Laura and Remington looked up and down the street as they left the building, and saw no sign of Tony. "Where could he have gone?" Laura wondered.
"He wants Cameron to go after him," Remington stated.
She looked up at him. "That's what he told me, but how did you-?"
"Antony and I- for all our differences- are more alike than either of us want to admit. If I were him, I'd be storming Cameron's office."
"Alone? That's suicide!" Laura declared.
"Which is exactly why we need to get over there ASAP," Remington pointed out as he took her arm and guided her toward a waiting taxi. "The Cameron Building, please," he told the driver, pulling out his wallet to remove a hundred dollar bill. "Get us there in five minutes, and this is yours."
The driver's eyes widened upon seeing the money and accelerated, throwing Remington back against the seat, where Laura was looking at him. "What are you doing with that?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Pin money."
***
"I said I was going to see him, and you're not going to stop me!"
Philip Cameron easily recognized the voice and looked up from the conference table as the double doors into the room opened to admit a very angry looking Tony Roselli, followed by an apologetic Miss Davidson, Cameron's receptionist.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cameron-"
"It's all right, Lisa." He looked at the men and women sitting around the table. "We'll resume this later," he told them, still watching Tony, who stood just inside the doorway.
The others filed out past Lisa, who asked, "Shall I call security?"
"That might be a good idea," Cameron agreed, and then told her, "Close the door as you go, please." Once the two men were alone, Cameron moved toward his massive oak desk that sat before a panoramic view of the city. "You know, Roselli, I can't quite figure you out. Coming here was not the act of a- stable person."
"I don't think you'll risk my disappearing from this building, Cameron. Too many people saw me coming upstairs. I made sure they did. Created a big scene, demanding to speak to you."
"Why?"
"I just wanted you to know that I'm going to bring you down. One way or the other. Even if it means my life, I'll stop you from marrying Jess."
"You left her. Walked out of her life due to your own- misguided choices. Has- Jessica changed her mind?"
"No. But she will. Once she realizes what you're really like."
"And what *am* I really like, Mr. Roselli? Suppose you tell me what I'm supposed to have done."
"Let's start with Pete Mitchell."
"Mitchell," Cameron repeated, looking thoughtful. "Mitchell. I had a Peter Mitchell working for me in accounting- he disappeared with some private corporate information about a week ago."
"Did you report it to the police?"
"I have stock holders to answer to, Mr. Roselli. A police investigation would have been difficult to keep quiet. I decided to use other methods."
"Yeah. Buying a hit on Mitchell in New York," Tony accused.
"I heard that he had been the victim of a senseless shooting in New York." Cameron said, looking sad. "I was sorry to hear that. He was an excellent accountant."
"And what about one of *your* lawyers getting the information out of his safety deposit box?" Tony asked.
"We discovered that Mitchell had the box, and retrieved the things he stole when he left."
"You had him killed, Cameron. And I'll prove it. Just like I'll prove that your first wife didn't die of cancer."
"Is that so? The medical records regarding my wife's tragic death are an open book, Mr. Roselli. I watched her die a little more every day until there was nothing left."
"There was no autopsy."
"Out of respect for Margaret's wishes," Cameron answered.
"It was a private funeral- she was cremated. Her ashes scattered-"
"Again, Margaret's last wishes. She was a very private person. As am I."
"And the doctor who treated her in the clinic is now running his own clinic- funded by you."
"Gratitude for everything he tried to do for my wife," Cameron replied smoothly. "Dr. Fletcher did everything he could."
"She died of a drug overdose," Tony accused.
"A-" Cameron's laughter echoed through the cavernous, dark-paneled room. "Oh, really, Mr. Roselli. I don't know what Pete Mitchell told you - or why he would spread such vicious lies about Margaret, but-"
"She found out that your empire is built mostly out of drug money," Tony finished.
Cameron turned to look out of the window, listening.
"And threatened to go to the authorities. But you had her put into a private hospital and got her hooked on drugs. So that she wouldn't dare to leave you and lose her connection. But her habit got worse and worse- and you concocted the cancer story to explain her appearance and illness. Paid Dr. Fletcher to back you up, to falsify the necessary documents."
"Do you have proof of any of this, Mr. Roselli?" Cameron asked without looking away from the window.
"Not yet. But I will. I'm going to see Dr. Fletcher this afternoon. Remind him that making false statements on death certificates could cost him his license."
"Go ahead. Perhaps if he tells you that you're wrong, you'll believe him. Obviously, you won't believe me. I loved my wife, Mr. Roselli. And I love Jessica. I don't want anything to her. Can you say the same?"
Tony froze, hearing the implied threat in that question as the doors behind them opened again and three men entered, all obviously wearing guns under their well-cut suits. "If anything happens to Jess, Cameron, I'll find you. There won't be anywhere for you to hide."
"Making threats is a nasty business, Mr. Roselli. Something that you shouldn't do in front of witnesses." He nodded at the security men. "Haynes, escort Mr. Roselli downstairs, please. And if he tries to come back, call the police."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Cameron," Haynes said reaching for Tony's arm.
Tony pulled away and left the room, surrounded by the security people.
Cameron's triumphant smile faded as the doors closed behind them. He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. "I'm doing your job again. Roselli was just here. In my office . . . I don't want to hear excuses. Security is escorting him downstairs now . . . He's on his way to see Dr. Fletcher . . .No. Don't try to stop him. Just- keep an eye on things. If the good doctor says anything he shouldn't- Take care of it. Good." He hung up the telephone, his dark eyes glittering as they fixed on the closed doors.
***
Laura and Remington's taxi stopped as three men escorted Tony from the high rise. "There he is," Laura told her husband, pointing. The three men stood shoulder to shoulder, watching Tony move away toward the curb.
Remington quickly opened the door. "Antony!" he called over the traffic noise.
Tony approached the cab. "Steele." He leaned down. "Laura. How'd you find me?" he asked.
Laura nodded toward Remington. "Ask him. Apparently you're not as big a mystery to him as you are to everyone else."
"Let's just say it takes one to know one," Remington said cryptically, and Tony grinned. "Did you see him?"
"Yeah. I saw him."
"Are you crazy?" Laura asked. "You're lucky he didn't kill you!"
"Not likely- considering the noise I made going in. I think everyone in the building knew that Tony Roselli was there to see Philip Cameron."
"Hey, buddy," the driver said, poking his head out of the driver's window. "Remember me?"
"Oh, uh, here," Remington said, placing the hundred into the man's hand.
"Thanks. You need a cab again?" he asked, grinning widely.
"Yeah," Tony said. "Matter of fact we do." He looked at Laura and Remington. "Do either of you know where Dr. Aaron Fletcher's Cancer Research Center is?"
"Near UCLA Medical Center, I think," Laura said, and deftly plucked the cell phone out of Remington's pocket as Remington and Tony got into the cab. She dialed a number, telling the driver, "Start toward UCLA Medical Center, driver."
"Who are you calling?" Remington asked.
"Mildred," she answered, waiting. "Terri, it's Mrs. Steele. Is Mildred busy? . . . Thank you."
Remington leaned toward her. "I hope you have some cash on you. Because that hundred was all I had."
Laura looked at him, rolling her eyes. She reached down to pull off one of her shoes as Mildred came onto the line. "Mildred, I need an address. . . Yes, we found him . . . He's fine. Miraculously." Laura pulled another hundred from her shoe and rustled it near the driver's ear. The speed of the car increased substantially. "Dr. Aaron Fletcher's Cancer Research Center . . . I'll wait."
"Who's Fletcher?" Remington asked Tony.
"The doc who signed Margaret Cameron's death certificate," Tony answered.
Laura listened to Mildred and relayed the address to the driver. "Thanks, Mildred . . . I'll explain when we get back to the office." She hung up and handed the phone back.
He touched her hand and the money. "What's that all about?" he asked.
She grinned and shrugged. "A girl needs pin money, too," she said. "Besides, over the years I've found it's a good idea to keep a little extra money stashed. Considering that you usually don't." Laura looked around Remington to tell Tony, "You wouldn't believe the times we wound up stranded somewhere without any cash between us."
"Ah, but I'm a changed man, Laura," Remington said. "Thanks to your frugal influence."
***
The cab pulled to a stop before Fletcher's clinic, and the occupants got out, Laura handing the driver the promised money. "You want me to wait?" he asked eagerly.
Remington looked at Tony, who shook his head. "Uh, no, thank you. We'll take it from here, mate," Remington said, tapping the roof of the car before it departed. As he, Laura and Tony turned toward the building, Remington pulled out his cell phone and called Fred in the limo, telling him to meet them at the clinic as soon as possible.
Inside the clinic, a perky young receptionist smiled warmly. "May I help you?"
"We'd like to see Dr. Fletcher, please," Laura told the girl, drawing her attention from Remington and Tony's smiling faces.
"Do you have an appointment?" the girl asked, fingers hovering over the computer keyboard.
"No," Tony responded, and the girl's face fell slightly.
Remington leaned on the counter, with a conspiratorial smile. "We're admirers of the doctor's work," he told her. "Between connecting flights. Thought we'd drop in and tell him in person how very much we enjoyed the last paper he published."
"The one in the Lancet?" the girl asked, her eyes widening. "Oh, that was a good one, wasn't it? Dr. Fletcher is just *so* dedicated and brilliant," she sighed, obviously taken with a case of hero worship. "So, you're all doctors?" she asked, eyeing them.
"Dr. Felix Hillenbrand, London," Remington said, and then turned to Laura and Tony. "Dr. Tracy Lord, and Dr.-"
"Dr. Smith," Tony finished, jumping in before Remington could hang an alias on him that he hated. "From Boston."
"I could make an appointment," the girl suggested. "Of course, Dr. Fletcher's booked up until early next week-"
"Oh," Laura said. "Really? And we've come so far," she told the girl. "We all have to catch a flight out within the hour."
The receptionist looked uncertain for a moment. "Well, I really shouldn't do this, but- considering that you don't' have time to wait, and you're all fans of Dr. Fletcher's, I'm sure he wouldn't mind." She leaned closer. "He's at lunch."
"Lunch?" Remington repeated. "The cafeteria?"
"Oh, no." She leaned even closer. "It's not widely known, but Dr. Fletcher has a small private gym down in the basement. He spends his lunchtime there, keeping in shape. Says it's a good way to keep the Big "C" away," she confided.
"How do we get there?" Tony asked.
"Oh, I'll show you," she said, noticeably eager to see her hero "working out". Picking up a telephone, she pressed a button and told someone on the other end, "Sheila, I'll be away from the desk for a few minutes." Once that was done, the girl came around the counter and led the trio to the elevators.
Tony thought he saw someone in the dimly lit corridor, and frowned before blaming it on nerves as they approached the door. The girl, who had finally told them her name was Liz, knocked on the door. "Dr. Fletcher?"
There was no answer, and Tony heard something from the hallway around the corner. Moving quickly, he saw the back of a man wearing a dark suit as Liz called and knocked again. "Dr. Fletcher! There's someone out here who wants to see you-"
"Open it," Tony told Remington, returning to join them with an air of urgency.
"Excuse me, Liz," Remington apologized, moving the girl aside to grasp the doorknob and push the door open.
They entered the small room, crowded with various pieces of exercise equipment. "Dr. Fletcher?" Liz called again, moving through the maze. "Are you- Oh my god!" she cried, and screamed, drawing the others to her. Liz ran from the room, leaving Laura, Remington and Tony to stare at the scene.
A well-built, blonde hair man lay on a weight bench, the metal bar across his neck. Laura watched as Remington moved to touch the man's neck with his fingers, then shook his head. "Your timing, Antony," he began, only to have Tony finish the statement.
"Is as lousy as ever." Tony put a fist into a punching bag that hung nearby. "Damn!"
Remington looked up. "I don't recommend we hang about here," he told them. "I've no doubt Liz has gone to call the authorities."
"We haven't done anything wrong," Laura reminded them.
"Do you want to explain to Liz why we told her that we were doctors when she finds out who we are?" Tony questioned.
"Good point," Laura agreed. "Let's go."
"Fred should be outside by now," Remington added, following them from the gym.
***
The black limo was indeed parking not far from the building, and the moment they were inside, Remington told Fred, "The office, Fred. And let's not attract any undue attention, eh?"
Fred nodded once and the limo pulled away from the curb at a sedate speed, just as a police car and ambulance arrived on the scene.
"Wish my timing could be that good all the time," Tony sighed, and then dropped a fist onto his leg. "Damn. I can't believe that I didn't find Fletcher earlier-"
"Why didn't you?" Laura asked.
"I was going to. But then Jess came in this morning, and after talking to her- all I could think about was going to Cameron. He *knew* I was coming here," Tony told them. "He must have sent someone to keep Fletcher quiet. I was stupid."
Fred looked in the rearview mirror, then spoke. "We've picked up a tail, Mr. Steele."
All three of them looked out of the back window. "Which one?" Laura asked.
"The black Ford. It's been following us since we left the clinic."
Tony read the license plate, and Laura grabbed Remington's telephone before he did to dial Mildred's number again. "I need you to run a license plate, Mildred," she said.
"Shoot," Mildred told her, pen in hand. She wrote the number, then turned to her computer. "Give me a sec." She smiled as her office door opened to admit Laura's father. Motioning, she indicated that he should sit down. "I won't be a minute," she told him, then said into the phone, "Edward just got here to take me to lunch." She glanced at the computer, then at Edward. "Laura says hello."
"Hi," Edward Holt called back.
"Got it," Mildred told Laura. "It's registered to Enercorp, a subsidiary of Philip Cameron Enterprises, Inc." She listened, seeing Edward sit forward with interest. "What's going on, hon?" Mildred's eyes widened. "You're kidding? Oooh . . . Where are you going now? . . . Okay, we'll wait for you . . Bye." Mildred hung up the phone. "The doctor who treated Cameron's first wife is dead."
"How?"
"Laura said it looked like an accident, but- considering that it happened right after Tony confronted Cameron-"
"Where are they now?"
"Heading back this way- She asked us to wait for them- something about a plan."
Edward ran his hands through his gray hair and shook his head. "Laura's at it again."
***
Jessica sat back, a hand on her water glass, running her finger around the edge. "You're rather quiet," Philip noted. "Is everything all right?"
"I'm just tired. No sleep last night and a full schedule this morning."
"Are you sure that's all it is?" Philip asked, reaching over to take her hand in his, making eye contact.
"Of course it is," Jessica insisted. "What else could it be?"
"Roselli?" he suggested. "Maybe you're having second thoughts?"
"No," Jessica said quickly. "No. I'm not. Seeing him *was* a surprise, though."
"If you need time-"
"No, I don't. I don't want anything to get in the way."
"I'm glad. I feel the same way," he told her, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. "Are you sure that- no one's said anything to you?"
"Said anything?" Jessica questioned, looking at him. "About what?"
Philip shrugged. "Me? Margaret? People in the public eye like myself tend to attract all sorts of- insane rumors and lies."
"About Margaret?"
"I've heard a very- vicious rumor that says she didn't die of cancer- and that I had a hand in that death," he told her, looking at the table between them. Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he lifted his gaze to hers again. "I loved Margaret more than-"
Jessica's hand gripped his tightly. "Of course you did. Have you considered a lawsuit to stop it?"
"It's nothing organized. But I'm afraid your friend Tony Roselli might be behind it."
"I'll have Remington speak to him," Jessica said. "I'm sure he and Laura will be able to talk some sense into Antony," she said.
"Thank you. I don't want any dark clouds over our happiness." His cell phone rang and he pulled it fro his pocket. "Cameron here . . . What? . . . Oh dear God. How?" He sat back in the chair, stunned. "You're sure it was an accident? . . .Yes. I'll be back at my office in an hour. We can meet then. . . Thank you for letting me know." He turned off the phone and put it away.
"What is it, Philip?" Jessica asked.
"Dr. Fletcher," he said. "The doctor who tried so hard to save Margaret- he was found dead a little while ago."
"Was he murdered?"
"First indication was that he had an accident in his private gym and was strangled while lifting weights-" Philip sat forward. "Jessica- I need some legal advice."
"Philip-"
"Tony Roselli came to see me earlier today- and when he left, he was on his way to talk to Dr. Fletcher."
Jessica let what he was saying sink in. "You're not suggesting that- Antony might have-"
"He has a temper. You told me that yourself. Isn't it just possible that Dr. Fletcher didn't give him the answers he wanted and-?"
"He does have a temper, yes, but- I can't believe he would murder someone that way-"
"My question is- should I tell the police what I know, or just- let them think that Dr. Fletcher died of an accident- when he might not have?"
***
"It's a crazy idea, Laura," Edward insisted. "Do you have any idea-"
"Do you have a better one, Dad?" Laura asked.
"Not at the moment, no," Edward admitted.
"Don't try to talk her out of it, Edward," Remington said in a tired voice. "I've already tried."
"So are we agreed?" Laura asked. "You and Tony will break into Cameron's offices tonight and see what you can find while Remington and I get into his house and look around there."
"What if Cameron and Jess don't go out this evening?" Tony suggested.
"She told me last night that Cameron had already made reservations for Ché Rive for the evening. Easily confirmed," Laura said, looking at Remington.
He picked up the telephone and dialed the number for the restaurant. "Claude? . . . Remington Steele here . . . No, no, no. Not this evening. But I would like a little information, if I could . . . Do you know if my sister and Philip Cameron have a reservation there this evening? . . . Ah, yes. Nine? . . . Thank you. And- Claude, let's keep this between ourselves, eh? Mrs. Steele and I are planning a bit of a surprise for them, and- Ah, yes. Indeed. Thank you again." He hung up. "Reservations for nine o'clock."
"Fashionably late," Mildred commented.
"Life of the idle rich," Remington said dryly. He took a deep breath and looked at everyone. "Looks like we're on."
To Be Continued ---