The black car pulled up the curb on the dark street. It kept out of the streetlight's glow.
Cavil looked through the window, checking for any passer-byers. "Okay, you know what to do?" he said to his sullen waitress slumped on the seat beside him.
"What if I'm caught?" Sharon hissed.
"Then you'll be arrested," he said coolly. "But you know I'll bail you out and pay you for your trouble."
She crossed her arms tightly. "Thanks."
"Detective Tyrol's office is that third window. You'll be able to get in?"
The young woman stared straight ahead as though she wasn't listening.
He went on. "Ellen Tigh's possessions should be in his office. Check through them and find any evidence that may link me to her."
"Surely the police know you were romancing her," said Sharon.
He chuckled. "Romance hardly had anything to do with it. I don't care if they know that. But she wasn't a prudent woman. I fear she may have left information."
"The police have had her things for a few days, right? If there's something there, they would have found it by now-you're trying to set me up!" accused Sharon.
Cavil held up his hands. "No, no. I need you on this side of the bars." His tone turned low and dangerous. "I have to know if there's anything in her things before they're returned to her husband and his snoopy friends. Those damn flatfoots didn't know what they're looking for. Tear those bags apart, look everywhere."
Afraid, Sharon reached for the car door. "All right, all right." The door ajar, she stopped. "But what if this detective catches me?"
His smirk was cruel. "Before your entry into the food service industry, you were a whore as well as a thief. I'm sure something will occur to you."
He looked over her slim figure in the black silk pajamas she wore for this particular job. "Don't worry. White men won't be seen with your kind in public, but he'll accept your favors in the night."
She scrambled out and slammed the door in his face.
When his car pulled away, Sharon slipped into the shadowy bushes and headed toward the Hall of Justice's dark windows.
Cavil instructed his driver to pull over several blocks away. Deanna Biers stepped from a bar's doorway and quickly hopped into the backseat with him.
"Well?" she asked.
"The girl's going in."
Deanna smoothed her skirt and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Is that safe?"
"It's too dangerous to have any incriminating information fall into the wrong hands," pointed out Cavil.
"I told you that woman-"
"Yes, yes," he said, irritated. "I had my foolish choice, you have yours."
They both sighed heavily.
~~AV~~
Tyrol flipped on his office's light switch. Sharon froze by the table holding Ellen Tigh's things.
He slammed the door behind him. "What are you doing here?"
She ran to him. "Darling, I've missed you so much!"
He wrapped his arms around her. "This is crazy," he said roughly, but still began kissing her passionately.
~~AV~~
Cavil and Deanna entered one of the theaters at the World's Fair on Treasure Island. This was not part of the educational family fare; it was a review on the 'Gayway.'
The show was underway. Lovely young women, wearing nothing but cowboy hats, boots, and holsters, pranced on stage. They swirled ostrich feather fans with one hand, keeping just enough obscured to satisfy the police, and fired off pop-guns with the other, all under a banner that read: Sally Rand's Nude Ranch. In the front row, leaning between two footlights, Guy Baltar grinned up at the jiggling, pale flesh.
"This may not have been your best idea," Deanna said dryly.
"The authorities will never think to look for him here," insisted Cavil, "And Sally's a friend; she won't betray us."
"As long as she doesn't find out who we really are," pointed out Deanna when a large American flag was unfurled behind the dancing girls. All the men in the audience leapt to their feet, clapped their right hand over their hearts and began a ragged version of the Star Spangled Banner. Baltar was the only one still seated, looking around in confusion.
He spotted Cavil and Deanna and hurried up the aisle to greet them. "Thank you ever so much! This is such an inspiring location!"
"I'm sure you've gotten a great deal of work done," said Deanna cynically.
"I have, as a matter of fact," Baltar replied peevishly.
"Really?" she said, shocked. She grabbed his arm. "Let's get away from these people."
The doctor led them backstage, past curious showgirls. He exchanged greetings with many of them. Deanna kept prodding him forward.
They climbed a staircase and entered a large room. Its decor was incongruous. The walls were covered with pale orange watered silk, the floor had white shaggy carpet, and the bed was round with a shell-shaped headboard. But it also had a large laboratory table, with a bulky object under an ivory satin tablecloth.
"Where is your work?" asked Cavil, looking around in frustration.
Baltar whipped the cover off the table. "Here it is!" he said triumphantly.
Deanna slowly circled the table. "Yes, that's how it looked in Shanghai." It was a huge box, ornately decorated in Chinese characters and traditional symbols.
Cavil rocked back on his heels. "At least you've got it back together."
"I've done much more!" cried Baltar. "It works."
Cavil's eyebrows shot up. "It's operational?"
"Well, not as we want," waffled Baltar. "It's still only works in Chinese. Once I have the keys, I can adapt it to English."
"Or other languages," mused Deanna, catching Cavil's eye.
"Yes, yes, of course." Baltar flapped his hand at them. He traced the empty round spaces where the keys fit. "I could try to recreate the keys, but the possible combinations are incalculable. I might get it right first time, or it could be the ten millionth combination."
"We must get that bracelet," Deanna hissed at Cavil.
"It might be easier than expected. I now have a way to personally access the Roslin mansion," Cavil said smugly.
"What do you mean?" Deanna turned her back on the doctor; he was fiddling with a control on the device.
"The Lychee Club has been offered the catering job at Laura Adams' upcoming charity ball," said Cavil.
Deanna shook her head. "Surely it's a trap."
"I'm not so sure." Cavil pursed his mouth. "If they suspect us, why haven't I been questioned again by the police? The one detective removed that bullet from my wall, asked if I recognized the gunman, and left. Nothing more."
"So it's worth the risk?"
"We have to take that risk," insisted Cavil.
Deanna thought for a moment. "I'll make sure I'm there too," she said, a plan forming. "Henry Burns from the embassy, his wife is on the charity ball's committee. I'll think of some suitable sob story that will ensure an invitation is soon forthcoming. Surely between the two of us, we can get that damn bracelet."
"What about me?" Baltar had come up behind them.
"No!" Deanna spat at him. "You stay out of sight!"
"But I can be of help-"
Cavil smirked. "No, stay here with your little friends, Doctor." He took Deanna's arm. "Come along, my dear. We have to go over our plan."
When the door closed behind them, Baltar kicked the lab table leg in frustration, then grabbed the device to steady it. "Bloody hell," he grumbled.
The door opened again. His new friend, Jeanne, sashayed in, her short kimono wrap barely covering her rear end.
"Guy, baby, are you still messin' around with that box?" She wrinkled her pert little nose in discontent.
Baltar quickly flipped the cover back over it. "All gone!" Advancing on her, his arms outstretched, his face was lit up with excitement.
She dodged him and flopped herself before her vanity mirror. "Hon, just give me a minute to take the warpaint off, 'kay?"
"Of course, my dear," he grumbled. Finding a newspaper, he lounged on the bed, kicking off his shoes. He quickly skimmed the pages, glancing up at her every few seconds.
Then his eye was caught by a name in the society column. The Adams will be hosting a charity ball for Mrs Adams' school for wayward Chinese girls-
He quickly checked the list of attendees. One name jumped off the page-Cynthia Capra. He leapt up and pushed past Jeanne. She'd come to stand by the bed and was slipping her robe off.
"I'll be right back," he said, ignoring her pout.
In the hall, he waited impatiently behind a line of under-dressed showgirls for the telephone to be free.
Cynthia was the daughter of a wealthy industrialist alumni of Stanford University. Baltar had attended a soiree at the Capra house, and had been immediately smitten with the tall, sophisticated blonde. He'd be a fool to not be entranced by any woman who dragged him upstairs to her bedroom for a bit of slap and tickle within an hour of meeting. Soon afterwards, he'd met Deanna and hadn't found the time to see Cynthia again.
The showgirl who'd been yakking away on the phone finally rang off. Baltar took the receiver from her. This may be a delicate conversation...
~~AV~~
The morning fog still lay heavily on the hills surrounding the Roslin mansion. Standing in the front door, Laura watched Bill and Saul get into the staid black undertaker's car. She raised her hand in a half-hearted wave and Bill returned the gesture. Then he pulled his black Homburg down lower over his grim face and the car drove off.
She'd offered to come, but Bill explained that Saul preferred she not. Before she could be hurt, he told her: "He's gonna cry and blubber and he doesn't want you to see that."
"Of course not," she murmured, instantly grateful to miss this display.
Closing the door, she wandered across the foyer. She didn't expect them back for hours. It was to be a graveside service just over the hill in the Laurel Hill cemetery but she imagined Saul would want to toast his lost wife in every bar and saloon between there and the house.
Before she got very far, however, the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," she called out, hoping to save poor Old Jaffee some steps.
When she opened the door, the plainclothes policeman from the Tighs' hotel room was standing on her stoop. He looked surprised.
"Mrs Adams, how are you?" he said.
"Oh, hello," Laura said cautiously, hanging on the heavy door. "Detective?" she hazarded a guess.
"Officer Laird, Ma'am."
He was holding Ellen's suitcases and a few bags, and the weight was obviously taxing on him.
"Oh, please, come in," Laura said.
"Thank you, Ma'am." Laird passed her and then stood in the foyer, gobsmacked at its gleaming marble floors and soaring ceiling with the stained glass domed skylight far above.
Laura closed the door. "What may I help you with?"
The Jaffees appeared and hovered discretely.
"We are returning Mrs Tigh's things to Mr Tigh, Ma'am."
The Jaffees glided forward and quickly relieved the officer of the cases and bags.
"Please take those to Mr Adams' study," Laura instructed the father and son. Then she showed the blushing policeman out.
She thanked the Jaffees as they left the study. After they disappeared through the servant door, she loitered in the foyer, shifting from foot to foot. She peeked over her shoulder at the front door as though she expected Bill to come through it.
When he didn't, she scurried in a rather undignified fashion toward his study. Slipping around the door, she clicked the lock and moved to the table.
Really, she wasn't snooping, she told herself as she eased open the suitcase. She was investigating.
Laura instantly recoiled as the strong odor of Ellen's perfume escaped the closed-up box. The clothing was not quite as neat as she'd witnessed that pleasant Officer Laird fold them, evidence that one other or more policemen had searched through Ellen's belongings.
Laura looked around her, guiltily again, then finally took the plunge and reached into the case. She nudged at the pale pink chiffon evening gown that lay on top with one finger. It slipped to one side, allowing her to view the next piece of clothing: a dark pink silk blouse. She pushed that blouse aside to reveal a summer frock. Her nose screwed up when she saw it was a pink and white check print.
Deciding to forget about propriety, she removed each article of clothing one at a time until the map table was draped in a multitude of different shades of pink.
"Maybe I could almost call this one apricot," she murmured when she first shook, then checked the pockets of a day jacket, eventually tossing it onto the pile when she found nothing.
At the bottom of the case, she found Ellen's 'special' underwear. Just as Bill had pointed out, they were all monogrammed with Ellen's initials, and they were all, of course, pink.
Once the suitcase was empty, she turned it upside down and gave it a brisk shake to ensure nothing was caught beneath the cardboard base.
She sighed with dissatisfaction at coming up empty handed after her unauthorized inspection.
Laura shoved the garish underwear back into the case in a haphazard fashion. Her attention too, when folding the the remainder of Ellen's clothing, was cursory at the most. From now on, Saul would be clutching at, and sleeping with, the pink materials. Probably starting tonight; he wouldn't notice the odd crush here and there.
She snapped the case shut and removed a pink velvet-covered jewelry box of Ellen's treasures from a paper bag.
Lowering herself onto the couch, she tucked her legs up under her and pulled out the box's contents one by one, placing them on the low coffee table before her.
A small collection of jewelry: three pairs of sparkly earrings, one green, two clear paste diamonds; a necklace of fake pearls; two gold-plated bracelets. Ellen hadn't bothered to invest in real gems. There were no rings, she noted. Had Ellen ever worn a wedding ring? She would have to find a subtle way to ask Bill.
Still nothing helpful to their case. That left Ellen's handbag. A woman's handbag was a window into her soul. Laura unsnapped the clasp on the faux alligator clutch. There had been several other bags in her suitcase, but this had been her choice on the fatal night.
Again, the scent of the dead woman's perfume; a fine linen monogrammed handkerchief was saturated in it. Putting that aside, Laura rummaged further. A gold compact, engraved, to my love. Laura hoped that meant it was from Saul. A red leather coin purse with just a few coins; a woman used to someone else picking up the tab. Her tortoiseshell comb-this was real and fine quality. No cigarettes or lighter; again, she would expect someone else to offer.
A lipstick. She opened the tube and check the color. Pink, of course. But Laura actually liked the shade. She wiggled the tube out of its gold-plated case to see what it was called. A small object fell out of the case. Prodding between the couch cushions, she carefully retrieved it.
It was a tiny glass capsule...empty. But was emblazoned with a red skull and crossbones. Laura's eyes widened in shock. Was this what she feared?