The left side of the small duplex
certainly appeared pleasant, Laura supposed. Located in a Mexican
neighborhood, on a street filled with other, similar houses, nothing
seemed out of place. Smiling, dark haired children seemed to be
everywhere, and as the limo had turned onto the street, Laura
saw their smiles change to curiosity about who they were. "I
don't think the limo was what Daddy had in mind when he suggested
we come down here and keep a low profile," she told Remington.
"Really, Laura, would you have preferred that we brought
your car? Or the Auburn? At least Fred can stay with the limo."
As they got out, Remington told the chauffeur, "Keep he engine
running, Fred."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Steele."
Edward had called them at the station, telling them that Mildred
had the Inspector from the Board so tied up that he thought it
was safe for them to check out the address he'd found. But he'd
warned them to stay away from the police. The last thing they
needed was to be caught working on this case now.
There was no answer when they knocked on the door of the small
house- but then, Laura hadn't really expected one. Glancing around,
she reached into her purse and pulled out a lock pick. "Cover
me," she said, only to freeze as another voice asked a question.
"You really gonna try and pick that lock, lady?"
She and Remington both turned to face the young Hispanic male.
"Uh, well, No. No, of course not-,"
"You got business with Conchita? Maybe you're from immigration?"
Remington smiled widely. "Believe me, -" he paused,
waiting.
"Julio."
"Believe me, Julio, we're definitely NOT immigration,"
he said reassuringly. "But we are looking for some information
about Miss de la Vega."
A sly look came over the boy's face as he took in Remington's
tailored suit- and then glanced at the limo at the curb. "You're
not cops. They were here earlier. Told us that Conchita was killed
last night by her gringo boyfriend."
"How long had Conchita been living here?" Laura asked.
He shrugged. "Can't remember."
Without blinking an eye, Remington pulled out a twenty-dollar
bill. "Does this help your memory?" The boy grinned,
and made a grab for the money. "Uh-uh. Let's see how well
your memory comes back first, shall we?"
"She came here about a week ago. Said her boyfriend got her
into the country, that he'd been with Immigration, but he'd gotten
fired and wanted to get back at them. He rented this place for
her, found her a job."
"Did you ever SEE the boyfriend?" Laura asked.
"Saw, him, yeah. Always late at night, like he was trying
to sneak in without anyone knowing he was here, you know?"
"And could you tell what he looked like?" When he hesitated,
Remington drew out another twenty, ignoring Laura's sigh of disapproval.
"It's pretty dark around here at night. The streetlights
don't work so good down here. But he was medium height, I guess.
Brown, curly hair, wore jeans and a cloth jacket, light colored."
"Did she ever mention a name?"
"Si. Antonio. It was all the chick could talk about. How
happy she was that she was finally back with him."
"I suppose you told the police all of this," Remington
commented.
Julio spread his hands before him. "Hey, man. I'm no snitch.
I like to keep a low profile when it comes to the Man, you know."
"Yes," Remington agreed. He held out the money, then
stopped. "Uh, one more question. Would you happen to know
where Conchita was working?"
"Sure," Julio said, smiling as Remington released the
money. "Import-export house on the docks. "Sheaffer's,
I think."
"Thank you." Remington nodded, and then he and Laura
turned back toward the limo.
"Forty dollars?" Laura questioned as he opened the door.
"Don't you think you were a little over generous?"
"We got the information, didn't we?" he asked, and she
found that she couldn't argue with that. "The docks, Fred.
Sheaffer Import-Export."
Tony closed the door to Jessica's loft, then turned to look at
her. "Okay. Look, I need you to just listen. Let me tell
this-," he began.
"Antony, I-"
Tony placed his hands on her shoulders. "It's gonna be hard
enough to tell this without you interrupting, okay?" He turned
her around and steered her gently toward the sofa. Jessica sat
down, and then watched him pacing the room. "I know it bothers
you sometimes that I won't talk about things I did before I left
the Company. Trouble is, some of the things I was involved in
are still classified, and I CAN'T talk about them. Not the details,
anyway." He sat down in the chair, resting his elbows on
his knees. "About two years before I met Laura and Steele,
I had a problem on a case. Got burned, two British agents died
because of my screw up. The only reason they didn't cashier me
out then was because I threatened to go public with it."
He grinned at Jessica's expression. "I wouldn't have, but
they didn't know that." He took a deep breath. "Anyway,
they stuck me in undercover immigration work- keeping illegals
out of the country, doing an occasional drug bust. Conchita WAS
hired to be a secretary- but she was so totally hopeless. She
couldn't type, couldn't take dictation, and could barely answer
a telephone the right way. Her- talents were, well, elsewhere."
Jessica sat back, listening, her eyes on Tony. "Didn't take
her long to show me exactly what those talents were, and well,
I guess I didn't see any reason to stop her. She was good company,
and I felt more than a little alone. None of my old friends would
talk to me, my family- well, the old man still wasn't the most
receptive person in the world. Conchita helped me out during a
pretty low time in my life. She was always talking about coming
to America, and I told her I'd get her here. I never said that
we'd be together after that. Anything else was in her mind."
He rose from the chair to pace again. "When I got the assignment
to prove the Steele's marriage was fake, I saw a chance to get
back in the Company's good graces by blackmailing Steele with
that, so that he would help me in England. I told Conchita to
stay in Mexico City, that I'd send for her when I got back to
the States."
"But you didn't."
"No. I didn't. The last time I saw her as at the Airport
in Las Hadas. I figured she'd go back to Mexico City, find someone
else and forget about me. Look, I know what I did was wrong. I
used her. But I didn't kill her, Jessica."
"I know that, Tony. I never thought you did," she told
him, lifting a hand to him. Tony took that hand and sat down beside
her. "Thank you for telling me about all of it. But you didn't
have to."
"I wanted you to know. And- well, it's customary for a lawyer
to know something about their client's background, isn't it?"
"If you're going to trial, yes," Jessica agreed. "If
you DO go to trial- I won't be your lawyer."
Tony frowned, confused. "Why not?"
Now it was her turn to rise from the sofa and pace the room. "Surely
it hasn't escaped your notice that I haven't set foot in a courtroom
on a criminal case."
"But- you bailed me out- and Robert- and . . ."
"Bailing a person out is one thing. Going to trial is another.
If Robert had gone to trial for Lily's death, I would have recommended
a competent criminal lawyer. There are certainly more than enough
of them in this city."
"You're saying that you CAN'T do it?"
"Please, Tony. Just accept it. Laura and Remington can't
find anything to clear you, I'll find you another attorney."
Tony took her arm and turned her around. "Jess, what's going
on? You're a good lawyer. A damn good lawyer! And I KNOW you studied
criminal law at college."
"Yes. But I changed- concentrated on corporate and personal
law. Tony, I haven't set foot in a courtroom to try a criminal
case in years. Not since- since just after I graduated, in fact."
He could see that she was upset, her body was stiff as he pulled
her into his arms. "Well, then, you'd better take a crash
course, Jess. Because I don't want another lawyer." He looked
down at her. "We're in this for the long haul."
Jessica shook her head. "You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me," Tony told her.
Sheaffer Import-Export was a small business set on the docks,
the sign over the door was faded from years of wear from the salt
air and winds. The interior was filled to overflowing with crates,
some open, some awaiting a crowbar to free their contents. From
the back of the warehouse, they heard a scuffling sound, then
someone cried out. "Hello?" Laura called out, as she
and Remington ran toward the small office.
As they neared it, someone ran out, toward a rear exit. "Follow
him!" Laura told Remington, and he veered in that direction
while she continued to the small room. She pushed the thought
that the fleeing man had looked VERY familiar. It couldn't be.
He was supposed to be with Jessica, discussing the case.
Entering the room, she saw the man lying on the floor, blood seeping
onto his shirt from a nasty wound in his chest. Laura knelt beside
him as Remington returned, fighting for breath. "Got away
from me," he told her. "I'm getting too old for this,"
he told her. He nodded at the man on the floor. "How is he?"
Laura placed her fingers to the man's throat, then frowned. "He
won't be getting any older," she confirmed, rifling through
his pockets.
"Laura, what are you doing?" he asked, already certain
he could hear the faint sounds of police sirens. "If we're
caught here, they'll shut us down for good."
"Just trying to find out who he is. Where he fits into things."
She opened the wallet. "Glenn Darnell. His business card
says he owns the place." As she stood, she noticed the appointments
calendar on the desk. Tapping it, she showed it to Remington as
she flipped back through the pages. "Meeting with T.R. Meeting
with- Looks as if he's meet with SOMEONE with the initials T.R.
several times over the last week and a half." Looking up,
she heard the sirens, too. Tearing the pages from the calendar,
and ignoring Remington's groan, she said, "You're right.
Let's get out of here before we have to answer any questions."
As he followed Laura out of the building, Remington commented,
"From the way this case is going, Laura, we MIGHT get to
Paris about the time Patrick graduates from college."
"I don't care what you say, it wasn't HIM!" Laura insisted
for the third time as she and Remington entered the offices.
"Laura, I got a LITTLE better look at him as he was jumping
over that fence, remember?"
Mildred came from Remington's office. "Better look at who,
Boss?" she asked.
"Did you see his FACE?" she asked.
"No," he admitted. "But, Laura, the man was running
away from me, remember?"
"Tony didn't kill that man! You almost sound as if you think
he did!"
Mildred was totally lost. "Killed what man?"
"I'm not saying he meant to. Maybe he was a contact, he and
Antony argued when Darnell wouldn't give him some information,
they struggled-."
"Who's Darnell?" Mildred asked.
"Well, there's one way to settle this," Laura decided,
going to the phone. Glancing at Mildred, she said, "How's
it going in there, Mildred?"
"Palmer left just a few minutes ago. Said he'd be back tomorrow
morning, bright and early." She looked from Laura to Remington.
"Would someone explain to me what's going on?"
"It's just that I happen to be married to the most stubborn,
intractable woman in the world, Mildred," Remington accused.
"She absolutely refuses to believe the evidence of her own
eyes!"
"Hold it right there!" Mildred almost yelled to get
their attention. "What evidence?"
Laura hung up the telephone. "There's no answer at Jessica's."
"That's because she's upstairs," Tony told them as he
entered the office.
"Where the hell have you been?" Laura demanded to know.
Tony backed up a step at the unexpected attack. "Uh, with
Jess. At the loft."
"You're certain of that?" Remington queried.
"Yeah. You can call her, if you want. She'll tell you that
we've been together since we left the jail. Why?"
Laura sent Remington an "I told you so" glance, then
held out the appointment calendar sheets toward Tony. "Did
you know someone by the name of Glenn Darnell?"
"Darnell?" Tony repeated. "No."
"Someone just knifed him- and that someone looked an awfully
lot like you," Laura told him. "According to that, you
met with him five times in the last two weeks. And the first one
has a notation on it that you might be interested in."
Tony flipped back. "Meeting with T.R. about C."
"Whoever put this frame together knew precisely what they
were doing," Remington said. "And Darnell's death just
tightens the noose a bit more."
"Why? I mean, I've got an alibi. I was with Jess."
"But the DA will say that she's lying to protect you, since
you and she are involved," Laura pointed out. "Mildred,
run a check on Glenn Darnell, will you? And check Tony's schedule
for the last two weeks. See if we can put him somewhere else during
those meetings. Where's Daddy?"
"He went to check on something, said he'd be right back.
Said he had another lead," Mildred explained, getting down
to work at the computer.
"I don't know, Laura," Remington said with a tired sigh
as he, Laura, and Tony wandered into his office. "Every corner
we turn in this case just leads down another blind alley."
"You're right," she agreed. "I haven't seen this
tight a frame since Major Descoine framed you for a murder that
never happened."
He gave her a sideways glance. "You don't think-?"
"He's still in prison," Laura confirmed. "And so
is his daughter. Besides, he wouldn't go after Tony. He'd go after
one of us. And everyone we've put away since Tony came to work
here is still in prison."
"Hmm," Remington nodded. "But if it's not someone
from Antony's past, and it's not someone with a grudge against
the agency, then who could it be?"
The printer behind the desk began to clatter. "Not much info
on Darnell, Mrs. Steele," Mildred told them, waiting for
the page to finish printing before tearing it off and joining
them. "Glen Darnell, age 50, inherited Sheaffer Import-Export
when his uncle, Claude Sheaffer-."
"What did you say, Mildred?" Tony asked, interrupting
her and grabbing the print out. "Dear god. It's not me this
guy's after. You were right, Steele. It's Jess."
To Be Continued . . .