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Laura tossed the last file onto the
stack. "Nothing," she complained as Harry came from
the kitchen.
"The thought occurs to me that whoever is behind this had
access to information about you that wouldn't necessarily be common
knowledge."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Who else knew about that trip to Reno? Who would have known
about the wedding -?"
Laura looked thoughtful. "There were eight of us - "
"Do you remember the names? Could you contact them if necessary?"
"I think so. You think someone's been asking questions?"
"How else could this have come to light? Someone who was
there *had* to have talked about it. I think we need to start
making some telephone calls first thing tomorrow morning."
"You're right," Laura agreed, wincing as she nodded.
"Head still hurt?" he asked, coming to sit beside her
and pull her close.
"A little."
"I still think we should have taken you to the hospital to
be checked out - you lost consciousness -and you've probably got
a concussion."
"I'll be fine," she insisted.
"Why don't we call it a day and get some rest before starting
anew tomorrow?"
"Sounds like a good idea to me," she said, letting him
pull her to her feet, then leading the way to the bedroom. As
she entered the room, there was a knock on the apartment door.
Laura's eyes flew to Harry's. "The police?" she suggested.
"Go on. I'll see who it is, tell them you're in bed asleep
and suggest they come back tomorrow -" He closed the bedroom
door and went to the front door. "Lt. Jarvis. This is a surprise.
Rather late to be visiting, isn't it?"
"This isn't a social call, Mr. Steele," Jarvis told
him. "May I come in?"
Remington stepped back. "By all means. I was just about to
turn in -"
Jarvis looked around, taking note of the stack of file folders
on the coffee table. "Is Laura here?"
"She's -"
The bedroom door opened, and Laura appeared. "I thought I
heard- Lieutenant Jarvis," she said. "Awfully late to
be visiting - is there something wrong?" Laura refused to
meet Harry's eyes. She knew he was angry that she'd come out to
talk to Jarvis instead of hiding as he had wanted her to do. But
it wasn't in her nature to hide from a problem.
"I need to know what you were doing downtown at the Hotel
Belvedere this evening."
"The Hotel Belvedere?" Laura repeated, moving to sit
down.
"You and your car were seen by a patrolman around nine thirty
- and he says you left about an hour later."
"I was there on a case," Laura told him. It wasn't a
lie, she told herself. Just because the client was *her* didn't
make it any less a case.
"What case is that, Laura?" he asked.
"You know that I don't have to answer that question, Jimmy,"
she reminded him.
"Did you happen to notice anything strange while you were
there? Hear anything?"
Remington went to stand behind Laura, his hand on her shoulder.
"Why all the questions, Lieutenant?"
"A man was murdered there this evening. Does the name Robert
du Mont mean anything to either of you?"
Remington shook his head. "No. Sorry."
"I've never met anyone by that name," Laura told him,
not really denying, yet not admitting anything. "Who was
he?"
"Not sure yet. His passport said he was French - We're running
a check on him right now." His sharp eyes pinned Laura. "Officer
Davis said that you seemed disoriented when you came out of the
Hotel."
She tilted her head to one side. "I found out something about
the case that bothered me," she explained. "Something
I hadn't expected."
"Strange that you were down there alone. Without backup -"
"I'm a detective, Jarvis," Laura pointed out.
"And you're also just a little foolish, taking chances like
that."
"I beg your pardon?"
Jarvis sighed. "Laura, the two of you still have a lot of
enemies from that Malcolm thing. He had a pretty big organization.
We've picked up a lot of his people, but -"
"You're saying that Laura and I could still be in danger
from that?" Remington asked.
"It's possible. And before you jump me because I hadn't told
you this before, the chances are pretty slim that anyone would
try anything."
Jarvis rose. "Well, if you didn't see anything at the Hotel
- if you remember anything, you'll call?"
"Right away," Laura promised.
His glanced fell on the files. "Doing some research?"
he asked. "Or having the office redone?"
"Research," Laura said.
"Must be an important case," he commented.
"Just about the most important case we've ever had, Lieutenant,"
Remington told him solemnly, following Jarvis to the door.
The police detective started through the door, then turned. "Laura,
if I find out that you were in that room - If there's even *one*
fingerprint that tells me that you're lying, I might not be able
to protect you. It would be better if you came clean now instead
of later."
Remington turned to look at Laura, leaving the decision up to
her. "If I *was* in that room, and I had a good reason-"
Jarvis took a step back into the apartment. "I'd have to
know what that reason was," he said.
"Sit down, Jimmy," Laura invited. Remington closed the
door again as Laura began to speak . . .
**********
An hour later, Remington closed the door again- this time as Jarvis
left. Laura had managed to keep their "fake" marriage
out of things - insisting that Robert du Mont had been dead when
she had entered the hotel room - and that she had been set up.
Jarvis had believed her, and had promised to keep the police from
pulling her in for as long as he could.
"But I don't know how long that might be, Laura, so I'd suggest
that you and Remington find out who's behind this pronto."
Now, as he turned from locking the door, Remington found Laura
standing before the window. He went to her, wrapping his arms
around her. "Are you all right?" he asked softly. She
nodded. "We'd better get to bed. We have a lot to do tomorrow."
"You're right." When he turned away toward the bedroom,
she said, "Harry?" He stopped and looked at her, his
blue eyes in the dim lighting. "Thank you for not stopping
me this evening."
"Laura, I've discovered that I can no more stop you when
you set your mind to something than I can stop a freight train."
He smiled and held out his hand. "Coming, Mrs. Steele?"
Laura placed her hand in his and followed him into the bedroom.
**********
"We got a positive match on the prints from that shooting
tonight, Lt. Jarvis," was the first thing he heard as he
entered the station.
"Really?" he commented, taking the file that he was
handed. "Anything on the deceased?"
"Not yet. We're running him through Interpol, but it will
be tomorrow before we get any response."
"Let me know as soon as you do. What about the gun?"
"The serial number was filed. No way of telling who it belonged
to. Don't even know for sure that it was the murder weapon until
the coroner files his report."
Jarvis nodded, sitting down at his desk as he opened the folder.
The prints were Laura's- the *only* prints other than the victim.
He read the file, then closed it and placed it on the bottom of
the stack on his desk. Maybe he could bury it for a few days.
What was one more murder in a downtown hotel when there were so
many every day in the city? he thought to himself. *I'm doing
what I can, Laura,* he thought. *I just hope you hold up your
end of this or BOTH of our careers might be over*.
**********
Mildred was already at her desk the next morning when they arrived,
her head bent over the computer. "Any news, Mildred?"
Laura asked.
Mildred glanced at Remington, then shook her head. "Nothing
so far."
"I need you to check on a Robert du Mont," Laura told
her as Remington picked up the messages and began to look through
them.
"Who's he?" Mildred asked, already typing.
"You mean who *was* he," Remington corrected. "He
was the man who was here yesterday claiming to be Phillipe du
Pres."
"He's dead?"
Laura turned to Remington. "Why don't you go and call Lt.
Jarvis and see if he's got anything new this morning while I explain
this to Mildred?" she suggested.
"Good idea. Better warn her that there might be some reporters
on this as well-" he said, moving away toward his office.
"Reporters?" Mildred questioned, feeling out of the
loop. "What happened last night?"
"I'll explain in a minute. What was that look when we came
in?"
The receptionist smiled, then glanced quickly toward the door
through which Mr. Steele had vanished before saying, "Our
friend called this morning. He's found it, and will have it here
by Saturday."
"That's good news, anyway. He didn't give you any more information?"
Mildred shook her head. "So what happened?"
**********
Remington was still on the telephone as Laura entered from her
office. "I see. Nothing else? Very well. We will." He
hung up, his eyes on the device. "The only fingerprints were
yours and du Mont's. The gun was verified as the murder weapon
early this morning. According to the coroner, the time of death
was probably right after you and he talked last night on the telephone."
"Anything else?"
"Jarvis has buried the file- he's going to try and put it
on a back burner for a few days."
"Wonder how long that will last?" she wondered. He stood
up, indicating that she should take his chair. "What -"
"You have some telephone calls to make. And you might as
well be comfortable while you do it." She sat down and opened
the address book she'd brought with her, dialing the first number.
When he started toward the door, she frowned. "Where are
you going?"
"To talk to Mildred for a moment. I'll be right back."
He went out, closing the door behind him. "Any luck tracing
Roselli, Mildred?"
"He's nowhere to be found, Chief," she apologized. "I
traced him back to Ireland from London -"
"*Back* to Ireland?" Remington repeated. "When?"
"After he was cleared, he turned around and went back to
Ireland."
Remington's eyes narrowed as he looked at the closed door. "And
after that?"
"He vanished as quickly as he appeared in Mexico. Suddenly
there's no trace of him anywhere again. Immigration's never heard
of him - and Gladys Lynch has been reassigned to a post in New
York City. No one's heard the name, Chief. I even checked with
some old friends in Washington. It's as if he never existed at
all."
"What about his passport? If he left Ireland, he had to have
used it -"
"I'll run it, but I doubt it'll do any good," she told
him. The printer behind her began to make noise, and she turned.
Remington did the same- intending to go back to his office and
Laura - only to stop as Mildred said, "Bingo!" He turned
back, curious about why she sounded so excited.
**********
Laura hung up, crossing another name off the list. Four calls,
no hits. Remington came in with a piece of paper. "I take
it you haven't struck pay dirt?" he asked.
"No." She picked up the telephone again. "What's
that?"
"A report about Phillipe du Pres which explains why he never
got the annulment and never contacted you again."
Laura took the report as the telephone began to ring. "Dead?"
she questioned. "Susan?" she said into the telephone.
"It's Laura - yes, yes it has - No -" She rolled her
eyes. "That's right. Two months ago-" She put down the
paper to keep from being distracted. "Look, Susan, the reason
I'm calling - of course you are - Has anyone been asking questions
about me lately? About college - " She lifted her eyes to
Harry, then picked up her pen. "When? Did you get a name?
What about a newspaper or-? Did you happen to tell him about -
that trip to Reno right after graduation? I see. Did you see him?"
She looked disappointed. "No, no problem. Another one? How
many does that make now? Three? *Five?* I guess I missed one.
Two boys. I have to go, Susan - Thank you. I will. I promise."
She hung up and took a deep breath. "Five kids - Eight years
and five kids."
Remington stored her comments away, putting it on his mental list
of "Things to Discuss with Laura"- right up on top,
along with the Roselli matter. "What did she say?" he
asked.
"About a week ago, a man called, said his name was John Edwards,
that he was a reporter for the Times and was working on a story
about me as a result of the press surrounding the Malcolm case.
Susan got started talking and - well, even in college, she never
knew when to shut up -"
"So she told him all about Phillipe du Pres and Reno."
"She *says* she told him that it was all a joke - "
He tapped the report she had placed on the desk. "Even if
it was a legitimate marriage, this renders the entire thing moot.
With du Pres dead, you can't be accused of bigamy."
Laura picked up the paper. "Kenya? What was he doing in the
wilds of Africa?" she wondered.
Not waiting for her read the entire paper, Remington answered.
"Relief work, according to that. Died of typhoid and was
buried there, since he had no family in France."
"He was an orphan," Laura confirmed. "Poor Phillipe."
"I don't suppose your friend saw this reporter?"
"He handled everything over the telephone," Laura told
him.
"Which leaves us precisely where we were before."
"Except that we know now that I'm *not* a bigamist."
He pulled her to her feet. "I never had any doubts,"
he assured her. "But there's still a murder charge hanging
over your head, remember."
"What reason would I have to kill Robert du Mont? He was
going to tell me the truth - I'm sure of it."
"And took a bullet for is trouble. I think we'd better call
Jarvis with this news, don't you? Perhaps he's come up with something
on du Mont. He said that he was expecting a report from Interpol
any minute."
"While you do that, I'm going to the storeroom to get some
more pens. I noticed that this was your last one -"
"The storeroom?" he asked. "Why don't I go and
fetch the pens while you call Jarvis?" he suggested, moving
toward the door.
"Don't be silly, Harry," Laura insisted, turning him
back toward the desk and into his chair. "Call Jarvis and
I'll be right back."
He picked up the phone, and the moment her back was turned and
she had the door opened, he pressed the intercom button. "Storeroom,"
he said quickly.
Mildred rose quickly from her desk, hoping to head Laura off.
"Did you need something, Mrs. Steele?" she asked, blocking
Laura's way.
"Some pens for Mr. Steele's desk, Mildred," Laura told
her. "Excuse me-"
"I have some pens at my desk-" the portly blonde woman
offered.
Laura zigged, Mildred zagged, and Laura's hand was on the doorknob
to what had once been Murphy's office and was now used as a coffee
room/ storeroom. "If I didn't know better, I'd think there
was something in here that you and Harry didn't want me to see,
Mildred," she said, opening the door. Laura went inside as
Mildred looked to Mr. Steele's office as he came out. She shrugged,
then turned back as Laura returned, carrying the dress Mildred
had worn the day before, as well as a pillow and blanket. "Would
you care to explain what's going on here, Mildred?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Steele. I didn't want you to find out -"
"Find out what?"
"I really appreciated your offering me your loft to stay
in, and I *did* stay there for a few days, but I just *couldn't*
face those stairs again."
"So you've been staying here? In the office?" Mildred
nodded, miserable. "You should have said something, Mildred.
I would have understood. We could have made other arrangements
-" Her gaze lifted to Harry's. "How long have you known
about this?"
He lifted a hand and scratched his ear. "Over a week, I suppose."
"And you didn't say anything? Or try to send her to a hotel?"
"Oh, he tried, Mrs. Steele," Mildred said in his defense.
"I said no. I didn't want to cost the Agency any money- and
I've been fine here, really. And it's only for a few more days-"
"No wonder you've been here so early lately," Laura
said. "I really think you'd be more comfortable -"
"The couch in Mr. Steele's office is just fine," Mildred
assured her.
"I'm sorry, Mildred. I should have thought about those stairs
when I made that suggestion."
"It's not your fault that I'm a little overweight,"
Mildred said. "Let me get those pens for you."
Laura looked at Harry again. "You should have said something."
"She asked me not to, Laura. What was I supposed to do?"
"Did Jarvis have anything new?"
"He said he'd be by later - and he's confirming our report
on du Pres' death as well. He thinks he can keep it buried until
after the wedding, at any rate."
The doors opened as Mildred came out with a handful of pens. The
man who entered nodded at the trio before turning his pale blue
gaze toward Harry. "Mr. Steele, I'm Max Grumby. I'm here
to offer my help -"
"Your help, Mr. Grumby?" Remington questioned, taking
in the rumpled raincoat, close cropped dark hair and day's worth
of beard on his fleshy cheeks.
"In keeping Mrs. Steele out of jail for the murder of Robert
du Mont," Grumby said.
To Be Continued . . .