Law and Order: Criminal Intent
Two for the Show
Episode 18: Season 7 2007-2008
AnneMarie Donahue
(WARNING - I went off the deep end on this one and actually put myself and my cat in the story. Normally I put me in as a background character, or some small bit player. In last week's episode I was the guard at the evidence locker. This week I'm myself but as a Private Investigator… which I have always wanted to be, ever since I found out archeology is nothing like Indiana Jones movies. Enjoy and forgive.)
USO Show Dance Hall, 1944
Private First Class Johnson walked into the dance hall in New York City. It was exactly what he had hoped for. Pretty women lined the walls and the crowded the floors in their turned over dresses and "painted" nylons. They all sported a Lana Turner hair-do and looked the young recruit up and down. He walked past the rows of table where GIs drank and talked up the friendly girls who had taken the trains from far away places like Brooklyn and Jersey just to be there. Johnson was thrilled to spend his last night on American soil in this city, this hall and with these women.
He looked across the hall at dance floor. Women's legs flew through the air as the hack clarinet player tried his hardest to be Benny. GIs and even the occasional WAX gal hopped across the floor. There were a few local guys, but their wide suits and fedoras were nothing next to the olive green uniform and wedge hat provided the GIs.
"PFC Johnson!" A voice shouted from behind.
Johnson turned to see his friend from tech school come up from behind. He smiled and hugged his brother marine.
"Biggs!" After the quick embrace both men turned to face the stage.
Across the hall, the music had stopped and two very beautiful women took the stage. The red curtain swept closed behind them and the music turned slow. Men and women walked together and met on the floor, falling into a slow dance. The lights lowered and the women on stage began singing.
"We meet and the angles sing…"
Penthouse, Park Avenue West, 2008
"They sing the sweetest song I've ever heard." The words swept through the large, well furnished penthouse.
An elderly woman, well polished and regal, sat in the sunlight next to a large Persian cat. She was holding a newspaper clipping showing two young girls on stage at a USO show in New York. The headline reads, "Carper Twins Send the Boys Off". She sighed and placed the clipping in its box, surrounded by more clippings of the same. Pictures of this woman, her twin sister and their USO show.
"Mrs. Hallowell?" A stout British maid asked from the doorway.
The women looked over; she inhaled sharply to drag herself back from the past.
"Yes?"
"Shall I put the tea on?"
Mrs. Hallowell turned to look out at the park, "yes please."
USO Show Backstage, 1944
"Merrill, we've got to hustle." Meredith stood behind her sister, coaxing her to dress faster.
The girls were adjusting their costumes in a shared mirror. The two faces were identical. Two sets of clear blue eyes, two heads of platinum blonde hair, two sets of ruby red lips that could part at just the right time, sending any man into a frenzy and opening any door.
"Okay." Merrill rose. The girls jumped up and ran to the stage. They knocked past chorus girls and band members coming down the narrow stairs. Meredith was a few steps ahead of her sister. Merrill passed a handsome young man standing to the side. He quickly slipped her a note. She blushed and slid the note into the neckline of her dress and joined her sister before Meredith could turn to look.
They stood on stage and looked out at the crowd of service men applauding them. Meredith looked at her sister and smiled widely. She hung her arm around Merrill's waist and kissed her cheek. Merrill smiled back and waved out at the audience, as her arm rose up, her dress shifted. Meredith's smiled fluttered as she noticed a note tucked into her sister's slip.
Penthouse, Park Avenue West, 2008
The tea kettle in the kitchen screamed out as the trusty maid turned down the burner and removed the kettle to the table.
Mrs. Hallowell moved into the kitchen and sat at the table. It was a comfortable, but service oriented room. Mrs. Hallowell looked out of place in this room as the maid shot her a curious glance.
"I'm feeling a little lonely," she looked up and in a friendly tone enquired, "you don't mind?"
"No mum." The maid put away the fancy tea setting and pulled out two mugs from the cabinet. One had a large chip on the handle. She poured the boiling water directly into the glasses and examined her employer to see her reaction.
Mrs. Hallowell simply dunked her teabag up and down a few times, then squeezed out the remaining flavor with her well manicured fingers. She dabbed them on the table clothe to dry them. The maid raised her eyebrows and thought about how her mother did the same thing. She sat down across from Mrs. Hallowell and sipped her tea.
"Where's the sugar?" Mrs. Hallowell looked around, realizing for the first time she was lost in her own kitchen.
"Drink it straight." The maid replied.
Mrs. Hallowell raised her eyebrows this time and sat back. She sighed.
"Why don't you tell me about?" The maid put down her tea and opened the refrigerator, taking out a left over cake she had bough two days ago. She opened the box and popped a fork in front of Mrs. Hallowell, who seemed to be enjoying this one-time offer of intimacy.
"I've been thinking of my sister."
Church of the Holy Name, 1944
"And you do, Merrill Smith take this man, John Hallowell to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The priest continued with his little speech but the bride had tuned him out. She looked across at her fiancée, the dashing young man who had slipped her the note only a few days ago.
Her sister was at her side, as she had always been. Meredith tried to look happy but this breakup was the end of her. Her sister would leave her to raise a family with this dead-beat trumpet player.
The priest finished his sentence and waited as Merrill looked at her groom in a hazy fog. Meredith nudged her sister back to reality and Merrill looked around a little confused. She laughed at her own stupidity and quickly said "I do."
The priest pronounced them man and wife and they kissed, longer than necessary in a church.
The groom hugged his sister-in-law who forced a smile at him. The sisters gave one last hug and quickly ran down the isle. Both sides were almost deserted except for a few friends who had made it.
Meredith walked down the isle alone, slowly following after her sister.
Office of AnneMarie Donahue, PI, 2008
"Mrs. Hallowell, we usually don't handle family reconciliations." AnneMarie Donahue explained as she sat across from the well polished, if a little over-starched, woman. "We're really more in the 'cheating husband' business."
"I understand," she started coolly. "A friend of mine used your services only a few months back to secure her divorce. Do you recall her, Elizabeth Lucey?"
AnneMarie sat forward in her chair, "yes, I remember Ms. Lucey. I wasn't aware she was acquainted with you." Donahue became very suspicious. Most of the Park Avenue royalty didn't associate with shop keepers.
"I frequent her shoe-store." She indicated the stunning pair of designer shoes she was sporting.
Donahue suddenly became painfully aware of her Sears shoes with the unpolished toe. She shifted her feet under her chair to avoid the comparison.
"She told me about her husband, you know how women in shoe-stores gossip," Hallowell smiled at her. Donahue returned but in truth, she had NO idea how women in shoe store's gossiped but was determined to find out, that could be helpful. "You were evidently very helpful and since it worked out for Lizzie, I thought you could help me."
Hallowell made no attempt to leave. It was usually at this point in the conversation the customer has seen enough of the yellowed walls, the curtain-less windows, the shocking lack of anyone else in the office, save Stanley the office watch-cat. Hallowell just sat there waiting for Donahue to make a move.
"Well, I'll be happy to help, Mrs. Hallowell. I charge…"
"That's not necessary, really." Mrs. Hallowell pulled a check out her wallet and handed it over. "You have an honest face, just make it out and deposit it."
Donahue starred at her incredulously. Hallowell was lucky she had stumbled into the office of the only Quaker in the entire industry and could be trusted beyond question.
"That's not usually how I work this, but I'll make an exception." She folded the check and slipped it under her blotter pad on her desk. "I'll make that out when I'm done."
"Fine." Hallowell, "when shall you start?"
"Right now," Donahue rose to grab a note pad from her desk and looked over at Hallowell, who looked uncomfortable for the first time during the interview. "Mrs. Hallowell, you may not know this but you probably have the most information I'm going to find on your sister today. You'll help me know where to begin."
"Well, I'll see what I can offer. I haven't seen her in years, mind you." Hallowell seemed to settle back done.
Donahue looked her over suspiciously but pushed it to the back of her head. She was being paid to ask questions about the other twin.
Hallowell House 1945
Merrill sat at her kitchen table. Meredith looked across at her.
"You should leave him." Meredith said her voice full of spite.
Merrill looked hurt by her sister's venom. "He's not a bad man."
"But these ridiculous ideas of his." Meredith stood up and put her mug into the sink, "the army doesn't need his ideas for engines. The war is over."
"It is, but these are really good ideas." Merrill countered from her seat. "He's really smart. You should see what he's building in the basement." She smiled from behind her mug.
"What?" Meredith asked annoyed.
"It's some kind of system that tracks things. He put it on the dog and followed him around the neighborhood. He says that people won't get lost anymore. It can go on airplanes and cargo trains and…"
"Merrill, will you listen to what you are saying? Trains run on tracks! How would they get lost?"
Merrill shifted in her seat. She wasn't as smart as her sister and couldn't defend her husband. "He's down in Washington meeting with some men to discuss that, and his engines."
Meredith shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. "You're wasting your time, and your looks." She moved to the table, "look at you." Her sister had smudges on her face from factory work. Her hair was up to protect it from being caught in the machinery.
Meredith grabbed Merrill's hand softly, but was outraged when she spotted a long gash on her arm. "What is this?"
"It's nothing," Merrill pulled her arm away and tucked it under the table. "I got cut at work."
Home of Meredith Smith 2008
Donahue whistled low as she looked at the sagging building. The yard was a field of dead grass and rejected items from the neighborhood. The porch looked as though it might not support her and the house may have been titling slightly to the left.
"So this is where the wicked witch retired to." Donahue joked to amuse herself.
She inhaled deeply and walked up the front steps, taking each step carefully lest she fall through and found herself in the basement. The front door opened to a narrow hallway and a set of stairs. She looked at the registry, which had two names. One was Smith the other was some long combination of vowels and consonants which did not spell Smith. Her choice was obvious.
She walked down the narrow hallway to the door in the back of the building. She took a deep breath, adjusted her pork-pie hat and knocked. Donahue waited a few moments then heard a rustling coming from the other side of the door.
The door slowly opened to reveal an elderly lady, the exact image of Mrs. Hallowell with a few differences answered the door.
"Mrs. Meredith Smith?" Donahue asked.
"Ms. Smith, I never married." Smith was a little stooped. She walked with a labored pain. "What?" She snapped at Donahue.
"Ah. Ms. Smith, can I come in?"
Smith looked at Donahue. She was wearing her First Day clothes. Black skirt, white shirt, black coat and stout black shoes, to keep a sense of humor. Smith frowned at her. "I don't want to be a Mormon, go away." Smith turned to close the door.
"Ms. Smith, I'm not a Mormon. I was paid to find you and to talk to you." Donahue said quickly.
Smith looked Donahue over again, "well, are you Amish or something?"
Donahue sighed, "I'm not Amish."
Newsreel 1952
"Millionaire John Hallowell passed away today. Hallowell will be best remembered for his work with the military on securing air transportation for America. Hallowell leaves behind his wife, Merrill, whom he met at a USO show at the end of the war."
The images were of Hallowell getting off a plane with his wife, who shied away from the photographers. She held her husband's arm and hid her pretty face. The film followed the narration; Hallowell was filmed in front of an engine in his factory. Hallowell was shaking hands with Eisenhower. All while his wife stood shyly at his side.
Office of AnneMarie Donahue, PI 2008
"Mrs. Hallowell, it went very well. You're sister is very interested in meeting with you again." Donahue spoke into her phone. "Yes, tomorrow at one would be fine." She paused a moment. "Yes," Donahue started slowly, "I can be there too."
Donahue hung up the phone and wrote, "1:00 Waldorf-Astoria Hotel" on her ink blotter. She bit the top of her fountain pen a little in confusion. It didn't sit well with her that she was going to attend this reunion. The entire case didn't sit well with her. Finding the sister had been too easy.
Donahue pulled out the blank check, and wrote in the proper amount, not a penny more or less. She would deposit it on her way home tonight, pick up some Chinese food and put the unease to rest.
She stood up, packed Stanley into his kitty carrying-case and locked up the office. The streets were cool and the sky was clear. She opened her coat to enjoy the breeze, and pushed her hat up on the top of her brow.
From the alley she could hear a noise, "Anne," a raspy voice called out.
Donahue stopped and turned, she grimaced at the sight. "Frank, what are you doing in there?"
"Help me?" Frank held out his hand.
Donahue shook her head, but still dug her hand into her pockets to produce some loose ones. She handed them over and watched them disappear into the pocket of his filthy jeans.
"Frank, have you eaten?" Donahue asked.
Frank looked around; reacting to noises only he could hear. "No. I've been sick."
"Frank Goren, you're a terrible liar." She switched her carrying-case to her other hand and grabbed Goren's arm. "Come on, let's get some Chinese."
Waldorf-Astoria Hotel 2008
Donahue looked around at the people moving about in the hotel lobby. She felt very uncomfortable, not because of the opulence of the place, or the posh society it housed, but by its static nature. Donahue had seen a picture of the lobby in an issue of Architectural Digest from the 1970s, and the room had yet to change. It was almost disappointing.
"Thank you for coming, dear." Mrs. Hallowell said walking over to Donahue. She was followed by her maid.
"You're welcome, but I really feel as though I should leave. I'm intruding on your family reunion." Donahue's voice trailed off as she noticed two reporters and their photographers following Hallowell. "Mrs. Hallowell, you invited the press?"
"Yes. I want to show my sister I'm proud of her and bring her into my life."
Donahue blinked, she was about to name the book Hallowell had just quoted when a reporter shoved a tape recorder in her face.
"Mrs. Donahue, how did you find Mrs. Hallowell's sister after such a long ardent search?"
Donahue stared incredulously at her, "the phone book?"
Mrs. Hallowell laughed and put her arm around Donahue, "trade secret, she'll never tell!"
The reporters all laughed in that kiss-ass way and nodded their heads. Donahue wanted to run away from the scene, but Hallowell kept a firm grip on her. Not hard, Donahue was at least six inches shorter, and for a socialite Hallowell had very strong arms. Donahue was going to mention it when she noticed the beginning of a long scar running up her arm.
"Oh, you noticed that?" Hallowell made no attempt to hide it, instead pulled up her sleeve and showed it off. "I got this working at the factory at the end of the war." The photographers snapped a couple of photos and the reporters battled to talk about the war-time honeymoon.
Donahue stepped aside and glanced at her watch, it was half past one already and no sign of the twin. She looked at the maid who only shrugged.
About an hour later every one was tired of USO stories and anxious for the twin to arrive. Mrs. Hallowell jerked up and announced that she had a splendid idea.
"If she won't come to me, I'll go to her!" She grabbed Donahue's arm and marched out of the lobby. Donahue was lead to a waiting limo followed by the maid and the reporters. Everyone piled into the car, it being large enough to afford the room and drove to Meredith Smith's apartment building.
Hallowell stepped out of her limo and grimaced with disapproval at the shabby building. She walked up the lawn and over the porch, without pausing. Donahue followed on her heels.
"Mrs. Hallowell, let me call on her?" Donahue stopped Hallowell in the hallway, "the reporters and everyone might be too much."
Hallowell looked pleased at this concession. "Alright."
Donahue looked at her for a moment and moved down the hall. The door to the apartment was slightly ajar. Donahue rapped on the door lightly, "Ms. Smith?" There was not answer. Donahue pushed the door open and walked into the living room. "Ms. Smith?" She called out, the only thing to answer were a few cats that snuggled her legs as she walked further into the apartment.
Donahue turned the corner into a sitting room and found Ms. Smith sitting in a large comfortable chair, a tea cup in her hand, the contents split on the floor. Donahue moved to her quickly, checking her pulse and confirming what she had already suspected.
Donahue had time to sigh and remove her hat before a shriek came from behind her. She spun on her heels to see Mrs. Hallowell screaming and pointing at her from the living room. The reporters standing behind her, and the photographers snapping photos.
"What did you do?" Hallowell yelled. "You killed her!"
Donahue stood mouth agape next to the dead body as a photographer snapped her photo.
One Police Plaza
Manhattan, NY
"She was alive when I talked to her three days ago, that was the last time I saw her." Donahue explained for the third time in the interrogation room.
Two detectives stood over her, a smart woman who did not look amused and a really big guy. Donahue looked up at the two of them. The big guy was standing behind her in the corner of the room watching the conversation. His lack of involvement and position was beginning to irritate Donahue. "Could you ask Lon Chaney JR to sit down?"
Eames smiled over to Goren who moved to the table and sat at the head.
"Are you uncomfortable when people stand behind you?" He asked.
"Only when they are accusing me of murder." Donahue sparked. "I have no idea what happened. I was hired by Mrs. Hallowell to find her sister, her twin sister. I did and I reported such to Mrs. Hallowell. She insisted I come to their meeting and when I did Ms. Smith, the woman I was paid to find never showed up. We went to her apartment, at my client's insistence, and found her dead."
A knock came from the other side of the mirror and Donahue looked up. She seemed relived and grabbed her hat.
Goren and Eames caught the motion and smiled. "I would button my coat just yet."
"Please, you don't have anything on me; you have to cut me loose."
Eames moved into the observation room behind the glass. She looked out; Goren was still sitting next to Donahue.
Carver smiled at Eames, "She's right. You have nothing; Ms. Donahue is free to go."
Eames sighed.
Goren walked Donahue across the bullpen to the elevator bank. She faced the row of elevators. Logan got off an elevator heading up. Donahue stood still.
Logan passed her and eyed her a little. "Nice hat." He said in a taunting manner.
"Thanks, it's part of the Nancy Drew line." Donahue snarky comment shut up him up fast. Logan and Goren exchanged a look. Goren laughed once Logan was out of earshot.
"How long have you been a private investigator?" Goren moved to lean against wall so he could face her.
Donahue punched the elevator button again. "About eight years." She looked over at Goren with every intention of telling him where to go when she noticed something about his ears.
Goren caught the look. "What?"
"Nothing," Donahue shook it off. "You look a little like someone I know." The elevator opened and Donahue got on. She turned to Goren, "well, gee detective, this has been swell; we must do it again sometime." The doors closed just as Donahue flashed Goren the finger.
Goren walked back to his desk and sat down. Murphy from the next desk tapped Goren on the back, "this guy called for you." Goren took the little note he was handed and opened it.
Eames watched Goren as he grimaced and tossed the crumpled note in the waste basket.
"What is that?"
"Nothing." It was Goren's turn to bury himself in paperwork.
"Bobby…"
"Just let me handle it!" Goren shouted and stood up. "Our lab report is in."
Goren walked to the elevators, not waiting for Eames to accompany him. She sat at her desk for a few minutes. Goren disappeared into an elevator. Eames used the opportunity to check on him. She pulled the note from the waste-paper basket and read it.
"Your brother called." Eames sighed and crumpled the note with more fury than Goren had exhibited.
Office of the Medical Examiner
"It wasn't poisoning." She said. The file was under arm as Rogers scrubbed her hands clean.
Goren was standing at the head of the body. Rogers turned and noticed that only Goren had come down. She looked a little confused, "should I wait?"
"No." Goren said quickly.
Eames pushed the door open, she was breathing hard from the jog down the hall.
Rogers looked from Goren to Eames and back to the body. "Okay." She pulled the head up. "Blunt force trauma. She was hit in the back of the head with a heavy object, caused bleeding in the skull. That's what killed her. I ran a tox screen and found cyanide in her system, but not enough to kill her."
"So someone was poisoning her but decided it was going too slowly and bashed in her skull?" Eames questioned aloud.
Goren exhaled and put his hand over his mouth to think. "The poisoning and the murder might not be connected."
"I don't think they are." Rogers pulled her folder out and handed it over. "I asked for Ms. Smith's medical history."
Eames already had it and was reading it over quickly, "she's been in and out of hospitals for minor complaints for years."
"Self-poisoned." Rogers confirmed their suspicions. "She would make herself sick to get admitted, and then confound the hospital searching her system for the problem."
"That's bizarre." Eames said.
"How long would these show up in her system?" Goren asked.
Rogers shrugged, "a few months."
Eames looked up at Goren.
Park Avenue Penthouse
"Mrs. Hallowell, when was the last time you actually spoke with your sister." Eames asked. She was seated in the beautiful living room overlooking Central Park.
"Not in decades." She looked at the box of memories again. "I don't think I spoke to her since our last fight. That was 1953."
"You're falling out, what caused it?" Goren asked from across the room. He was looking at the pictures on the mantel.
"My sister didn't approve of my husband." She smiled at Eames, who had raised an eyebrow. "I can understand you're wondering about that. Before my husband's inventions paid off he was something of a 'mad scientist' but I believed in him." She smiled and looked into down at an article about her husband.
Goren picked up a sepia photograph of the sisters. "This is you and your sister at the USO show in New York." He smiled and walked the picture over to her. "I actually saw a documentary about the USO performances in the city; you and your sister were mentioned."
"Really?" She practically jumped out of her chair. "Do you recall the name?"
Goren looked at Eames, who took notice of the sudden change in Hallowell's demeanor. Hallowell became aware of their interpretation of her actions and sat back down.
"It would be nice to see my sister dancing. She was a remarkable dancer, and singer." Hallowell's admiration was genuine; she was speaking with true adoration of her sister. She turned quiet and looked at an article she pulled out of the card box; it was her sister alone on stage. "When can I bury her?"
Eames' felt a tug in her chest. She caught herself thinking about Sylvia and how she hadn't called her in a week. "The coroner needs to finish the report, the body should be released to you soon after."
"Thank you." Hallowell said in a small voice. "This is very horrid, you understand. I wasted so much time being angry and now" her voice broke. She cleared her throat to compose herself.
"Thank you Mrs. Hallowell, please let us know if we can be of assistance." Goren offered. Eames rose to follow him out of the room.
Eames tugged at Goren's jacket, "what was that?"
"We need to search the sister's apartment." Goren explained.
Office of AnneMarie Donahue, PI
Donahue sat back in her chair. She watched her terrible cat rip apart the last good pillow on the couch. She was mulling over yesterday. After being interrogated by the police and agreeing to stay in the state she was cleared. This wasn't surprising. She was too dull to commit murder.
Stanley stopped ripping up cotton stuffing long enough to look at her definitely. He meowed, which she interpreted to me, "let's go."
Donahue nodded and rose, "you're right. No one wants Death, PI, on their side." She put the cat in his carrying-case and closed the door behind her.
Donahue stepped out to the street. The night was just as nice as the last few had been. She walked towards her apartment, only a few blocks from her office. The streets were not heavily occupied but there other people walking around that night, which is why it took Donahue two and a half blocks to realize she had picked up a shadow. She sped up, but heard the heavy tread behind her do the same. She took a sharp left into an alley and spun around to glare at the person following. She had a pert little speech rehearsed for just such an incident when her assailant turned the corner.
"Lon Chaney, JR?" Donahue said in disbelief.
"Robert Goren, detective." He corrected. Goren hadn't quite decided if he liked her or hated her just yet.
"Why are you following me?" She wasn't about to play passive-aggressive games with this guy.
"I wanted to talk."
"It's called a phone," she pulled her cell out of her pocket and opened it. With an air of mock superiority she held court, "you push the little buttons and the electrodes go flying through the air to me and…"
"Is there a chance of you shutting up?" Goren was at the end of his patience. "I can have your license pulled."
Donahue shut up. She glared at him, waiting for Goren to start.
"Okay, can we go somewhere to talk?"
"Fine," Donahue exhaled. "There's a Chinese food place just around the corner." Donahue led the way, Goren following only a pace behind. He sped up just in time to open the door for her, which he did not receive a 'thank you' for.
"You're welcome." Robert muttered under his breath.
"Donahue." Ian Williams, a fellow private investigator called from the bar.
Donahue just shook her hand at him and pointed behind her at Goren, she mouthed the word 'cop.' Ian slunk back in her chair and turned his attention to his party.
Goren gave Ian and his group a look, "was there a special on those hats?" The restaurant was something out of a Walter Gibson story. He half expected Doc Savage to walk in, if not him, then definitely Lamont Cranston.
Donahue moved to a table in the back and waved to a pretty waitress who smiled in return. The waitress brought cokes and menus but Donahue handed them back, "we're not staying long."
Goren raised his eyebrow and handed back the menu with a little reluctance. It's not that Donahue's company was pleasant, but he was hungry. Donahue put the carrying-case on the table. Stanley was barely awake, for a rotten cat he was remarkably calm. Goren eyed it curiously.
"Is that a cat?"
"Yes."
Goren looked at her, and Donahue didn't feel the need to elaborate. "Okay, it's your dime." Donahue started.
"We're going to look at Smith's apartment tomorrow. I was thinking you should come along. You were the only person to see it prior to the murder." Goren offered, taking a sip of his soda and frowning at the sweetness.
Donahue sat back and studied Goren for a while. "I would like that."
"I can feel a 'but' in there somewhere." Goren said.
"How do I know this isn't some trick?" Donahue asked.
"I don't think you did this, if that makes you feel any better."
"Only slightly." Donahue laughed.
Goren smiled, "you have no motive and the death was poison. But there's a problem with the timeline. Our ME is working on the report tonight."
"Why, has time of death been established?" Donahue leaned forward.
"That's just it." Goren leaned in; he folded his hands on the table. "You said you talked to Smith two days ago, but according to Rogers, our ME, Smith had been dead for three days."
Donahue shook her head, "no, I talked to her. It was her. She knew things that only the sister would know."
Goren covered his mouth with his hand to think, but he left his right hand on the table. Donahue's hands were drumming on the table top lightly. They sat thinking for a moment, hands slowly getting closer.
"Ouch!" Goren withdrew his hand and covered the fresh wound.
Stanley retracted his claw back into his case and liked Goren's blood.
"Bad cat!" Donahue said. She looked at Goren, "I'm sorry, he's a horrible cat, there's really nothing to be done about it. I am planning to have him killed soon." Donahue flashed him a lopsided smile and hoped he would take her humor in good faith.
Goren laughed and took her apology. Stanley was just doing his job.
Smith Apartment
Eames drove that day. She hadn't spoken to Goren during the entire drive. She was not pleased with him. He casually mentioned in the squad room that he asked Donahue to accompany them to the apartment and assist with the search. Eames, who was usually willing to go along with his schemes, was not confident in this plot.
They pulled up in front of the decrepit building to find Donahue sitting on the sidewalk. She rose as the car pulled up to a stop.
"Good morning detectives."
"Ms. Donahue," Eames said curtly. She rolled up the windows of the car and locked the doors, before Goren could leave. "What is she Amish or something?"
Goren unlocked his door and exited the car. Alex got to date while she was pregnant, he gets a crush on one murder suspect and she'll never let it go.
"Good morning," Goren said to Donahue, "no cat today?"
"He's more of an office cat, really." Donahue joked.
Eames wanted to vomit watching their pathetic attempts at flirting. "Let's go in." She led the way to the apartment. Goren and Donahue followed closely behind.
"It's important not to touch anything." Eames turned to Donahue; she wasn't trying to sound condescending but couldn't help it.
"Detective, I have watched Colombo." Donahue walked past her and began to examine the room. Eames exhaled and threw Goren a look.
The apartment was just as disheveled as the first time Donahue was there. The cats had cleared out, probably strays anyway. "The apartment was a mess the first time I had come around. But I got the sense the lady lived that way." Donahue moved past the living room and into the sitting room, "this is where we talked the day I met her. She sat in that chair," Donahue pointed to the chair the woman had been found dead in.
Goren moved into the room, he was trying to establish a pattern for the woman's life.
Eames moved into the bedroom, after a moment she called out to Goren.
"This is pretty expensive stuff." Eames was holding a bottle of perfume in her gloved hands.
Goren walked over and putting on a latex glove took a closer look. He showed it to Donahue, who pocketed her hands for safety.
"It was expensive." Donahue looked at Eames. "Detective, I don't want to tell you your business, but this bottle has been refilled." Donahue pointed at the tip of the bottle. "The nozzle was pried off, and replaced. She probably had this bottle for some time and put other scents in it."
Eames looked closely, she had to agree with Donahue, but she wasn't about to say it out loud.
Donahue thought about the bottle for a moment, "Why would she do that?"
Goren looked at her, "what do you mean?"
Donahue motioned around the apartment, "who comes to visit? Who does she have to impress? No one will see this bottle and yet, she goes through the trouble of keeping it, and refilling it so she can use it. There's got to be a reason why."
Goren looked at Eames, who finally looked impressed. Donahue smiled, but turned her head so neither would see it.
One Police Plaza
Goren sat at his desk, Eames was across from him. "Are we okay?"
Eames sighed. "Yeah. It's just," she stopped. Alex wasn't sure if she wanted to have this conversation with Bobby.
"Eames, come take a look at this." He was sitting at his desk, toying with the perfume bottle they had found at the apartment.
Eames rose and stood behind him. Bobby was fidgeting with the top, trying to pry it off when a stream of perfume shot out of the nozzle, hitting Eames in the eye.
"Oh! Shit!" She covered her face and hurried to the bathroom. Goren followed quickly behind, apologizing profusely. They passed the bank of elevators. Logan and Falacci were entering the squad room. Logan shot Goren a look as Alex escaped into the ladies room. Goren stood outside, waiting for Eames to come out. He thought Logan laughed as he walked away with Falacci.
Goren paced around the bathroom. Eames finally emerged and shot him a dirty look. Goren tried to apologize again, but Eames walked quickly back to her desk, giving him nothing but a shrug.
Goren sat at his desk, he tried to make eye-contact with Eames but she kept her face buried in her paperwork.
Goren played with a few pencils on his desk. "Eames, there's only one of them."
"What?" She tilted her face up to look at him.
"There's two but we're looking at the wrong one." Goren stood up and raced out the door.
Park Avenue Penthouse
Mrs. Hallowell sat upright enjoying the attention of the police in her home. Donahue had tagged along for this ride. Goren had filled her in on the way over and she understood the role she was to play.
"Mrs. Hallowell, it looks like your sister died from an accident." Goren said.
Hallowell betrayed no emotion, she shifted a little in her seat but didn't seem unhappy with the news. "An accident, but she was sitting when we found her?"
"Yes, we think she fell, hit her head and died from the hemorrhaging some time later." Eames filled in the gaps.
Hallowell sighed and looked down into the box of newspaper clippings she had at her feet. "Oh dear." She looked up at Donahue, "oh, my. You must forgive me. I was so upset."
"Mrs. Hallowell, you don't need to explain anything, I understand how traumatic this must be for you." Donahue crossed the room and took her hands. She looked down at her feet, "oh, are these articles about you and your sister?" Donahue bent down to look into the box.
"Yes," Hallowell was more than happy to talk to someone about her past fame. "Please, look through them."
Donahue picked up the box and walked over to sit on the couch near Goren, the two started looking at old clippings with interest.
Eames directed Hallowell's attention, "I just have to ask you a few questions, to tie up lose ends. In all the years you had no contact with your sister, not even a note, or maybe a letter sent anonymously?" Eames tried to lead her into admitting anything.
"No." Hallowell was focused on what Goren and Donahue were looking at. "That's my sister and I at the USO show in Washington DC. George Bush was there."
Donahue smiled and looked impressed.
"Look at how beautiful Merrill is." Goren pointed out the clip to Donahue.
"Wow, the difference is remarkable." Donahue said, then added quickly, "well when you two are standing next to each other of course. But on stage, there's a marked difference."
Hallowell curiosity was peaked, "what do you mean? My sister and I are identical twins."
"Yes, but the way Merrill stands, the way she holds herself with such poise. Well, you, Mrs. Hallowell, you had to see how Meredith, your sister, had less talent.
"I beg your pardon. Meredith was much more talented than me." Hallowell was quickly becoming agitated.
"No. It was you, you were the real beauty." Donahue said, she turned to Goren, "anyone can tell it was Merrill people came to see."
Goren nodded in agreement.
Hallowell was out of her seat and across the room in an instant. She ripped the clipping out of Donahue's hand and stood over her enraged.
"Merrill was nothing." She said outraged. "She was a silly little talent less hack." Hallowell knew she was caught but didn't care. "She left our act, and married that idiot. We could have made it if we stayed together. But she left me."
Eames stood up behind her. "Meredith Smith, you are under arrest for the murder of your sister, Merrill Hallowell."
"What?" Meredith tried to cover her tracks, "I'm Merrill Hallowell."
"No, you're not. I never met Merrill Hallowell, you contacted me just to create an alibi that your sister was a live. You killed her the day before you contacted me." Donahue rose standing next to Goren.
"Prove it." Meredith spat at them as Eames adjusted the handcuffs.
"That should be easy. Merrill hasn't been poisoning herself for years, you have."
Meredith was outraged and tried to break free from Eames's grasp. She calmed down as soon as she realized she couldn't. She walked out of her apartment where Eames handed her over to a pair of uniformed officers who were waiting for just that.
Donahue and Goren looked at each other.
"Good work." Donahue offered.
"Thanks." Goren shifted from one foot to another. "You'll still have to come down and make a statement at the precinct."
"Okay." Donahue walked out ahead of him. Goren cursed his stalling and ran after her.
Wok Number 5
Donahue was sitting at the bar with a couple of friends.
"Walter Gibson is the better of the two." The age-old debate of Walter Gibson v. Lester Dent was raging again. Donahue, normally a strong supporter of Walter Gibson was usually quiet. Ian noticed she was eyeing the door.
"Who are you waiting for?"
Donahue turned as though she was startled by him. "What?" She shook her head and woke herself up. "Nothing, I'm expecting someone."
Ian cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Nancy Drew in the three years I have known you, you have never once expected anyone." He stood up and walked her over to a booth, leaving the argument behind them.
"It's that cop, isn't it?" He asked sitting down across from her.
"Yeah." She looked around. "I don't know, I just thought we kind of 'clicked.'"
Ian looked at her, "AnneMarie, I love you. We're friends, and when I tell you, that you don't click with anyone you will believe I mean it with the best intentions." Ian sat back. Donahue bit her lip to keep from interrupting, he was right. "This guy has to be from Mars or something…" Ian's voice trailed off. "Found yourself a Martian." He nodded to the door.
Donahue turned to see Robert Goren standing at the door looking around. She waved him over. Ian stood up and looked Goren up and down. Goren suffered his scrutiny. "Gibson or Dent?"
Goren shrugged, "Gibson." He answered, sounding as though he was asking a question.
Ian nodded and walked away.
Goren sat down, "why does he want to know about guitars?"
Donahue's eyes widened. "Okay, there's this guy named Lamont Cranston, he's wealthy young gad about town…" Donahue's voice drifted off as Goren settled into the conversation.
The restaurant was half full of pulp writers and wanna-be private investigators. Lively conversations crept from corners as waitresses brought dishes from the kitchen to the table. The little cat statue waved at people passing by in the streets. Outside people walked by in the cool night air, taking the scents of the restaurant with them. The smells wafted down the street and around a corner into a dark alley. Past a dumpster lie Frank Goren, needle in his arm as he looked up at the stars. It was the clearest night he could remember in a long time. He felt himself slipping away into a high, but this felt wrong.
Frank Goren could hear the laughter from the restaurant around the corner as his last breath escaped his body.