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LAPD homicide detective James Jarvis
ran his hand over his face, trying to clear his head. Typing in
another set of responses, he waited for the screen before him
to reveal something useful. How many security levels had he gone
through so far, he asked himself. Six? No, this was seven, he
decided, suppressing another groan as he modified that answer.
Eight. Eight levels, and he was still no nearer to finding out
why Anthony Roselli's records were so tightly sealed. The fingerprints
that he and Mildred had lifted had only gotten him into a national
database - and from there a snake like path through the telephone
lines to every agency in Washington, including a few he'd never
heard of before. As he entered yet another response, the telephone
rang.
"Jarvis."
"Officer Davis is on the radio, Lieutenant," a dispatcher
told him. "Says it's urgent that he speak to you."
Nine. Jarvis swore softly, his fist connecting with his desk.
"Patch him through, Betty."
"Lieutenant?"
"I'm here, Davis," he said tiredly, his mind only partially
on what he was saying. "What's up?"
"I think you might want to come down here, sir. I think I
might have found something that will clear Mrs. Steele."
That got his attention. So much for modern detective work, he
thought, Jarvis glaring at the computer screen, then he flipped
the switch on the side, leaving it dark. "Where are you?"
he asked the young officer.
**********
Davis had refused to let the coroner's assistant move the body
before Jarvis arrived, and as the detective inspected the area,
Davis was on his heels. "He obviously got a hold of some
bad junk," Davis pointed out, indicating the syringe.
Jarvis used his handkerchief to carefully pick up the plastic
tube, inspecting it in the glow of the patrol car's spotlight.
"Don't be so quick to jump to conclusions, Davis," he
said, placing the needle into a plastic bag and marking it as
evidence. "Wonder how hard it would be to get an autopsy
order on this guy?"
"On a junkie?" Davis questioned. "Lieutenant -
the evidence-"
"Isn't there. Show me the ring and receipt." He verified
the initials, then thoughtfully read and re- read the pawn ticket.
"This shop's just down the street."
"And so is the Belvedere," Davis pointed out. "Manny
was a junkie, Lieutenant. I've seen him around the area. He probably
needed some money to score-"
"Why kill du Mont?" Jarvis asked. "He was a stranger
-"
"With an expensive watch and ring," Davis said. "Probably
caught Manny's eye the minute he hit the place. He broke in to
rob du Mont, and killed him. Mrs. Steele probably surprised him,
he knocked her out and took off."
"Davis, why would a junkie take the time to put the murder
weapon in Mrs. Steele's hand and try to frame her for the murder?"
"Maybe he didn't like her- she's pretty well known- and the
smack's dried up a little since Malcolm died." He shook his
head. "No way are you going to convince the Captain to let
you get an autopsy on this one."
"We'll see, Davis. We'll see." He nodded to the coroner's
men. "You can take him now."
"At least this clears Mrs. Steele," Davis said. "Right?"
"Looks that way, Davis," Jarvis agreed.
"Then why don't you look happier?"
Jarvis asked himself that same question as he returned to his
desk at the station later. Laura Holt Steele was cleared of any
suspicion of murder. So why were there alarm bells going off in
his head? Maybe because it was too easy. Too pat an answer. He
frowned and turned the computer monitor back on. Screen nine was
still there, mocking him. Somehow, Jarvis felt that his answer
lay past that screen. Sighing, he typed in the necessary information
one more time -
**********
"Laura, I thought we agreed -" Remington said as he
followed her into the offices that bore his name.
"You said that *you* didn't want Monroe to throw *you* a
bachelor party," Laura reminded him, pausing before Mildred's
desk to pick up the morning's mail. "I never said that I
expected Frances to do the same." She smiled at Mildred.
"A night on the town with the girls sounds like fun. I'm
sure Mildred agrees with me. Right, Mildred?"
The woman looked from blue eyes to brown, then shook her head.
"Don't get me in the middle of this, Mrs. Steele," she
begged.
"A night on the town?" Remington repeated. "And
precisely what does that entail?"
"I've no idea, really," Laura told him, going into her
office. "Frances is in charge of planning it."
"When were you planning to tell me about this little- get
together?" he wanted to know.
"I wasn't keeping it a secret," Laura insisted. "I
just haven't had the chance to mention it-"
"Then I should be grateful that Frances called this morning,
shouldn't I? Perhaps I should call Monroe and tell him that I've
changed my mind -" Laura's head came up, and Mildred quickly
hid her smile. It never failed to amuse her that while Mrs. Steele
always pretended to frown on Mr. Steele's jealous streak, she
totally ignored her own jealousy of the handsome Irishman. Seeing
Laura's look, Remington became smug. "The shoe's on the other
foot now, isn't it, Laura? It's perfectly all right that you intend
to go off drinking and who knows what else on the night before
our wedding - But the moment I plan to do the same thing -"
"Not at all," Laura said. "You're free to do whatever
you like," she told him in an airy voice. "Call Monroe.
I'm sure he can find Clarissa -"
"So we're back to that, are we?" he asked. "I thought
I'd explained that to your satisfaction -"
"We're not *back* to anything," Laura insisted.
Listening as they began what promised to be a real doozy of an
argument, Mildred caught a movement out of the corner of her eye
and turned toward the glass doors. "Hey, you two," she
said, interrupting the argument and coming around the desk to
slip between them, "We've got company," she warned in
a quiet voice.
Laura peered around Remington. "Tony." He'd entered
the office quietly, and there was no way of knowing how much of
the argument he'd heard.
Enough, Remington surmised, from the smug look on his face. "No
international intrigue that you can loose yourself in, Antony?"
he asked archly.
"And miss your wedding?" Tony returned, grinning at
Laura. "Not on your life, Steele."
"Interesting choice of words, Antony," Remington pointed
out. Tony shrugged, his gaze moving to Laura again.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm still here - that's all."
The glass doors opened again, and a rumpled, disgruntled Jarvis
entered the office. "Lt. Jarvis." Remington noticed
that Tony went still, reminding him of a wild animal when it scents
danger.
"You look terrible, Jimmy," Laura commented.
"Yeah, well, you spend all night staring at a computer monitor
and try to look like you just stepped of the cover of GQ,"
Jarvis suggested grumpily, glaring at Remington's perfect appearance.
"Got any coffee, Mildred?" he asked.
"Sure. Coming right up," Mildred promised, moving past
Tony to get to the coffee pot.
Jarvis frowned in Tony's direction. "Sorry. Didn't realize
anyone else was here."
"I have to be going anyway. See you later, Laura," he
promised, and for no reason she could fathom, Laura felt a shiver
run down her spine. He nodded at Remington, then turned and left
the office before anyone could speak.
"Here you go, Lieutenant," Mildred said, returning with
three cups of coffee. "Mrs. Steele. Mr. Steele."
"Who was that?" Jarvis asked, still looking at the door
through which Tony had gone. He took a drink of the strong, black
liquid, hoping the caffeine jolt would revive him a little.
"*That* was Antony Roselli," Remington informed him.
"I need a place to sit down," Jarvis said. "It's
been a long night."
**********
"Did you find anything about Antony's background, Jarvis?"
Remington asked as they sat in the conference area in his office.
"Not yet. I finally found the agency that *might* be able
to get it for me - but I have to go through channels - and you
know how long that takes. But I do have some good news -"
"We could use some good news, Jimmy," Laura said, sitting
forward in anticipation. "What is it?"
"You're no longer a suspect in Robert du Mont's murder."
"I'm not?" she asked, frowning.
"That *is* good news," Mildred said. Seeing Laura's
confusion, she added, "isn't it, Mrs. Steele?"
"I think that depends on the answer to 'why', Mildred,"
Remington told her.
Jarvis sat back, pulling a plastic bag from the pocket of his
wrinkled overcoat. "Officer Davis found a body last night
not two blocks from the Belvedere. To all outward appearances
he died of a drug overdose - he had this ring and a pawn ticket
for an expensive watch in his pocket." Handing them to Laura,
he asked, "Do you remember seeing du Mont wearing the ring
or a watch that matches the description on the ticket?"
"He was wearing a watch," Laura recalled- "But
I think I noticed it when he was here- and he was wearing this
ring- or one like it-"
"His initials are inside the ring. Davis seems to think that
the dead man- his name was Manny - that Manny noticed du Mont's
watch and ring and broke into the hotel room to rob him- then
killed him just before you arrived. In order to escape, he had
to knock you out -"
"But that doesn't explain why he would try to frame me for
the murder," Laura insisted. She rose to her feet. "It's
too convenient, Jimmy. Too -"
"And why are you looking a gift horse in the mouth, Laura?"
Remington asked. "You're off the hook."
"She's right to ask questions, Steele," Jarvis told
him. "I felt the same way when I first heard about it. Someone
set Manny up to take this fall - to clear Laura."
"Did you go to the pawn shop?" Laura asked.
"On my way here. Manny pawned the watch last night, just
before the man closed up- about six hours before Davis found him
dead in an alley, the ring in one hand, an empty hypodermic in
the other."
"Why weren't the ring and watch missed earlier?" Remington
wanted to know.
"They were, but considering that the man was a newcomer to
LA, and that he was staying at the Belvedere, we thought he'd
likely sold them," Jarvis answered, watching Laura pace the
room.
"You said he had an 'empty' needle," she said.
"That's right. There was no sign of anything having been
in that syringe. And the only thing the coroner could find was
a high blood alcohol level. He won't have the toxicology tests
results until later today."
"You did an autopsy on a junkie?" Remington said. "I
thought -"
"I convinced the Captain that it might be necessary. I don't
think Manny died of a drug overdose. I think he was murdered,
and set up to make it look like he killed du Mont to take the
heat off of you, Laura."
"Why would someone do that?" she asked aloud.
"Because someone didn't want you to take the fall for du
Mont's death," Remington answered, his eyes on her. "Someone
who claims to care about you -"
She shook her head, refusing to believe his implication. "Not
Tony," Laura said. "No."
"It would fit, Mrs. Steele," Mildred said quietly. When
Laura glared at her, the receptionist quickly picked up the empty
cups. "Time for a refill," she announced. "I'll
be right back," she promised, making a hasty retreat.
"I'm going to ask some questions in the area this afternoon,
see if anyone saw Manny with someone else - "
The telephone rang as Mildred returned, and seeing that her hands
were full, Remington answered. "Steele here. Estelle. What-"
He shook his head in Laura's direction. "I see. Nothing,
eh? What about the other name? Yes. du Pres. All right. Let me
know as soon- thank you, Estelle." He hung up. "She
couldn't find any record of Robert du Mont entering this country
through legal means. She's still checking on Phillipe du Pres."
"Then I guess there's not much more to do except wait,"
Laura said with a deep sigh. The telephone rang again, and this
time Mildred answered.
"Remington Steele Investigations-hold on." She pressed
a button. "It's for you, Lieutenant."
Jarvis took the phone. "Jarvis- great. What did you - I knew
it. When will you have the final results? I'll be in touch. Thanks,
Gene." He hung up, looking across to find three sets of eyes
were fixed on him. "The preliminary toxicological results
got back. There's no sign of anything except alcohol in Manny's
system."
"No drugs?" Laura asked. "Then how was he killed?"
she wondered.
"An air bubble," Remington answered, his tone distracted,
as if trying to recall something and failing. Now it was his turn
to find himself the center of attention. "Inject a large
enough pocket of air into a person's bloodstream and it can cause
a heart attack - or"
"You're right, Remington," Laura agreed.
Jarvis stood. "I'm going home to get a couple hours sleep
before hitting the streets downtown to ask some questions -"
"Why don't you let us take care of that?" Laura suggested.
"You need more than a couple of hours sleep, Jimmy,"
she said, obviously concerned. "Remington and I know the
case as well as you do - "
"The Captain would have my badge if he ever found out that
I let two civilians -"
"It's still our case, really," Laura reminded him.
"All right. Just try to stay out of trouble," he said.
"Night."
"Sleep well," Laura called after him. Mildred picked
up the cups once again, and left the room. Laura placed a hand
on Remington's arm. "What's wrong?"
"I'm slipping," he complained.
"What?"
"I *know* that using a hypodermic needle to inject an air
bubble was used in a movie - but I can't think of the name of
the movie- or the actors."
Laura laughed and shook her head, then rose to her feet. "Let's
go. We have some questions to ask."
**********
"You doddering old fool!" Tony ranted, the fact that
Max Grumby flinched at his raised voice not lost on him. "They'll
figure it out. An *air* bubble. Couldn't you have found some crack
or -"
"Funds aren't what they used to be, Roselli," Grumby
reminded him. "I did the best I could."
"That's what worries me," Tony sighed, sitting down
behind the desk and opening the folder up to a photograph of Laura.
"At least the heat's off her. Trouble is, I'm not sure I
can trust you to handle this next part without screwing it up."
"I won't -" Grumby began.
"But I don't have much choice," Tony said, ignoring
the man's words. "I can't do it. They've seen my face - would
ask too many questions. And besides, I promised that *I* wouldn't
do it. So that means the ball's in your court, Max." His
eyes locked on the man across the desk. "Don't foul out."
Grumby swallowed heavily. "What do I have to do?"
To Be Continued . . .