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After stopping by their apartments
to change into what Laura called their "working clothes",
dark slacks, shirts, etc., they drove Laura's Rabbit to Mrs. Jameson's
home. Scaling the iron fence was an easy matter, and the alarm
system at the house was easily overcome. Remington kept a lookout
as Laura quickly picked the lock on the French doors that led
into the study. She opened them slowly, just in case they had
missed something in the security system. When no alarm sounded,
she turned to smile at him. "So far, so good."
Remington returned the smile before she turned away. "It's
early yet." It never failed to amaze him the way Laura's
entire attitude changed whenever they were forced to take this
particular tack to solve a case. Breaking and entering seemed
almost second nature to her. For a moment, he wondered if Daniel
might have been right once when he'd said that the three of them
together could have turned Europe on its ear.
Laura bent to the carpeted floor, shining the flashlight beam
onto the dented pile. "See?" she said, returning his
attention to the matter at hand. "The desk WAS here until
recently."
He nodded thoughtfully. "For some time, I should imagine.
I doubt the carpet will ever return to its original condition."
"Why would someone suddenly decide to move a heavy desk from
here to there after so long a time?"
Remington inspected the area around the edges of the desk with
his own light. He paused. "Look at this."
There was a dark stain just barely visible, easily missed if one
wasn't looking for it. "Could be blood," Laura said.
"Or it could simply be an ink stain- or any number of things,"
Remington told her.
"You're right. Without a test, there's no way of knowing."
She bent, running her hand through the dense pile as Remington
turned his light toward the top of the desk. "Ouch,"
she said, lifting her hand into the light.
Remington shone his light toward her. "What?"
She was frowning, eyeing a finger. "Something cut me."
As he returned to her side, pulling out a handkerchief to wrap
around the wounded finger, Laura turned her light back on the
carpet in the area where the injury had occurred. "There's
something there," she told him.
He carefully lifted a small sliver of glass from the carpet to
examine it in the light. "Hard to tell what it belonged to,"
he commented.
Laura looked up at the Tiffany lamp that was sitting on the edge
of the desk. "I'd be willing to bet that it was a lamp similar
to that one," she told him, rising to touch the fluted glass
shade.
"What makes you so sure this is a new lamp?" Remington
asked, rising to his feet beside her.
"In a house this size, it's impossible to keep dust from
settling. I didn't see more than two or three servants this morning.
The housekeeper's almost as old as Mrs. Jameson, and I got the
impression that the other two were a cook and upstairs maid. There's
no way the housekeeper would be able to keep this room as clean
and free of dust as this lamp is. It's TOO clean. The other lamps
in the room all have a light coating of dust." She paused
as Remington inspected the other lamps to his own satisfaction.
"All right, Laura, but a little dust doesn't prove that Mrs.
Jameson murdered her accountant."
Laura jimmied a locked bottom drawer of the desk, and paused.
"No, but this might." She held up a gold-plated pen,
with the initials "H.T." engraved on it. "There's
also a ledger here," she told him, pulling it out and placing
it before her on the desk. As Remington inspected the pen, Laura
opened the ledger, flipping to the last page with writing. The
paper was stained with something dark brown, and Laura met Remington's
eyes. "Tell me that THIS is an ink stain, Remington."
"Not very likely," he admitted ruefully, looking over
her shoulder to read. "The date of the last entry was a week
ago."
"Harvey Taylor disappeared a week ago," Laura reminded
him. "I think this proves my theory, don't you?"
"Yes, but- Laura, the woman is over eighty years old, and
hardly strong enough to dispose of the body of a dead man, much
less move this heavy oak desk three feet across a carpeted floor."
"So she had had help," Laura surmised, her eyes widening
as the lights came on, revealing Mrs. Jameson and a burly young
man standing in the doorway. The young man was wearing the uniform
of a chauffeur- and he was holding a gun.
"I tried to tell you it was a mistake to hire them,"
the man said.
"I needed to find out what he'd done with my money,"
Mrs. Jameson reminded him. "I knew it was a risk, Pete, but
I had to take it. I wasn't going to let that little cretin get
away with stealing from me."
Laura rose slowly. "Of course you couldn't, Mrs. Jameson.
Not after you'd killed him. Did Pete dispose of Harvey's body
and then move the desk to hide the bloodstain on the carpet?"
"Pete's a good boy," Mrs. Jameson said. "I really
hate to do this, Miss Holt, but I can't allow you and Mr. Steele
to go to the police about this." Pete's finger tightened
on the trigger of the gun.
"Uh, Mrs. Jameson, if you kill either of us, you'll never
find out where Harvey Taylor hid the money he stole from you,"
Remington said quickly, moving slightly between Pete and Laura.
The woman's blue eyes shone with a greedy fire. "You found
it? Where is it?"
"Mrs. J," Pete said. "It won't do any good for
you to know where that money is if you're in prison for murder."
"Unfortunately, Pete is right," Mrs. Jameson agreed.
"And I'm sure your associate Miss Krebs will be willing to
tell me what she's found out. After all, she IS the one with the
IRS experience, isn't she? You see, she and I had a long chat
while she was going over those books this morning. So I don't
think there's any reason to keep you alive."
"You won't get away with this," Laura told her. "An
accountant going missing is one thing. Remington Steele disappearing
without a trace is QUITE another."
"Take them out into the garden, Pete," Mrs. Jameson
said. "And then take care of things, please."
Pete jerked his head toward the French doors. "Outside, you
two."
Laura took the long way around the desk, at the last moment closing
her hand around the base of the Tiffany lamp and tossing it toward
Pete. Mrs. Jameson cried out in dismay. "My lamp!" she
said as Laura and Remington took advantage of the distraction
by running from the house.
"Mrs. J," Pete could be heard saying, "They're
getting away!"
"Then STOP them!" she ordered tearfully.
They were crossing the lawn when the first shot rang out. "Brilliant
move, Laura," Remington said as they hid behind a row of
shrubs. "Tossing that lamp like that."
"It obviously meant something to her, or else she wouldn't
have bothered to replace it. That lamp was the one feminine touch
in a very masculine room," she pointed out, ducking as another
shot rang out.
"What do you think they did with the body?" he asked.
"She told Pete to take us to the garden. I'd be willing to
bet even money that a search of that garden would turn up Harvey
Taylor's body."
Remington shook his head ruefully. "She seemed like such
a nice old lady, too."
"Just goes to show that appearances can be deceiving, Remington,"
Laura told him, frowning as they came to the longest stretch of
open ground between themselves and the fence. "There's no
way we can get across that lawn and out of here without being
seen."
Catching sight of the garage, Remington tapped her shoulder. "Come
with me. I have an idea."
They kept to the shadows until they reached the side door, then
it was Laura's turn to keep a nervous watch as Remington picked
the lock and opened it, ushering her inside. The car was an antique.
A 30s model Rolls Royce limousine, and Remington smiled. "Make
sure the garage doors are unlocked and then get in."
Laura shook her head. "You're NOT going to steal her car,"
she whispered as he opened the driver's side door as quietly as
possible.
"Would you rather take your chances with Pete out there?"
he asked, ducking beneath the dash. "Should be a piece of
cake," he muttered, pulling some wires loose.
Laura went to the double doors of the garage and released the
latch, peering cautiously through the small opening for any sign
of Pete or Mrs. Jameson. "Coming, Laura? I'm almost ready."
She got into the passenger side of the car and ducked down. "Ready,
Remington," she told him, and was rewarded with a flash of
white teeth as he smiled.
Touching the wires together, he quickly sat up as the engine roared
to noisy life. "Here we go! Just stay down."
He put the car into gear and let off the clutch, sending the heavy
car hurtling through the doors as they parted to allow the car
to pass. He saw Pete standing there, gun ready, and turned on
the headlights, blinding the man, causing him to fire wildly.
Laura popped up to see what was going on, but Remington pulled
her back down as a bullet crashed through the windshield on her
side of the car. "I said stay down!" he reminded her
as he steered the car toward the gates.
Pete chased them down the drive, firing several shots. Remington
ducked as a bullet came through the back glass and whizzed past
his head en route to the windshield. The glass was shattered,
making it difficult to see where he was going, and for a second
he was afraid he'd taken a wrong turn until he caught a glimpse
of the heavy iron gate before them. "Hang on, Laura,"
he told her, pressing harder on the gas and gritting his teeth
as the car crashed through the gate with the sickening sound of
metal against metal.
Laura sat up cautiously, looking behind the car. "We did
it!" she said, smiling at him.
Remington placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close
to him. "So we did," he agreed, then frowned as the
engine began to cough and sputter before jerking to a stop.
Laura frowned as well. "What's wrong?"
"The bloody gas tank's on empty," he muttered.
"We're out of gas?"
"Apparently so," he said, tapping on the gauge as if
it might suddenly tell him something else. "Damn." Looking
at her, he said, "I guess we can walk back to the Rabbit,"
he said, looking behind them. "Doesn't look as though Pete's
followed us."
"Walk? Here?" Laura questioned. "I think the last
time we tried to walk in this area, we wound up sitting at a bus
stop, necking to avoid the police."
He smiled at the memory. "Too bad we don't have time to recreate
that moment," he told her, opening his door. "Shall
we?"
Walking down the quiet street, he arm around her shoulders, Laura
leaned toward Remington. "Do you hear something behind us?"
she asked him.
He nodded. "Just keep walking. Too bad there's never a policeman
around when you NEED one, isn't it? Right now, I'd forego necking
on a bench just to know that we were safe."
They sped up, their pursuer sped up. "The car should be right
around this corner," Laura told him.
As they approached the small car, lights came on behind them,
sending flashes of red and blue into the darkness, illuminating
everything with an eerie wash of color. Laura sighed in relief
as she and Remington turned toward the police car and waited for
it to stop. "Am I glad to see you, officer," she said.
"Really?" the young policeman said, his eyes narrowed.
"Why is that?"
"Thank goodness you finally got here, officer," Pete
said, running up to the police car, out of breath. "Mrs.
Jameson will be glad you caught them."
"Caught US, mate?" Remington asked. "We haven't
done anything."
"You stole Mrs. Jameson's car and then abandoned it,"
Pete accused. "They broke into the house and when I caught
them, they stole the car to escape."
Upon that accusation, the police man said, "Against the car,"
to Laura and Remington. "Hands on the hood."
"I think the term is `Spread `em,'" Remington sighed,
glancing at Laura as the young man searched them both.
"I can explain everything, Officer-McNally," Remington
said, reading the man's name tag as he glanced around. "My
wallet is in my pocket with my identification. I'm Remington Steele,
and this is my associate, Laura Holt," he said.
McNally took out the wallet and opened it, keeping a close eye
on Remington and Laura.
"Miss Holt and I are working on a case."
Laura watched as McNally looked at the ID in the light from his
car. "We've uncovered evidence that Mrs. Jameson killed Harvey
Taylor and that this man here helped her to cover up the crime.
He tried to kill Mr. Steele and me."
"Did you take the car?" he asked, handing the wallet
back.
"It was the only way we could escape," Laura insisted.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Steele, but I'm going to have to take you
downtown until this is straightened out." He looked nervously
at Pete. "I imagine they'll want to see you there too, Mr-?"
"Dawson. Pete Dawson," Pete said, handing McNally his
drivers license. "I'm Mrs. Jameson's chauffeur. She's expecting
me back at the house. Look, she's pretty upset right now. I'll
be in once I get her taken care of, okay?"
"Officer, you HAVE to take him in as well," Laura said.
"He's an accomplice after the fact to murder."
"Mrs. Jameson's a friend of the Commissioner," Pete
reminded the young policeman. "She wouldn't hesitate to make
a call if you don't let me go back to the house and get her settled."
"You've got an hour, Mr. Dawson," Officer McNally told
him, handing him back the license.
"I'll be there," Dawson told him, then watched as McNally
pulled out a set of handcuffs.
"Are those really necessary, Officer?" Remington asked
as his left wrist was cuffed securely to Laura's right one.
"My partner's not here," McNally told them, opening
the back door of the police car for them. "Please, Mr. Steele-don't
make this any harder, okay?"
Remington and Laura got into the car, and looked out the back
glass as it pulled away to see Pete Dawson turn back toward the
Jameson house. "You're making a BIG mistake, Officer McNally,"
she said.
"I didn't have much choice, Miss," he said. "Mrs.
Jameson IS a friend of the Commissioner," he told her. "She'd
have my job if I didn't take you two in for stealing that car
of hers. It's her pride and joy. Even I know that, and I've only
been on this beat for a week."
Laura sat back, frustrated, as Remington took her hand in his.
"I have a very bad feeling about all this, Laura," he
whispered, lifting his hand to her hair. "If Mrs. Jameson
has that much pull, we could be in trouble." She felt him
fumbling with the handcuffs, felt the pressure release, and resisted
the impulse to look down. He grinned for a second. "You're
not feeling well," he said.
"But," she began, only to stop as he looked at her with
concern.
"Are you all right, Miss Holt?"
She moaned loudly, causing McNally to glance into the mirror at
her. "Is she okay?"
"I think she might have been injured when Mr. Dawson was
shooting at us," Remington told him. Laura moaned again,
louder this time. "I'm afraid she's going to be sick, Officer,"
he warned. "If I were you, I'd pull over. Just for a moment."
McNally turned around to look at Laura, who was moaning loudly
now, her hair hiding her face from his view. His eyes wide, the
young policeman pulled the car to the side of the road and got
out, opening the door nearest Laura. She tumbled from the car,
and it took a second for McNally to realize that Remington hadn't
followed her.
That second was long enough for Remington,- who had fastened one
end of the handcuffs to the fence between the seats, - to clasp
the other end onto a shocked McNally's right wrist. "What
the -? HEY!" he said, pulling on the handcuff.
Remington deftly plucked the keys to the handcuffs from the man's
shirt pocket and tossed them across the street, while Laura took
his gun and placed it on the far side of the front seat, well
out of reach. "Tell Lt. Jarvis we'll be in touch," Remington
told McNally.
"Help!" McNally yelled. "Someone! ANYONE!"
His cries followed Laura and Remington down the street. "Detective
Jarvis?" Laura questioned.
"We're going to need SOMEONE on our side, Laura," he
told her. "And who better than Jarvis?"
To Be Continued. . .