down some stairs and broke her neck."
"Good Lord."
Jarvis grabbed the folder that Remington had given him and went to the door. He paused. "You coming with me to check it out?"
Remington rose and followed the detective to an unmarked car, waving Fred off as he did so. "I'll call you later, Fred. And if Miss Holt asks, you have no idea where I am. Right, mate?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Steele," the driver responded evenly.
***
Laura came from her office to hand a file folder to Mildred. "Any word from Mr. Steele?" she asked.
"No," Mildred replied.
"Maybe I should call Fred-"
"I don't think he took the limo," Mildred told her. "He was holding the key to the Auburn when he left."
"Oh."
The telephone rang, and before Mildred could answer, Laura grabbed it. "Remington Steele Investigations."
"Mr. Steele, please," a gruff male voice requested. There was a lot of noise in the background, clanging, hissing.
"Mr. Steele's not here at the moment. May I take a message?" Laura asked, deliberately not identifying herself as his associate. IF he was up to something, Laura Holt would only make his partners in crime clam up.
"Yeah. This is Vinnie at Vinnie's Garage. He wanted me to let him know when his car was ready."
"His car?" Laura repeated. "The Auburn?"
"Yeah," Vinnie said again. "Had some brake problem- looked like someone punctured the brake fluid reservoir. He was lucky that he didn't kill himself. That car's pretty heavy. Must've been hell to stop with no brakes."
"Yes," Laura agreed. "I'll give him the message, Mr.- Vinnie," she assured the mechanic. Hanging up, she was thoughtful. Picking up the phone, she dialed another number.
"What's going on, Miss Holt?" Mildred asked.
"Apparently someone's trying to do harm to Mr. Steele," Laura informed her. "And he didn't bother to tell me about it." She waited for the phone on the other end to be picked up.
"Hello?"
"Fred, its Miss Holt. I need to talk to Mr. Steele, please."
She heard a familiar hesitation. "He's not here, Miss Holt."
"He's not? Have you seen him this afternoon?"
"Yes, but he told me to go on, that he'd find another way-"
"Fred, I don't feel like playing twenty questions. Where is Mr. Steele?"
"He left."
Laura sighed. "Was he alone?"
"No." She heard him take a deep breath. "He was with Lt. Jarvis," Fred admitted. "I don't know where they were going, Miss Holt. Honestly."
"Where did you pick Mr. Steele up? Here at the office?"
"No. A few blocks from there." He told her the exact intersection.
"Why did he call? I thought he was in the Auburn?"
"Apparently he had some trouble with the brakes," Fred told her.
"How long ago did he and Lt. Jarvis leave, Fred?"
"Oh, about an hour ago, I guess."
"Thank you." Laura hung up. When she started to dial another number, Mildred grabbed her arm.
"Wait a minute. I want an explanation about what's going on."
"I wish I had one to give you, Mildred," Laura said. "Someone apparently rigged the brakes on the Auburn. Then Mr. Steele went to see Lt. Jarvis, and they left together." She dialed the telephone. "Lt. Jarvis, please," Laura told the officer who answered on the other end. "He's not?…Do you know where I might reach him?…No, I'm - his wife's sister," Laura said quickly, ignoring Mildred's surprised gasp. "She's planning a surprise party for him and I've been nominated to keep him busy …" She grabbed a pencil and some paper to write down an address. "Thank you. And don't forget, it's supposed to be a surprise…Yes." She hung up. "Jarvis went to Hermosa Beach on a case." She went into her office and grabbed her purse. "I'll be back."
"Be careful," Mildred said.
***
Steele and Jarvis examined Marge Davenport's broken body where it lay at the bottom of the short flight of stairs. "Strange," Steele mused, glancing up the stairway's five steps.
"What?" Jarvis asked.
"Wouldn't have thought such a short fall could result in a broken neck. Sprained ankle, yes, broken arm or leg, perhaps, but a broken neck-?" He shook his head.
"Stranger things have happened. It would depend on how she fell, I guess. She wasn't a young woman. Brittle bones. I'll leave that to the coroner."
The coroner's wagon arrived, and they stepped back. There was a woman sobbing in the living room of the small house, and the two men turned their steps in that direction. A uniformed officer was trying to comfort the distraught woman. Jarvis flashed his badge to the officer, his gaze inquisitive.
"Hope Blackwell. She's the dead woman's daughter," the officer said. "She found the body."
"Thank you." The officer moved away. "Mrs. Blackwell? I'm Lt. Jarvis. I'm sorry about your mother."
The dark haired woman, whom Remington judged to be in her mid to late forties, looked up at them. "I should have insisted that she come and stay with us. I never liked her being here alone. Especially after she started having imagining things," Hope sighed.
"Imagining things?" Remington repeated in a soft voice.
"She kept insisting that someone was trying to kill her. Said that she'd been getting threatening telephone calls, warning her to keep quiet."
"You don't think she was telling the truth?" Jarvis asked.
"She felt guilty. Ever since my sister died a couple of months ago, Mother lost all contact with reality. She insisted that Grace had been killed, and was angry that no one would listen to her and do anything about it about it."
Remington continued the questions, still in a soft, quiet tone. "Why should your mother feel guilty?"
"My sister ran off with a married man almost fifteen years ago," Hope explained. "Mother was furious, refused to have anything to do with Grace for a long time."
"And did you cut off communication with your sister as well?" Jarvis asked.
"Grace and I weren't close," Hope informed them. "I was already married with a child by the time Grace broke up the man's marriage and left with him. She sent Christmas cards every year, but beyond that, we didn't keep in touch, no." Her dark eyes moved from Remington to Jarvis. "Why are you asking about Grace? She's been dead for two months. Mother-" she swallowed back a fresh bout of tears. "It's Mother who's lying out there, dead. It's rather ironic, isn't it, though?"
"What, Mrs. Blackwell?" Jarvis asked.
"That they died in such similar ways. The exact same way, really. Falling down stairs and breaking their necks. I should have insisted she come to stay with us in Torrance," she said again.
"Mrs. Blackwell, why didn't you believe that your mother might really be in danger?" Remington wanted to know. "Was she prone to fabrication?"
"Mother? Until Grace's death, she was the most honest woman I'd ever met. Suddenly she kept insisting that Grace hadn't died in an accident, that she'd been killed by the man she'd been living with- can you imagine? He hadn't even married her after all these years."
"Did she give any reason why she might have thought such a thing?" Remington pressed.
"She mentioned something about some letters that Grace had sent to her- She even said that Grace wanted to come home."
"Do you know where those letters might be?" Remington asked eagerly.
Hope Blackwell looked at him for a moment. "You think Mother's death wasn't an accident, don't you?"
Jarvis stepped forward. "We won't know that until after the coroner has a chance to check things over," he said. Remington sent him a disgusted look. "But it's a possibility, Mrs. Blackwell. Did your mother say how long she'd been getting these threatening calls?"
"Oh, a week, I guess. In fact, she asked to borrow my answering machine. It's the kind that you can record while you're talking-" she seemed to realize who she was talking to. "Not that I'd ever do something illegal like that. But Mother might have-"
Remington looked around the room. "Where would she have put it?" he wanted to know.
"In her bedroom, probably. She said the calls came mostly at night."
"And the letters? Would she have put them into a specific place or -"
"Mother kept all of her correspondence in that desk-" Hope said, indicating the cherrywood writing desk near a window. Remington went to the desk, and was about to open a drawer when she spoke again. "Are you a Lieutenant as well?"
"Um," he said, pausing, glancing at Jarvis for guidance. "Not really." He straightened.
"Mr. Steele's a private detective, Mrs. Blackwell," Jarvis informed the woman.
"A private detective?"
"I'm looking into your sister's death," Remington told her.
"Why? I mean, who hired you?"
Remington thought quickly. "I'm afraid I can't reveal the name of my client at the moment. Do you mind if I- look through her desk?"
"No," Hope said slowly. "No, of course not. I should have listened to her, shouldn't I? Instead of simply dismissing her stories as the result of misplaced guilt, I should have realized she was telling the truth."
Jarvis patted Hope Blackwell's hand in a comforting gesture as Remington opened several drawers. "Anything, Steele?"
"No. But someone else has gone through the desk, I believe."
"Oh, my," Hope fretted, rising to join Remington to look at the cluttered contents of the drawers. "He's right, Lt. Jarvis. Mother was a stickler for organization. 'Everything in its place,' she always said."
"Could her recent mental problems have caused-?"
"No." She frowned, picking up a length of red ribbon. "The last time I saw the letters that Grace sent Mother, this was tied around them."
Remington sighed in frustration. "That's it, then. He got the letters."
"Who? Edward Holt? Mother insisted that he was the one who had killed Grace. Is that who-?"
Jarvis turned to Hope. "Mrs. Blackwell, thank you for your help. I'm sure we'll be in touch as soon as the coroner gives us a ruling on your mother's death. I'll have an officer take you home and stay with you, if you'd like."
Remington remained at the desk as Jarvis accompanied the woman to the front door. "Guess this is a dead end," he commented as Jarvis returned.
"Not necessarily. IF Mrs. Davenport was murdered- and at this point it's still an IF- maybe Holt didn't know about the answering machine. I think we need to check her room---"
"An excellent idea, Jarvis," Remington agreed, heading toward the stairs.
They entered the only open door on the second floor. The room was immaculate, nothing out of place. Remington went directly to the nightstand, where the telephone answering machine sat waiting. He pressed a button on the machine and rewound the tape, then hit "Play messages".
"Hello?"
CLICK!
Then a beep to indicate the end of a message.
"Hello?" Heavy breathing, sounding threatening without any words, filled the silence. "Hello? I know you're there. I can hear your breathing…"
CLICK!
Another beep. Remington and Jarvis exchanged a look.
"Hello?"
A man's voice said, "Don't talk. Unless you want to join your daughter."
"You don't frighten me. I know what you're trying to do," the woman's voice insisted, but the fear in her tone was obvious.
"If you want to stay alive, stop telling everyone that she was murdered. It was an accident."
"Listen, you-"
CLICK!
BEEP!
Remington removed the tape from the machine. "That's enough," he said.
"I take it that you recognized the voice?"
"Edward Holt," Remington confirmed grimly.
"It's not admissible in a court of law- and if you take that tape, you'll be removing evidence from a possible crime scene," Jarvis reminded him.
"It might not be admissible in court," Remington pointed out. "But it might be enough to make Laura reconsider her blind devotion to the man. You'll have it back as soon as I've spoken to her," he promised.
"Okay, Steele. Just don't lose it."
Remington thought he saw the front door closing as they came downstairs, but dismissed it as his mind plotted a way to tell Laura the truth. Outside, he saw a small white car pulling away from the curb at a high rate of speed. Turning to the officer on duty, he asked, "Was that my associate, Miss Holt?"
"Yes, sir," the young man said. "She talked to the coroner's people before they left, then told me you were expecting her-"
"Did she go inside?" Jarvis asked, apparently thinking the same thing that Steele was.
"Yeah. Didn't stay long, just a minute or so. Seemed pretty upset when she came out. Like she'd gotten some news that didn't sit right."
Remington's blue eyes met Jarvis' brown ones. "Dammit. She must've heard that tape. And knowing Laura, she's gone to find her father and confront him."
To Be Continued…