Chapter 10: A Would-Be Murderer
Laura's eyelids twitched and a frown flitted across her brow when the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up roused her. Eyes flying open, she blinked a pair of times as the figure stepped forward and aligned the syringe to the IV port.
"Where's Claudia?" she inquired in a sleep roughened voice. The man was clearly startled, the hand with the syringe in it falling away. Quickly recovering, he attempted to hide his reaction with a smile.
"Change of shift, ma'am. I'll be seeing to Mr. Steele until morning." Alarm bells sounded in her mind. That wasn't right. Claudia and Louisa had been charged with Remington's care, each working twelve hours shifts. Beneath her blanket, her hand surreptitiously slid towards nurses call box hanging from the rail behind her.
"Is that Mr. Steele's antibiotic?" she questioned, feigning a sleepy tone, as she depressed the button on the call box, quickly doing a mental assessment of the situation. Whoever this was, he most definitely wasn't a nurse. There was no clear exit as he stood between her and the door… as if she'd leave Remington alone with him in the first place. She had no weapons other than her wits to use against the man until help could arrive.
"That's right," he answered, grasping the port again and raising the needle.
She flew into action. Snatching the pitcher from the table she tossed the water in the man's face, then for good measure threw the pitcher itself at his head. Sputtering his fury, he was unprepared when she grabbed the pen she'd been using earlier, then launched herself over Remington and onto the man's back, plunging the pen into the man's upper arm. With a howl, he dropped the needle and, spinning, grabbed at the arms locked around his neck. At the man's scream, Remington's eyes opened and he struggled to focus on what he was seeing in the room back lit only by the white light of the television.
"Laura?"
The man grabbed at Laura's hands, loosening her grip around his neck, spinning and shoving at her as he stumbled around the room.
"Laura!" Remington shouted, as he comprehended what he was seeing was quite real and no dream. He lurched upwards, as Laura was thrown from the man's back, hit the ground and slid across it.
The door opened and light flooded the room when Claudia flicked on the light switch.
"You ra—" She was cut short when the man rammed into her then disappeared into the hallway.
"Call security!" Laura shouted as she scrambled to her feet. "And don't lose that syringe!" she added, racing out the door in pursuit of the man.
Laura looked first left then right, and seeing the man preparing to pass the nurses station screamed…
"Stop that man!"
Heads swiveled towards her then in the direction of the man who had by then passed the station and skidded to a halt before looking right towards the elevators, then seemingly dismissing that option, took off to the left.
"Call security!" she yelled as she ran past, then disappeared down the hallway.
She gave chase down the hall then followed the man into the stairwell. One flight… two… three… Slinging open the door on the first floor, he barreled through, Laura hot on his heels.
She ground to a stop when she saw two security guards take the man to the floor.
"What's this about?" Remington's would be assailant yelled, as he struggled to free himself from the men. "My wife's 'bout to deliver our babe right upstairs. Just came down for a quick smoke. Nervous, you know, being my first and all."
"He's lying," Laura contradicted, trying to catch her breath. "He just tried to inject M-… my husband with something and attacked me."
"You put your hands on a lady?" growled the the larger of the two guards, grabbing a handful of the man's hair and yanking his head back.
"That's a bloody lie!" he shouted the protest. "She jumped me, she did!" The other guard looked up, regarded Laura, then broke out in laughter.
"That little bit of a thing?" he mocked. Laura crossed her arms, her chin tipped up and she scowled, taking offense at the reference.
"Call Scotland Yard and have them inform Inspector Lombard you've likely just caught one of the men who attempted to murder Remington Steele, and he was caught trying to do so again tonight," she instructed.
"Remington Steele?" the larger guard asked in surprise.
"The detective fella all over the papers last year?" the second asked.
"The man under the Earl of Claridge's protection?" the first pressed further.
"Yes… to both," Laura confirmed. The two men exchanged concerned looks then with each taking an arm hauled the man to his feet.
"Don't worry, ma'am. We'll lock the bugger straight up 'til the Yard arrives," the larger vowed. "C'mon, you." The pair yanked the struggling man down a hallway then ushered him into a room, closing the door soundly behind.
In the privacy of the elevator where she stood alone as the car moved upwards, Laura leaned her back heavily against the back wall and lifted a pair of fingers to rub her brow. Ouch! Again, she'd forgotten her own healing wounds, although the slash of pain hadn't been quite as… vigorous… as it had been two days before. She settled for rubbing her arms.
Remington couldn't stay in the hospital, that was the long and short of it. This man – whoever he was, because he was neither Smith nor Jones – had just waltzed right into the room without anyone questioning an unfamiliar nurse wandering the floor in the middle of the night. Beyond the little matter of security, the events of the evening made it abundantly clear there was still a price on Remington's head.
Killing him here, in the hospital, served no purpose if the motivation was Haven House. To serve as either a warning against taking 'merchandise' off the streets or proof that the facility would bring more crime into the neighborhood, his death would need to be there. Which meant this was about Mick O'Leary aka Remington Steele. Someone from the past was looking for payback, but whom and from which past – his past, her past or their past?
She felt fairly confident in eliminating her past – the past when she'd been Remington Steele - from the equation given she'd never taken on a case out of state let alone on another continent. Which left someone he'd crossed in the years before he'd arrived in LA or someone in whom they'd inspired vengeance together while in Europe. The latter list alone was lengthy, as they'd managed to foil plots and schemes in England, Ireland, France and Malta.
When the elevator doors opened, she strode at a brisk clip back to Remington's room.
"Would you mind telling me just what the bloody hell is going on?" Remington demanded, stridently, when she stepped into the room, not caring at all that they had company in the form of Claudia and a security guard.
She gave him a quick synopsis of the evening's festivities, while Claudia changed the dressing on his wounds.
"What happened to 'we never run off alone', Laura?" She didn't particularly care for his tone, but chose to let it go, waving him off with a flick of her hand.
"Never mind, that. Right now, we need to get you out of here." Claudia's head popped up at that.
"Dr. Townsend is on his way, but I feel confident in saying the Doctor won't be agreeable to releasing your husband, ma'am, what with him being critical but a day ago."
"I know it's not ideal," Laura replied, gathering clothes from a shopping bag then walking to the bathroom. "But it's a better choice than risking someone makes another attempt on his life," she continued from behind the partially closed door.
"Where is it that you have in mind?" he called to her, not even questioning her decision.
"Well, not my hotel room," she called back. "It won't take them long to make a connection between you and I," she commented, trusting him to understand she meant his partner, not his wife. "I was thinking of Daniel's, unless you have something else in mind. It's secure, for the most part at least, not to mention close enough to London for you to see Townsend and for us to investigate why someone's targeting you." Back in the bed he brightened a bit. The idea she might attempt to sideline him for 'your own good' had crossed his mind as he'd watched her race from the room. It seemed, once he was able – a point he was certain they'd argue over – their partnership was to continue on.
"Are you sure you're comfortable with that?" he wondered. She paused briefly as she buttoned her blouse and thought on that question, then shrugged.
"If you have another idea, I'm certainly open to it," she replied. "Of course, given your current condition, unless that place comes equipped with catering or a cook, you'll be eating what I—" He cringed.
"No need to finish that threat, Laura," he insisted. "Daniel's it is." She snorted a laugh. Of course, it was. It also happened to suit her needs. She had the perfect excuse for being there… and the opportunity to try and find out what Daniel was mixed up in. She stepped out of the bathroom tucking her blouse into her skirt.
"Going somewhere?" She nodded her head, while sliding her feet into her pumps.
"Once I call Mildred, I am going back downstairs to where they're holding the man who tried to attack you. I want to be there when Lombard questions him, while you…" she pointed a finger at him "…call Daniel then convince Townsend of the urgency for your release." She paused and turned to address Claudia. "The syringe? Where is it?"
"I took it upon myself to send it to the lab, Mrs. Steele," Claudia informed her. "Dr. Townsend and the police will want to know what's in it," she reasoned. Laura smiled her approval.
"Well, you can bet whatever it is, it's not an antibiotic." Remington held up his right hand to her as she neared, thinking she meant to sit with him, then watched her pick up her purse and move past him to the phone. Should he have expected less when her mind was on a case?
Shortly, she'd dug the hotel information out of her purse and the line was ringing on the other side. A couple blocks away in an upscale suite of a hotel, Mildred was dragged from her dreams by the ringing phone. She frowned, taking a few seconds to orient herself, then understanding dawned, alarm quickly following. Calls in the middle of the night rarely meant anything good. Throwing back her sheets and getting out of bed, she hustled into the living area of the suite and picked up the receiver of the phone.
"Hello?" Her voice shook with worry.
"Mildred? It's Laura," Laura greeted from the hospital room.
"Miss Holt? Has something happened?"
"Everyone's fine, Mildred," Laura assured, answering the unasked question, "But there was another attempt on Mr. Steele this evening."
"What?!" Mildred asked with breathy horror. Laura gave the woman a brief, intentionally white-washed synopsis of what had happened.
"I want you on the first plane back to LA this morning. I'm going to need you there to do background checks as we try to figure out who is after Mr. Steele not to mention to keep the office running with light work and the rumor mill at bay," she instructed, further. "You know the drill: A case with international implications, very hush-hush."
"Are you sure?" Mildred worried. "The Boss isn't exactly up for investigating right now. I could help you—"
"You'll be of more help to me in LA," Laura cut her off. She would have her hands full keeping Remington in one piece and as much as she adored Mildred, she needed someone to veer her away from trouble when she was invited to participate in an investigation. "I already have the name of two of the men who attacked Mr. Steele. I need to know everything there is to know about them, and there is no one better than you at that. I need your fingers on your keyboard and to keep the revenue flowing, Mildred," she said more succinctly. "I have no idea how long I'll be here." In the hotel suite, Mildred's face went from crestfallen by the rejection to determined.
"You got it," she agreed in a firm voice, before she fretted again. "What about the two of you kids?"
"We're moving him to Daniel's," Laura informed the other woman. "You have the number from when I was here last week." Had it really been so recently? It seemed a lifetime away now. "Call and leave word there when you've arrived back in LA."
"Will do."
"Goodbye, Mildred." Hanging up the phone, she dropped her purse on table and walked towards the door while speaking to Remington. "I'll be back in a little while." With that, she disappeared through the doorway, without a look back.
"I'm fine, don't worry about me," he called in the direction of the hallway, then flipped a hand in resignation.
Lombard sat on the corner of a desk in the office where Remington's near-assailant had been taken by the security guards. The Inspector from Scotland Yard was growing increasingly more irritated with the man seated in a chair before him – a man who had been less than cooperative thus far.
"What was in the syringe?" Lombard demanded to know.
"I've no idea what you're talking 'bout. Lady's got a fanciful imagination, you ask me." From where she stood near the wall, facing the man with arms crossed and toe tapping with irritation, Laura's lips twitched with disapproval at the accusation.
"Why were you in Mr. Steele's room?" Lombard pursued.
"I already told you, I got a bit turned 'round, that's all," the man stonewalled. "All the turns, and corridors and go this way and that. The hospital is a bloody maze, I tell ya."
"Ahh, yes," Lombard nodded. "Your wife is preparing to give birth, wasn't it? And your wife? What might her name be?"
"Have you any idea what she'll do to me if the coppers show up at a time like this?" He shook his head adamantly. "Uh-uh. Nothing doing." He was good, Laura had to give him that. Lombard had been going over the same questions repeatedly, and the man never waivered in his claims and put on the airs of an affronted, innocent man. Of course, it was all lies. She huffed her disbelief, but otherwise maintained her silence.
A tap on the door and it swung open.
"I'm sorry, sir," a uniformed officer apologized as he stuck his head in the room. "A moment if your time, if you will, sir." Lombard stood and joined the young officer at the door. Laura watched the whispered exchange with interest, her back straightening imperceptibly when the door closed and Lombard strode back across the room. If the gleam in his eye was any indication, something important was about to transpire. Resuming his former position on the desk, he leaned slightly towards the man.
"Shall we give this another go… Mr. Baker?" Lombard suggested. Laura's brows lifted at Lombard's use of a name, while the man's face turned ashen before he leaned back in his chair with a defiant look upon his face.
"I got nothing to say," the man refused. Lombard swiveled his head to address Laura.
"My men lifted several prints off the syringe, a pair belonging to the nurse who sent it on to the lab and three belonging to one Bartholomew Baker." He returned his attention to Baker. "I must admit to being puzzled, Mr. Baker, how it is a lifelong petty criminal graduates to murder. Care to enlighten me?"
"Already said I ain't got nothing to say," was the man's belligerent reply.
"The lab has informed my officer succinylcholine has been confirmed to be in the syringe you intended to inject into Mr. Steele's IV line. That's not something one would pick up at the local chemist's shop. How did you come to be in possession of it?" Lombard pressed. Laura's back straightened further. Succinylcholine?
"How many times have I got to say I don't know anything about a syringe," Baker continued to stonewall.
"I must ask myself if you understand the gravity of the situation you are in," Lombard said, his voice taking on a steely tone. "We've a witness attesting you were in Mr. Steele's room preparing to inject the contents of that syringe into his intravenous line. My men have taken your picture 'round to every room no the maternity ward and all women deny knowing you and your wife…." Baker's eyes rounded "…is sitting home. Then there is the little matter of your fingerprints on that syringe." Gaining his feet, he stared down at the man with a hard look. "You've not spent time in HM Brixton as of yet, have you Mr. Baker? I assure you, it is far worse than you've likely heard."
"I'm better off at HM Brixton, you ask me. I'll be six feet under if I cross that viper," Baker snapped, then slumped back in his chair, crossing his arms and glowering. "Uh-uh. Toss me in the pokey, because I'm not saying anything," he insisted.
"Very well, then," Lombard agreed, while walking to the door. Opening it, he waved in a pair of bobbies. "Take him. I'll be straight along to sort out the charges," he ordered.
Lombard and Laura watched as the man stood, allowed himself to be cuffed and removed from the room.
"What, exactly, is succinylcholine?" she inquired as soon as the door shut.
"A paralytic agent," Lombard supplied.
"Paralytic? Well, that doesn't make much sense," she noted with a frown.
"This particular paralytic, administered in the dosage found in that syringe, would have rendered Mr. Steele unable to draw a breath or to signal he was in distress, " he elaborated. Her lips parted in shock. Whoever was orchestrating these attempts on Remington's life was determined he suffer greatly before his demise. Why? What had he done that was so egregious someone decided he warranted such a fate?
"I see," she replied with an icy calm she didn't necessarily feel. "I think it goes without saying that we'll be immediately moving Mr. Steele to a private residence to continue his recovery."
"Understandable, given the circumstances. You will, of course, provide me with where that will be, so I may reach you with any questions." She recognized it was not a request, even couched as such, but a demand.
"I'll call your office as soon as I get the address," she assured. "You may want to ask Baker about two men by the names of Charlie Jones and George Smith," she suggested, drawing the Inspector's full attention.
"And they would be?"
"Two of the men involved in the first attempt on Mr. Steele's life. Jones worked on the framing crew at Haven House, Smith on the flooring crew," she filled him in.
"He remembers the perpetrators, then," Lombard surmised. "What has he told you?"
"Three men were responsible for the assault, a fourth for the shooting." The man nodded.
"It seems an interview with Mr. Steele is in order, then." He extended an arm towards the doorway. "Shall we?"
"Can't this wait until morning?" she asked in a determined tone, surprising even herself. She wasn't one to put off until tomorrow what could be done today when it came to an investigation, but in this case she found herself putting the man upstairs first. He was still recovering from a very serious assault and after the night's festivities they needed to get him safely installed at Daniel's then to allow him time to rest. "Baker's in custody, then there are Jones and Smith to follow up on. You won't get very far on a pair of general descriptions, at least not tonight."
"Tomorrow morning, then, first thing," he agreed.
"Tomorrow late morning. Mr. Steele will need his rest after he's moved," she insisted.
"Very well, then," Lombard conceded. He'd be needing a bit of a kip himself by the time he was finished with Baker back at The Yard.
"And Keyes?" she wondered.
"There have been some interesting developments on that front," he shared. "We'll discuss them in the morning when we meet. As you pointed out, you need to get Mr. Steele settled first."
She had indeed, so was in no place to argue the point despite her curiosity. As they parted company in the hallway, she wondered what exactly those developments might be.