Chapter 4: Scene of the Crime
Laura walked into the waiting room she'd been directed to after inquiring after Mildred. She'd spent more than two hours next to Remington's bedside and the only movement that had come from the man was an occasional shifting of his eyes beneath his lids. It was to be expected - she'd been assured by his private duty nurse when she'd arrived with a dose of Phenergan and amitriptyline on Townsend's orders – given how heavily he was being sedated to prevent him from struggling against or removing the various leads and tubes attached to him. Well, once he began to stir, wild horses wouldn't be able to drag her away from his side, so if she was to start finding some answers, it would have to happen now. Thus, she'd slipped his Peppler wedding band over his finger confident his deft mind would understand its implications and vowed to him she'd be back shortly. That he might wake absent his memory, as had occurred a year-and-a-half prior or, worse, with substantial impairment were simply unacceptable options in her mind and were not even to be considered.
The medications prescribed by Townsend had helped, considerably, she reluctantly had to admit. The headache had been reduced to the nagging dull ache, a reminder of what had been. The nausea had also abated, although the dizziness upon sudden movement remained and she was now downright drowsy. Determined to forge through it all, she'd sought out Mildred… And had found a couple of surprising faces in that waiting room, although given the Earl's personal physician had been dispatched to care for Remington, she recognized maybe it shouldn't have been such a surprise after all.
"Thomas, Catherine," she greeted with a nod, then began to turn towards Mildred.
"Good Lord," Catherine gasped, her hand flying up to rest at the base of her throat.
"My God," Thomas exclaimed. Laura crinkled her nose, having forgotten what she must look like.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you met up with the same people Harry did," Daniel observed.
"It's not as bad as it looks," she assured the group.
"Were you in an accident, my dear?" Catherine asked in a breathy tone.
"Just a little scuffle in the course of business," Laura replied, then turned to address Mildred. "Mildred, if you'll stay with Mr. Steele, I'll get us checked into a hotel and then I want to have a look at where he was attacked, while I can. I'll be back before they reduce his sedation." Mildred's hand flew upward to cover her mouth. Gasping her eyes widened.
"Attacked?!" Laura's eyes traveled over Daniel, who had remained silent, then over Catherine and Thomas.
"Nobody filled Mildred in?"
"We felt it best if that information came from you, my dear," Daniel replied on behalf of the trio. Well, isn't that just swell! With a huff, she focused on Mildred again. Like ripping off a bandaid, she gave it to her straight.
"He was badly beaten, shot, then left in a freezer to die," she told the older woman, holding back no punches. Mildred's skin blanched.
"The Boss?" she breathed. "Is he going to… is he going to make it?"
"His doctor is 'guardedly optimistic'. That's all I know right now. "I should warn you though: He looks exactly like what happened to him." Mildred's lip quivered, then with great resolve, she drew herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders.
"Try and stop me!" she declared and marched towards the waiting room door, then came to a stop. "What room is he in?"
"Room four, to your right," Laura provided, then turned her attention to Daniel. "I'm going to take ten minutes to book Mildred and I into a hotel and to order her in lunch, then I want you to take me to where you found Harry." Her tone made it clear the topic was not up for discussion.
"Of course, Harry would want nothing less," he agreed. Seeing the anguish on the man's face, she was reminded Remington was a like a son to Daniel. To have found him in such a state, to be waiting for word now, warranted some compassion. "You're more than welcome to stay in Harry's room."
"If Harry will be more comfortable there once he's been released, we'll take you up on that offer," Laura declined, "But for now, I have no interest in being more than five minutes from the hospital. The private duty nurse said the Vilenza is only a few minutes' walk from here. That's where Mildred and I will say," she informed him with finality.
"A close acquaintance of mine happens to own the Vilenza," Thomas stepped in. "If you'd permit me the honor, a simple phone call will see to your reservation." She glanced at her watch. She hated to put the man out, but she didn't want to be gone more than two hours, and saving ten or fifteen minutes on reserving a room might help her stay within that timeline.
"I'd appreciate that," she accepted. Catherine stood and after smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt, gathered her purse and gloves from the chair next to where she'd sat.
"I was just preparing pick up a little lunch for Thomas and myself," she shared. "It's just as easy to pick up three meals as it is two. I'll return shortly, darling," she told her husband with a small smile.
"Thank you, Catherine. That's very kind of you," Laura told the woman with gratitude.
"Anything to ease the burden," the woman replied demurely.
"Thomas, would you be so kind as to impose on Inspector Lombard to meet us?" Daniel requested. "I don't wish to leave Harry for any longer than I must." Thomas stood at once.
"It's no imposition, at all. I'll ring him up now. With a bit of good fortune, he'll be awaiting your arrival." With those words Thomas left the room behind Catherine. Daniel held out an arm to Laura.
"Shall we, my dear?"
Eyes narrowing, Laura took his arm and accompanied him from the waiting room.
The first part of the drive had been made with polite although awkward small talk. How had her trip been? How were Tilly and Milton? Laura and Mildred's accommodations at the Vilenza would be suitable, although given recent events Harry would probably feel better if she stayed at Daniel's. That particular commentary provided Laura with the opening she'd been waiting for.
"I need to ask you a question, and I expect you to be honest with me, even if that isn't your forte," she told him a tone that suggested he dare not be otherwise. "Have you gotten Harry mixed up in another of your hair-brained schemes?"
"You speak as though he'd agree were I to ask," Daniel noted. "I believe we're both well aware Harry has been firmly under your thumb for some years now." She took affront at that.
"Under my—" she bit out, then stopped herself, continually in a cool voice, "Need I remind you, becoming Remington Steele was a choice made, not imposed?"
"Wasn't it though?" he challenged. "Imposed, I mean? Harry's made no secret he was enamored with you from the start. It would seem to me any hopes he had of getting you into his bed were contingent upon him becoming this detective of yours." That she'd... that he'd even suggest... Well, that does it. This little truce I've been trying to broker is off!
"This from the man who once told me Mr. Steele would disappear as soon as we experienced that 'ultimate moment'?" she scoffed. "Well, that particular ship long ago sailed, so what exactly do you think keeps him sticking around now?"
"A momentary infatuation that may cost him all he is destined to be," he replied bluntly. She crossed her arms and tipped up her chin, vexed.
"If you care about him as much as you claim, I'd think you'd want him to be happy."
"And I do," he answered, then added resignedly, "I just fear when forced to choose between all he's ever dreamed of and this fleeting…" he waved a hand "…romance of yours, he'll throw everything away, then spend the rest of his days regretting that choice."
"You presume too much, Mr. Chalmers," she rebutted. "Have you ever considered the life he has now is all he's ever dreamed of?" she proposed with more confidence than she felt, then with tenacity began ticking off the reasons why that might be. "He has a job he enjoys that allows him to employ the very skills you taught him; he has the respect of his community; he's internationally famous; he's established a network of people he can rely on; he's bought his first home—"
"A mere pittance, all of it, to what he's entitled," Daniel cut her off as he pulled the car up to the curb in front of Haven House. "He was born to so much more." Turning off the car he faced her. "Would you give up that little Agency of yours for him? If not, how can you demand he do the same for you?" With that question, he opened the car door and got out, exchanging a handshake with Inspector Lombard who awaited them on the sidewalk. Insulted and irritated – a common state after an interchange with Daniel – Laura drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before climbing out of the car.
Then stutter stepped.
She'd been so caught up in her confrontational conversation with Daniel than she hadn't realized where they were until she looked up at the building in front of her. Gathering her wits, she put on her implacable mask of icy calm.
"Inspector Lombard, thank you for meeting us," she greeted with an extended hand. "I wasn't aware Mr. Steele was attacked here." She sent an accusing look Daniel's way that said 'left a little something out, didn't you?'
"Of course. I only wish our meeting was under more pleasant circumstances," Lombard apologized. Thomas had shared with him Remington was still in critical condition, thus chose not to inquire after him. The next few minutes would be difficult enough as it was.
"What do we know so far?"
"Only what Mr. Chalmers has shared with the officers who responded, I'm afraid," Lombard provided while pulling open the unlocked door. "Our crime scene technicians found no indication of forced entry, so either the door was left unsecured or Mr. Steele invited his assailants in."
"You said 'assailants', plural?" she questioned, interested in how he'd arrived at a conclusion similar to her own. She stepped into the restaurant of the Haven House behind Lombard and before Daniel.
"Only an assumption given my prior interactions with Mr. Steele." Lombard stopped and turned around to address Daniel. "Mr. Chalmers, I was quite pleased when the Earl informed me you'd be accompanying Miss Holt. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to walk me through the events of that day from when you arrived until you found Mr. Steele." To Daniel's credit, his discomfort at reliving the experience was shown only in the quick twitch of the outside of a brow.
"Of course, however I might help," he agreed.
"Then if you'll begin with when you arrived and take me through step-by-step," Lombard coaxed. Daniel cleared his throat and faced the door through which they'd just entered.
"We'd planned to meet here at five for an early dinner," he began, as Laura watched him avidly. "The door was locked when I arrived. I knocked a pair of times, then pounded upon the door to no avail. Even though we'd had words, he's far too well-mannered to leave me standing upon the street. My—"
"You'd argued?" Lombard interrupted, scribbling in his notepad, while Laura took mental note. Remington had been… off… deflated the evening prior to his attack. Was this the reason why?
"Not argued, so much as had a difference of opinion on a matter," Daniel corrected. "When the door went unanswered, I became concerned, so I let myself in. The—"
"You said the door was locked," Lombard stepped in again, "You have a key then?" Laura shifted her eyes to Daniel as she searched the dining room for signs of a struggle, curious how he'd tap dance his way around the question.
"As you are aware, Inspector," Daniel replied with an air of snobbery, "I am the Earl's Chief of Security. I should hope I'd have the sophistication to get past a simplistic single tumbler dead bolt, elsewise I should be in another profession." Laura rolled her eyes. Chief of security, ha! She remained convinced he had wholly self-serving reasons for taking the position.
"Continue, please," Lombard requested.
"When I entered I called out several times to no avail," Daniel continued as he walked towards the kitchen. "I heard something, as I stood about here. I couldn't distinguish what it was only that it seemed out of place, so I went in search."
"You saw nothing out of the ordinary?" Lombard questioned.
"Nothing that drew my notice," Daniel confirmed.
"Well, wherever Mr. Steele was attacked, it didn't happen in the dining room," Laura announced.
"You're quite right, Miss Holt," Lombard confirmed. "My men have already determined the initial assault took place in a room on the second floor."
"I'd like to begin there, if you wouldn't mind," she requested.
"If you'll follow me."
Laura strove for professional detachment, a state difficult to maintain as she walked past the darkened, dried puddles and smears of blood near the freezer. In the short time since last she'd been here, the lights had been added to the once dim hallway and the stairwell was fully enclosed, providing increased security – not that it had done Remington much good, she'd noted somewhere in her subconscious. On the second level, Lombard turned through a doorway that she immediately recognized as the large space she'd recommended turning into a common gathering area and tutoring space for the home. The contractors had been busy, she observed impassively as she stepped into the room, for the area had been fully completed. Not that it mattered now, of course, because the room was in shambles. Tables and chairs remained overturned, a coffee table lay in splinters on the floor, holes had been knocked through freshly painted drywall and the blood that dotted walls and floor served as a reminder of the violence that had taken place inside those four walls. But it was the bloodied handprint that streaked downwards on the lower half of one wall that was most difficult to see, for in her heart, she knew it was there that he'd finally been overcome.
She shuddered inwardly as she examined the room from corner-to-corner, searching for clues. She frowned noting the ebony powder coating surfaces throughout the room. A fruitless endeavor, fingerprinting, if you asked her opinion given the sheer number of contactors, laborers, deliverymen and who knew who else who'd pass through this room during the remodel.
"Did your men find anything?"
"Many prints, some fibers and hair," Lombard confirmed, "But I doubt any of it will be of use."
"I was thinking the same," she concurred. "Can we go back downstairs so I can see the cooler?"
"Certainly." The trio trod back downstairs, Laura examining floors, walls and handrails along the way.
"He had to have been carried," she murmured, more to herself than anyone. Lombard's keen ears picked up on her mumbling and he paused to address her at the entrance of the kitchen.
"I'm most curious as to how you arrived at that conclusion," he queried.
"Mr. Steele's survival instincts are some of strongest I've ever been witness to," she explained. "He would have known wherever they were taking him to wouldn't end well and had he been able, he would have fought them the entire way. There's no sign of struggle in the hallway upstairs, on the stairs or even here in this hallway, nothing more than a few drops of blood that I would venture came from his injuries."
"Astute observations, Miss Holt," Lombard commended. "I would have to agree." He continued on to the door of the walk-in cooler and pulled it open.
Mustering up the icy calm for which she was known, Laura stepped inside before the man. Bile rose up in her throat at the sight of the scene before her, but with great strength of person, she forced it back down.
Remington had been shot here, that much was obvious, for the spatters and streaks of blood upstairs had changed into large swaths of blood here, beginning three-quarters of the way towards the back of the cooler with the largest pools of blood next to the door. But that wasn't what had caused such a visceral reaction in her. No, that had been due to the long streaks of blood and bloody hand prints that mapped out how Remington had dragged his badly injured body towards the door in hopes of escape only to find he'd been locked within the confines of the cooler.
Drawing in a deep breath, she stepped inside and inspected the interior.
"We have three different shoe wear impressions," she noted aloud, pointing in the vicinity of those impressions. "Did your men measure them and take pictures?" Opening her purse, she drew out her notepad and pen then scribbled a rendition of the prints within – etchings that looked positively juvenile compared to what Remington would have done.
"They did."
"Did they recover any bullet casings?" she pursued.
"Not a one, although the bullet removed from your husband was confirmed to be a forty caliber," Lombard shared. She frowned.
"Well that's not very common," she pondered aloud. "There can't be too many guns that would use that type of ammunition."
"I wasn't aware you were such a gun aficionado," Daniel remarked, speaking for the first time since they'd begun the tour.
"I'm not," she replied, "But we do come in contact with guns more often than we'd like in the course of our investigations." She dropped pad and pen back in her purse. "If you have no other questions for Mr. Chalmers or me, then I'd like to get back to the hospital."
"I do have one question, that we can discuss on our way out," Lombard returned, as he closed the door to the cooler and held out his hand towards the dining room. "Is Mr. Steele currently working on a case that would inspire someone to eliminate him?" She shook her head as she walked through the dining room.
"He's not working on any cases at the moment," she supplied. "His time here has been devoted to working with the Earl on getting the Haven House open and running."
"Then you've no idea who may wish your employer dead," Lombard concluded.
"Partner," she corrected succinctly, then continued honestly as she stepped out of the front door of the building, "Mr. Steele's work has inspired any number of people to wish him—"
A cackle from the street had her stopping cold, and red hot fury scorched through her veins.
"You!" she hissed.
"What's the matter, Holt? Not happy to see me?" Norman Keyes sneered, then laughed again. She stomped up to the man until she was nearly nose-to-nose with the man.
"If I find out you had anything to do with this, I swear, I'll kill you myself!" she threatened, her eyes flashing fire at the man.
"I gotta say, I was disappointed to hear glamour boy hadn't kicked it." Pain slashed across Laura's face at merely the suggestion and she silently berated herself for having let him seen her reaction. "From what I hear, though, with a little luck it could still happen. You ask me, the world will be better—"
"You might wish to consider the wisdom of finishing that thought," Daniel advised in a glacial tone, moving forward until he was a step behind Laura, "While not a man prone to violence, should you wish harm on the boy, I may be unable to contain my rage." Laura blinked a pair of times, shocked. She couldn't recall a single time in their association when Daniel had appeared anything less than the convivial gentleman in public.
"Inspector Lombard," she called to the man who'd been silently watching the interaction unfold, "You asked if I was aware of anyone who might wish Mr. Steele dead?"
"I did," he confirmed, now joining the trio.
"If you call Detective James Jarvis with the LAPD, you'll find Mr. Keyes…" She yanked his cigar from his mouth and threw it in the gutter when Keyes blew smoke in her face "…currently not only has warrants out for his arrest for assault and harassment but has been restricted from having any contact with Mr. Steele or myself."
"Pfff. Ain't no one extraditing me for a petty misdemeanor and that no contact order don't mean squat here," he dismissed with a laugh. She smiled tightly at him and addressed Lombard.
"You may also be looking at your prime suspect in the attack on Mr. Steele," she announced. "He's threatened him previously and you heard with your own ears…" her smile turned smug, as she elongated the words, "…that he'd prefer Mr. Steele no longer among the living."
"I did, indeed," Lombard confirmed, then gave Keyes his full attention. "Mr. Keyes, is it? If you'd be so kind as to accompany to my office for a few questions." Keyes sputtered with outrage.
"I ain't going anywhere with you, pal!" he refused, adamantly. "I have rights, and you ain't got nothing on me!"
"Ah, but much as that no contact order… how did you put it… 'don't mean squat here,' neither does your Constitution," Lombard informed the other man, with some enjoyment. "So unless you are familiar with your rights under British law, you may find it in your best interest to do as requested."
"You'll be sorry for this, Holt," Keyes vowed, stabbing a finger in the direction of her nose. She tilted her head back, scowling, to keep from being jabbed.
"The only thing I'm sorry for, Keyes, is that we ever had the misfortune of you crossing our path," she shot back, as Lombard escorted Keyes towards his car with a firm grip on his upper arm.
"You ain't seen the last of me, and you can take that to the bank," he shouted, as Lombard opened the rear door to his card and shoved the man inside.
"Miss Holt, we'll be in touch," Lombard called to her.
"You know where to find me," she replied wearily.
With that, she watched as Lombard – heavy one Norman Keyes – drove away then allowed Daniel to lead her back to his Mercedes so they could return to the hospital.