"Not at all, Katherine," she assured the woman. "Is everything all right?"
"I hope so. Is Remington about, dear?"
"Remington?" Laura repeated, thinking quickly. "He's- in the shower."
"That's all right, then. Forgive me, but I was about to go to sleep when I suddenly had the feeling that Remington might be in danger."
"He's fine, Katherine," Laura assured her. I hope, she added to herself. "Why don't you go back to bed? I'll make sure he calls you tomorrow morning."
"Very well. Good night, dear." As she hung up, Laura realized that she hadn't mentioned tomorrow's luncheon appointment to the woman. But that thought quickly vanished as she went to the window, then back to the telephone, then back to the window again.
She was pacing. Forcing herself to stop, she sat down on the sofa, her hand on the telephone. "Call. Just let me know you're all right."
The telephone remained silent.
"I was looking for Mary Shaunessy," Steele informed him.
"Why?" He saw the curiosity in Steele's blue gaze. "Sorry. Haven't been thinking very clearly. I'm Lt. Albert Hansen." He showed Steele his detective's shield. "Did Mary contact you this evening?"
"No," Steele said, watching as Mary's body was put onto a stretcher. "I had no idea she was in Los Angeles. I received a note saying she was down here - and that she was dead."
"A note? From who, Mr. Steele?"
"A man named Morgan St. Clair, Lieutenant. I believe his presence here is responsible for Mary's being in Los Angeles."
Hansen sighed, turning this attention toward the stretcher as well. "You're right. I'd like to see that letter, Mr. Steele."
"It's at my apartment." The stretcher was loaded into the black coroner's station wagon, and both men were silent as it moved away from the scene. Steele glanced around ruefully. "I hired a taxi to bring me down here. It would appear that he didn't relish staying around."
"I'll give you a lift," Hansen offered. "Poor Mary."
"Did you know her well, Lt. Hansen?"
"Not as well as I would have liked,," Hansen admitted. "My car's right over here." Once on the road, Hansen told him, "I met Mary a couple of years ago when we worked on a case together. I was in Ireland-" he paused, recalling happier times. "When she came to LA, she checked in, wanted to go by the book. We ran the check she wanted on St. Clair, but Interpol insisted that he was in the Far East. They also warned us that Mary tended to see St. Clair around every corner. Not surprising, I suppose, considering what he did to her family."
Steele's fist clenched in his lap, trying to put the memories aside. He was silent for the trip across town.
As he unlocked the door of the apartment, he worried that Laura hadn't responded to his soft knocking. He found her on the sofa, asleep, her hand still on the telephone. Kneeling beside her, he touched her face. "Laura."
She jumped, her eyes slowly focusing on him. 'Remington," she whispered, throwing her arms around him. "I was so worried. You might have at least called -" She stopped, seeing the expression on his face, the bloody fingerprints on his shirt. "You found her."
"Yes." He gave her a quick, hard kiss. "We have company."
Laura sat up quickly, embarrassed to be caught in such condition as she turned to look at the blonde man behind the sofa. "Hello."
"This is Lt. Hansen, Laura. Lieutenant my wife, Laura Steele."
Hansen nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Steele. I'd have preferred it to be under more pleasant circumstances, however."
"You're investigating Mary Shaunessy's death, Lieutenant?"
"I'm afraid so," he said sadly.
Steele handed him the note. "Would you care for a drink, Lieutenant?"
"Coffee, if it's no trouble-" He stopped, taking a deep breath as he stared at the photograph in his hand. "Hell. Make it a whiskey. I was off duty as of three hours ago. I've been running all over town trying to find - " he sat down.
Laura poured whiskey for the men, and was about to pour a third glass when she caught Remington's look. Deliberately, she picked up the spring water and filled the third glass.
Hansen read the back of the note. "Guess there's no reason to check this for fingerprints. I doubt there were any on it. M. StC. He killed her. She cornered him and he stabbed her to death."
Laura sat next to her husband, watching as he stared into his drink. "Who is IS this- M.StC?" she asked.
Hansen answered. "The man Mary came here to find. I told Mr. Steele that although Interpol listed Mary as an agent, they insinuated that her obsession with Morgan St. Clair had put her stability at risk."
"Morgan St. Clair?"
"I wouldn't expect you to have heard of him, Mrs. Steele. He deals in illegal arms, mostly, with murder as a sideline. An Irishman who sells weapons to both sides involved in the troubles in his own country. He's very elusive. There's only been one person who's ever seen his face and lived to tell about it- but that person's been out of pocket for ten years. Mary was determined to hunt him down and exact payment."
"For the deaths he'd caused in Ireland?" Laura asked.
Steele had gone to look out of the window, and now he spoke. "Mary had a far more personal score to settle, Laura.. When she was ten, her mother and older brother were killed by a car bomb that her father Patrick traced back to St. Clair. Shaunessy became obsessed with bringing the man to justice. It was seven years before he got the chance. Using his connections as a Dublin police investigator, he discovered that his quarry was in the city. So with the help of a young man he'd taken into his home, he cornered St. Clair in an abandoned riverfront warehouse. The younger man was sent to summon the authorities -" he closed his eyes. "When he returned, he found Patrick Shaunessy dead, his throat cut. He couldn't find Patrick's gun, so he pulled the only weapon he had: a knife, and went in search of St. Clair on his own." Laura listened, watching Lt. Hansen's thoughtful expression as Remington continued his story. "They found each other- actually, St. Clair found him. In the fight, the younger man's blade found it's way into St. Clair's right knee. The police called out, distracting the young man's attention just long enough for St. Clair to drive his own knife into the other man's ribs and get away. The police rescued the young man, and found a trail of blood out to the river. They decided that St. Clair had jumped into the water, that perhaps he drowned. But his name turned up in an arms deal a couple of years later."
"What about Michael Harrigan?" Hansen asked, then prompted, "The young man?"
Steele faced Hansen. "He recovered, his wound wasn't very serious." Laura had learned to read her husband well enough to know that he was lying. The wound had most likely been quite serious. "After giving the police a description and attending Patrick's wake, he left Ireland. He never had any further contact with St. Clair."
"Or Mary Shaunessy?" Laura asked.
"They talked at her father's wake. She asked him to stay, but he said he couldn't. That St. Clair would be looking for him- if he was still alive, and staying would put Mary in further danger. Michael obviously underestimated Mary's determination to find the man who killed her parents and brother."
Hansen's gaze was sharp. "According to Interpol, Harrigan dropped out of sight after leaving Ireland. You seem to know a great deal about that time, Mr. Steele."
"I was Mary's friend," Steele reminded him.
"But you still know things that only -"
Laura jumped in quickly. "Lt. Hansen, why was Mary out alone this evening? I would think that the police would have-"
"Interpol insisted that St. Clair was in the Far East, Mrs. Steele. Mary insisted that they were wrong. Then this morning -" he paused, remembering.
"What happened this morning?"
"She saw a newspaper photo of you and Mr. Steele. Something about a charity function the two of you attended the other evening. She asked if I'd ever met Remington Steele, and asked if I believed in signs. She said she knew how to find St. Clair, and that if anything happened to her, I was to warn Mr. Steele that St. Clair was in LA. I got a call and had to leave -"
"So you just left her to go off all alone," Steele accused, "Chasing a murderer."
"No," Hansen insisted. "I made her promise to stay put, to wait until I got back and we'd both go. At the station, there was an Interpol update waiting for me. St. Clair might indeed be in LA. I tried to call Mary, but she had already gone." He sat down again. "I put out APBs on them both. No one called anything in until you called about the stabbing." He finished his drink and stood. "After I have a few more of these at home, I'll probably have some more questions, Mr. Steele. I'll come by your office."
"G'night, Mrs. Steele, Mr. Steele."
"Thank you for seeing him home," Laura told him. She closed the door and locked it before returning to stand beside her husband. He put his arm around her, pulling her against him. "Care to tell me how YOU managed to be with a Dublin police detective?" she asked, sensing that he still needed to talk.
He pulled her to sit beside him, smiling. "I was down on my luck, no money, no place to stay. So I decided to steal a car and sell it for whatever I could so I could return to London and Daniel. I found a car, got in, and was hot wiring the ignition when a shadow fell. I looked up at the man and told him that it was my car, that I'd lost my keys, and that I had to get to the hospital to see my dying grandmother."
"He didn't believe you?"
"It was his car," Remington told her.
"So he called the police-"
He shook his head. "The man WAS Patrick Shaunessy, Laura."
Laura laughed. "You mean- you tried to steal a- POLICE DETECTIVE'S car?"
"He asked what I'd planned to do with the car, and why. After I finally told him the truth, I assumed he would arrest me. But he didn't. Instead, we went to his house. After laying down a couple of ground rules, Patrick invited me to stay as long as I liked. In return, I could use my connections to help him out on the occasional case. Mary told me later that she thought he took a like to me because I resembled her brother." The smile dimmed.
"About Mary, Remington-"
"That was the second rule Patrick set. Under no circumstances was I to get any ideas about her."
"I see. And the first?"
"No more stealing cars," he said, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Of course." She rested her head on his shoulder. "Remington, do you really think that Morgan St. Clair is in town?"
He sighed, his hold on her tightening. "Mary thought so. And who else would have sent that message?"
"Why would he be after you now? It's been ten years-"
"Yes. But the last thing I recall after he stabbed me was that we would finish it later." He shuddered. "I had nightmares about it for a year or more. He could have seen my picture in a London paper, seen the interview after Daniel's death. It brought Jessica here. Why not St. Clair?"
"I'll have Mildred run a check first thing tomorrow," she began.
"No, you won't," Remington told her, looking at her. "You are going to see Dr. Phillips tomorrow before you do anything else."
"I don't have an appointment," she pointed out.
"I think he'll agree to see you. I have to know whether or not you're pregnant, Laura."
She didn't want to ask him why it was so important. "But what about St. Clair? He murdered Mary in cold blood-"
"I don't want you involved in this, Laura."
"Now just a minute," she said, her eyes flashing.
"Dammit, Laura," he held her shoulders. "I won't let you put yourself at risk. Not on this. You don't know what St. Clair is capable of. He's a murderer, Laura. As cold blooded as they come, and he'll kill anyone who gets in his way."
"So I'll be careful," she said. "I do know how to take care of myself-"
"So did Patrick and Mary. They're both dead. I would have been as well, if the police hadn't arrived."
She ran her hand over the spot where the knife had entered. "At least I know now where that scar came from." She's asked about it, only to have him say it wasn't a very interesting story.
Remington pulled her into his arms, covering her face with kisses, then held her face between his hands. "I need you, Laura. I need you to remind me that I'm still alive-"
"I'll do my very best," she promised, sensing his desperation as he lifted her into his arms to carry her to the bedroom.