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As they sat in the limo, watching
the ambulance pull away, Laura said, "I thought Monroe was
supposed to be keeping an eye on her."
Steele picked up the telephone and dialed his friend's number
as Mildred pointed out, "The manager said she didn't have
any visitors,-"
"No," Laura corrected, "he said that he hadn't
*seen* anyone else go into that room. That didn't mean that no
one did. Only that he didn't see them."
Steele hung up, frowning. "No answer."
Laura made a decision. "Mildred, I want you to take a cab
back to the office - do some more digging into Sheila Robbins'
background."
"Sure, boss. Where will you and Mr. Steele be?"
"Talking to Monroe - and then we're going to get inside that
room," she said, looking at the slowly disbursing crowd of
onlookers, watching as a young policeman placed yellow "Police-
Do Not Enter" tape across the closed doorway of Room 14.
**********
Monroe smiled as he saw Steele and Laura enter the electronics
warehouse. Rising from his desk chair, he extended a hand. "Mick.
Didn't expect to see you here -" His dark eyes slid to Laura.
"But it's always a pleasure to see Laura," he teased
in that softly accented voice.
Laura returned his smile, wondering yet again what the connection
was between Harry, or "Mick', as Monroe called him, and his
old friend. She knew that they had known each other during the
old days, but Harry had never elaborated on that, never told her
the story of their adventures. "Thank you, Monroe,"
she told him now.
"What can I do for you?" Monroe asked. "A new VCR,
perhaps? I know. I big screen television-"
Laura saw the interested gleam in Harry's blue eyes, and spoke
quickly. "Maybe later, Monroe. Did you have someone watching
Sheila Robbins?"
He nodded. "Yes. Louis."
"When did he stop watching her?" Steele questioned,
his attention still half on the television that Monroe had pointed
out.
"As far as I know, he's still on the job," Monroe told
them. "Why, Mick?"
Steele's attention was wholly on his friend. "Sheila Robbins
apparently committed suicide last night," he told Monroe,
who frowned at the news. "When did you last hear from Louis?"
"Around midnight. He called just before I went home. He said
that the woman had met with someone in a limo downtown - then
went back to her hotel."
"And you haven't heard from him since?"
"No. I was thinking about going to find him- he was supposed
to check in at eight-" All three were very aware that it
was almost noon.
Laura asked, "Did he recognize the man she met with?"
"Even if Louis hadn't recognized him, I would have known
who it was. Marco was following the limo," he told them.
"Craig Malcolm," Steele said, his jaw hardening.
"Yes. Marco's been on the man since you called yesterday.
In fact, he just checked in a few minutes ago. Left a message,
since I was out of the officeasking if anyone had seen Louis this
morning. "He said the two of you had spoken with Malcolm
at the cemetery."
Scratching his ear ruefully, Steele nodded. "If you want
to call it that."
Monroe looked thoughtful. "Why don't I try to find Louis
and get back to you, Mick?"
"We'd appreciate it, Monroe," Steele told him, shaking
his hand.
Monroe, ever the salesman, grinned. "Sure I can't interest
you in that TV, mate?"
Steele took note of Laura's warning look. "Not today, mate.
Keep us informed about Louis."
"I'll call you as soon as I find out anything," Monroe
promised.
**********
As the limo pulled into traffic, Laura looked at Harry. "How
long have you known Monroe?"
"A long time," he told her, glancing at his watch. "Shall
we see about having a look inside Sheila Robbins' room before
lunch?" he asked.
"Why do you do that?" Laura wanted to know in a frustrated
tone.
After telling Fred to return to the Flamingo Hotel, he countered,
"Do what?"
"Not answer my questions about Monroe."
He sighed heavily, unnecessarily checking his shirt cuffs. "I've
known Monroe longer than I knew Daniel," he said. "Not
much more to tell than that."
Laura knew he was glossing over the truth, not wanting to remember
something- or not wanting to upset her. He was *too* interested
in the razor sharp crease of his trousers. Knowing from past experience
that she wasn't going to get anywhere, she sat back against the
leather seat, looking out of the window. Someday, she was going
to know everything there was to know about this man. If it was
the last thing she ever did.
She missed Harry's grin as he watched her reaction. Some things
would never change, he thought.
**********
The manager of the Flamingo Hotel looked up as they entered the
office. "Mr and Mrs Steele. I thought you might be back."
"And why is that?" Laura wanted to know.
"Well, you're lookin' for information about your father's
death- and you said that the Robbins dame had something to do
with that-"
"I said we weren't sure," Laura reminded him.
Steele smiled amiably at the beady eyed, overweight man. "Would
it be possible for us to get into Room 14?" he asked. "Have
a look round -"
The man shook his head. "Sorry. Cops sealed the room. No
one gets in there 'til they say otherwise."
Steele put his hand into his pocket, then drew it out, placing
it on the counter between them. Easily visible was the corner
of a fifty dollar bill. "You're certain? We just want to
have a quick look- if it *was* a suicide, what harm can it do?"
The man's eyes narrowed greedily, fixed on what he could see of
the money. But still he hesitated. "I don't know. Could get
into a lot of trouble -"
Steele's hand returned to his pocket again- and when it found
the counter again, it was to slide *two* fifty dollar bills across
to the man. "Only if someone finds out."
Taking the crisp money in his hand, the manager slid the key into
Steele's possession. "Ten minutes. Any longer, I call the
cops and tell them you broke in while I wasn't lookin',"
he warned.
"Thank you," Laura said, a sour expression on her face
as they left the office. She glanced up at Harry. "A hundred
dollars?" she whispered. "I thought you didn't carry
cash."
"Ever since the time we returned to Los Angeles to find that
we'd been declared dead, I've found it prudent to keep a small
amount of cash on hand for emergencies."
Laura paused as he unlocked the door. "*How* small an amount?"
His shrug should have warned her. "Five hundred." Stepping
aside, he indicated that she should precede him into the room.
Giving him a look that said they would discuss this later, Laura
ducked beneath the yellow plastic tape to enter Sheila Robbins'
room.
Glancing around the dim room, Laura went to the desk where a writing
pad lay. "I'll look around in here," she told him. "You
check the bath -"
His hand was already on the doorknob when they both heard the
noise. Something falling - inside the bathroom. Laura nodded as
Steele looked at her, then he opened the door to see a pair of
legs protruding from a small window that was far too small to
allow such egress. "Hold it, mate," Steele said, grabbing
the man's legs and pulling him back into the room.
"You!" Laura burst out, upon seeing the face of the
reporter who had broken the story of her father's death in the
papers.
"Reeves, wasn't it?" Steele asked. "Reporter for
the Times?"
"Yeah. Phil Reeves."
"What are you doing here?" Laura demanded of him.
"I would imagine looking for the same thing you two are:
proof that Sheila Robbins didn't commit suicide."
"And why would that be important to you, Mr. Reeves?"
she asked cynically.
"Because I happen to believe that she was killed by someone
in Craig Malcolm's employ to keep her quiet."
Steele and Laura looked at each other. "How did you get in
here?"
The middle aged man smiled. "I asked a friend of mine to-
distract the manager while I picked the lock. She's supposed to
be back in a few minutes to distract him again so I can leave."
Laura moved into the bedroom as the two men followed her. "Mr.
Reeves, why do you think Craig Malcolm would want to keep Sheila
Robbins quiet?"
"Because, to put it bluntly, Mrs. Steele, she knew where
all the bodies were buried that could bring Malcolm down."
Steele glanced out of the front window. "I suggest that we
find somewhere else to finish this conversation, Laura. I think
Mr. Reeves' distraction just returned."
Reeves and Laura joined him at the window. Watching the well endowed
blonde in black spandex, Laura frowned. "That's here,"
Reeves confirmed.
Once the manager's attention was caught, Steele opened the front
door, shooing Reeves and Laura into the limo as he went to the
office to return the key. The manager barely acknowledged his
presence as he spoke to the woman leaning toward him across the
counter, exposing her rather obvious "charms".
"Where to?" Reeves asked.
"Our office."
**********
Mildred was on the telephone when the three of them entered. "Here
he is now. Mr. Steele - it's for you. Monroe." As he took
the telephone, Mildred eyed Reeves. "What's *he* doing here?"
she asked Laura.
"Looking for some answers, I think, Mildred- but *first*,
he's going to answer a few." She looked at Harry as he hung
up the telephone, a disturbed frown on his face. "What's
wrong? Did Monroe find Louis?"
"Yes, he did. Monroe's on his way over here."
"Is he bringing Louis with him? What did he have to say about
where he's been since midnight?"
"He didn't say anything, Laura. Monroe found him in an alley
not far from the hotel. Fresh needle marks in his arm. He's dead."
To Be Continued . . .