After introducing the "Remington
Steele Agency's most able and valued associate, Laura Holt,"
and watching as Laura rose and sat back down stiffly, Harry yielded
the podium back to Gordon Hunter. Not ready to go back and face
Laura's obvious anger, he remained near Hunter as the man revealed
his creation, the Hunter Jetstar 6000.
Once done, Harry knew he could no longer put off returning to
the table and Laura. She was sitting there, furious, her chest
rising and falling as she attempted to control her temper. As
he slid back into his chair, he said softly, "I'm sorry,
Laura. I didn't know he was going to do that."
"How DARE you," she said in a controlled voice. "What
are you going to do when Mr. Steele arrives?" Laura asked,
hitting his arm.
Harry smiled, straightening his tie, as a camera's flash went
off in his direction. "I'd like to meet the man whose shoes
I'm attempting to fill. How am I doing so far?"
"Atrociously," Laura sneered. "You're NOTHING like
Mr. Steele. He's HONEST," she rose slightly as she continued.
"Dedicated-" Harry pulled her back to her seat so not
to create a scene, smiling at passersby. "Better looking.
You're nothing but a treacherous liar," she hit him again
with her hand, "a cheap crook, a cut-rate CON MAN!"
She used her purse to hit him once more, then rose quickly, starting
toward the dance floor -away from him. But Harry moved to follow
her, taking her into his arms. "Let GO of me!" she orders
him. "You LIED to me!"
Harry smiled again as several heads turned in the direction of
her voice and led her into the steps of the dance. "No, I
didn't," he said pleasantly, "I simply allowed you to
believe something that you already believed. That wasn't a lie."
"You're splitting hairs," Laura pointed out, still breathing
heavily. "Dammit Harry, how am I ever go to explain all of
this to-"
"To Mr. Steele?" Harry finished. "Impeccable man,
your Mr. Steele. You know, there's not a piece of lint, a speck
of dandruff, a hank of hair on any of his suits? And he obviously
wears a shirt once and then discards it, since there's no laundry
marks to be found. The same with the shoes. The soles seem never
to have touched the ground. Not one single, solitary scuff mark."
Laura met his look. "The man's fastidious. Almost to a fault."
"Bald too?"
"Of COURSE not!"
"Then he's blessed. I'm forever plucking stray hairs out
of my comb and brush. Positively demoralizing, but an inescapable
part of the human condition." He paused. "Does any of
this say anything to you, Laura? It does to me.." They stop
dancing as he says, "It fairly shouts: Remington Steele in
an elaborate ruse. He does not exist." He watched her face.
"You invented a male employer out of whole cloth because
no one would hire a female private detective. Admit it."
"And if I did?" Laura asked warily. "What are you
going to do about it? Use it go get what you want and then disappear
out of my life again?"
Harry shook his head, pulling her close again and moving with
the music. "I don't want the gems, Laura. I've told you that
they're quite safe as long as they're in your custody." He
saw her look of patent disbelief. "I never planned to become
Remington Steele, Laura. I was trying to find a way to evade Kessler
and Neff. They were none to happy with their night in a Los Angeles
jail, and when they found me this morning, they were prepared
to kill me. Answering that page for Remington Steele seemed to
be the only way out- and then Hunter was there, taking me to the
security office -"
"You could have told me -"
"What? 'Oh, by the way, Gordon Hunter thinks I'm your boss
for some reason?' I can just see that." He sighed. "Laura,
I had two reasons for coming to Los Angeles. First, I wanted to
make certain those gems were safe from those two cretins."
"And the second?"
"To find out more about the mysterious Remington Steele,"
he told her. "Not my idea. Daniel's concerned that he's never
met the gentleman. Apparently you've never told him?"
"No," Laura said, catching sight of Murphy and Bernice
entering the room. Both looked agitated, and Bernice was waving
at her. "But I might have to tell Murphy about YOU,"
she muttered. Pulling away, she said, "Stay here."
"I will," he told her. A local businessman approached
him and introduced himself as Laura moved to where Murphy and
Bernice were standing.
"That guy's a fake, Laura," Murphy told her, holding
out the photo. "I KNEW there was something about him."
"I know, Murphy. I know," she agreed in a resigned tone.
"Murphy was right, wasn't he, Laura?" Bernice asked,
watching her carefully. "You already knew that he wasn't
Special Agent Pearson, didn't you?"
"I can explain-"
"I think that's a very good idea," Murphy agreed, taking
her arm. "Keep an eye on him, Bernice."
"You got it."
"Where are we going?" Laura asked.
"To find a place to talk."
Harry glanced up to see Murphy leading Laura from the room and
frowned. Apparently Laura's associate was none to happy with the
turn of events. Bernice came toward him, fire in her dark eyes.
"Ah, Miss Wolfe-"
"It's FOX," she reminded him.
The man with Harry smiled at Bernice. "And who is this ravishing
creature, Mr. Steele?" he asked.
"Bernice -" he hesitated, then grinned at her. "Fox.
The agency's capable and invaluable receptionist. Have you had
the pleasure of meeting Mr. Davenport, Bernice?" Harry asked.
"Of Davenport Motors?"
"No," Bernice said, flattered by the attention of one
of the wealthiest men in the city as he took her arm and led her
toward the dance floor.
"Shall we, Miss Fox?"
Harry smiled as her attention was distracted. He had to find Kessler
and Neff, and make sure that they didn't get those gems that were
on display across the room.
**********
"Murphy,-" Laura began as he dragged her from the elevator
toward a hotel room door. "What are you doing?" she
asked as he knelt before the door and proceeded to pick the lock.
There was a cut in the wood of the door, she noticed, frowning.
"Searching your friend's room," Murphy told her as the
lock gave and he opened the door to usher her inside. "It's
as good a place as any for you to explain to me what the hell's
going on around here."
She watched as he opened several dresser drawers. "You can't
search -" she began, only to stop as he found five passports.
"Oh, really? Why not? Because I might find these?" he
asked, opening them and reading the names. "Douglas Quintain,
England: Michael O'Leary, Ireland; Paul Fabrini, Italy; John Morrell,
France; Richard Blaine, Australia." He looked up. "Those
names sound familiar."
"They're from Humphrey Bogart movies," Laura told him
in a tired voice. "He likes Humphrey Bogart."
"Who IS this guy, Laura?" Murphy asked, realizing that
she had to know him well to know that he was a Bogey fan.
"He's an old friend," Laura admitted. "I've known
him for a long time. Murphy, he's not here to steal the gems.
He wants to help us keep Kessler and Neff from stealing them."
Murphy had opened the desk drawer, and now drew out some papers.
"You're certain about that, Laura?" he asked.
"As much as I can be. He gave me his word-"
"Which would buy you a cup of coffee if you had a quarter
to go with it," Murphy said, holding out the papers. "Look
at these."
Laura took the papers, her earlier uncertainity returning as she
looked at the sketches. They were easily recognizable as the plans
for the security office, the laundry area, even a time table of
when the gems were supposed to arrive and leave. He'd promised,
she reminded herself, even though the evidence in her hand screamed
that he'd been lying to her all along. Laura went to the closet.
"Let's see if we can find anything else that ties him into
- " She squealed as she opened the closet door to reveal
the body of Ben Pearson hanging on the door. Turning, she moved
away, trying to catch her breath.
"I think we've found the evidence, Laura," Murphy said.
"He's a murderer."
Laura stood there, stunned, until she heard Murphy pick up the
telephone. "What are you doing?"
"Calling the police," he told her. "There's been
a murder- and we KNOW who did it."
"No," Laura insisted. "Harry's not a murderer,
Murphy."
"How long has it been since you've seen him, Laura?"
Murphy wanted to know.
"Eight years," she said.
"That's a long time. Someone like that - sometimes it's not
much of a leap from thief to murderer. Laura, he's after the gems-
and he's going to take us down with him."
"Which is EXACTLY why we can't call the police," Laura
reminded him. "If he's arrested now, by the police, the papers
will say he's Remington Steele. And to prove he's not, we'd have
to provide a REAL Mr. Steele. No, we have to bring him in, Murphy.
It's the only way we can clear the agency's name in this."
Murphy hung up the telephone. "Laura, are you trying to save
HIM? Or the agency?"
Laura hesitated only a moment. "Murphy, IF Harry murdered
Special Agent Pearson, I'll personally hand him over to the police.
Now let's go find him shall we?"
Murphy shook his head, then followed her from the room.
Bernice was in the lobby, looking flustered. "I'm sorry,
Laura," she said when asked about Harry's whereabouts. "He
got away. He distracted me and when I looked around he was gone."
Laura looked into the quiet banquet room. "Has the party
already broken up?"
"Yeah. I don't think Mr. Hunter's in a very good mood, either.
Last I saw, he was carrying a half empty bottle of wine around
with him."
Laura looked at Murphy. "You try to find Harry and the other
two. I'll go tell Mr. Hunter that someone might try to steal the
gems."
Murphy watched her walk away. "Who's- Harry?" Bernice
asked. "Would someone care to explain all this to ME?"
"While we look for 'Harry'," Murphy told her, leading
her across the lobby to the bar. It was as good a place as any
to start his search.
**********
He was crossing the lobby again when he saw Laura emerge from
the banquet room and head for the elevator. He'd sent Bernice
home, telling her that he and Laura would handle things, and now
he followed Laura, watching as the elevator lights rose toward
the penthouse floor. Of course, he realized. He should have checked
the room they'd taken for Steele. Since "Harry" was
pretending to be Steele, it made sense that he'd be in Steele's
room. Murphy pressed the elevator for the button. He'd bet even
money that Laura's old friend was also a crony of her step father.
Both of them had the same smarmy charm that set off every alarm
in Murphy's brain- and had women hanging all over them. Even Laura
wasn't immune to it, apparently. He got into the elevator and
pressed the button for the penthouse. He just hoped that she was
sensible enough not to put everything on the line for someone
like HIM.
**********
Harry frowned as he looked over the plans he'd retrieved from
the hotel office. Being Remington Steele certainly had its advantages,
he mused. If he HAD been planning to steal those gems, it would
have been terribly easy as Steele. But at the moment, his main
concern was trying to figure out the route Kessler and Neff would
use to get to their quarry. He heard a noise at the door- recognized
Laura's attempt to pick the lock and quickly carried the plans
into the bedroom. No sense in upsetting her by letting her know
that he had the plans here. Once they were safely out of sight,
Harry went to the door as Laura's hand and arm appeared, trying
to unfasten the security chain.
Slapping her hand away, he waited for her to withdraw before undoing
the chain and opening the door. "I was beginning to think
you'd skipped out," she said.
"I tried to find Kessler and Neff - have you seen Pearson?
I can't find anywhere, either."
"Have you looked in your other room?" Laura asked as
Harry used his foot to shove the plans further beneath the bed
before closing the door.
"Why should I?" Harry asked.
Murphy spoke from the door. "Get it overwith, Laura and turn
him in."
"Turn me in? Laura, I've been honest with you on this. I'm
not here to steal the gems. I gave you my word."
"The word of a thief?" Murphy snorted.
"Kessler and Neff are thieves," Harry pointed out. "I'm
an artist."
"You're a MURDERER," Murphy accused, dropping a hand
on his shoulder. When Harry frowned, he said, "Ben Pearson,
the REAL Ben Pearson, is hanging from a coathook in your room.
Murdered."
Harry closed his eyes. "Those filthy animals -"
"Who?" Laura asked, not wanting to believe that Murphy
was right.
"Kessler and his trained ape, Neff." He looked at Murphy.
"He was killed with a knife, wasn't he? Blade about six inches
long, an incision and upper thrust just below the third vertebrae?"
"Hell of an accurate description for an innocent man,"
Murphy pointed out.
"I've been chasing those two animals halfway across Europe.
Believe me, I'm familiar with their work. If you want them, you'll
have to move fast. They'll go for the gems tonight."
Laura asked, "What makes you so certain?"
"I would." Murphy turned away, shaking his head as Harry
faced Laura. "But I'm not going to. How many times do I have
to say it before you believe me?"
"We found some - plans in your room, too," Laura told
him.
Harry lifted his eyes to the ceiling, cursing himself for not
having gotten rid of the bloody things. "I was angry at you
last night, Laura," he admitted. "For a few minutes,
I CONSIDERED making a go for the gems. But I decided against it."
"There's still the matter of Pearson," Murphy reminded
him.
"Only if you believe I killed him," Harry said, his
blue eyes locked with Laura's dark ones.
"I do," Murphy said.
Harry's gaze flickered only briefly toward him before returning
to Laura. "Your opinion doesn't bother me. I'm asking Laura.
Do you, Laura? Do you think I killed Ben Pearson?" He could
sense her confusion, her uncertainity. She WANTED to trust him,
but she was frightened.
"I don't know," she admitted softly, obviously torn.
"Don't waste time agonizing, Laura. You know me. What would
Remington Steele do in a situation like this?" he asked.
"Call the police," Murphy answered, picking up the telephone.
"Go ahead," Harry told him, picking up his tuxedo jacket
and putting it on.
"Where are you going?" Murphy wanted to know.
"To find Messirs Kessler and Neff," Harry informed them.
"They've been trying to corner me all day, I think it's time
they found me. Think you could bring Pearson's body up here, Murphy?"
he asked as he closed the door behind him.
Murphy gave Laura a confused glance, then finished dialing the
number for the police.
**********
Harry knew the only way to prove to Laura that he was sincere
was to help capture Kessler and Neff and trick them into admitting
that they had killed Pearson. He didn't really blame her for not
being sure -
the evidence DID point in his direction, after all.
In the lobby, he picked up a house phone and dialed the hotel
operator, asking her to page Remington Steele. "I've already
tried his room. There's no answer. Thank you." He put the
phone down on the table, then turned away, waiting for the page
to begin.
As the young woman passed, calling Steele's name, Harry paused
a beat before responding.
"Miss?"
"Mr. Steele," she said with a smile. "Over here."
She led him to another telephone. He picked it up.
"Steele here-" He grunted, hanging up the telephone
as he felt a knife in his back.
"We've been looking for you, Mr. Steele," Kessler said
menacingly.
"There's no avoiding good friends, is there?" Harry
commented.
Kessler wasn't a very happy man, Harry noted. "This time,
we brought our own transportation."
"I'd wager you'd have an easier time cracking that safe if
you had the specifications."
"And were would we get them?" Kessler asked, curious.
"Remington Steele. After all, he's the one who's providing
security for the gems. Shall we?"
To Be Continued ---