Chapter Three
Ice walked Laura to her gallery, reluctantly leaving her to join O'Connor and the others at the New York office. As far as he was concerned, no one seemed to be taking the threat to her life seriously.
Charlie wasn't happy. There was chilly distance between Ice and Alphonse. Ice started to talk about the great evening he'd had with Laura, the Latin got up and left the room. Charlie and Chrissy stared after him.
"What's up with Alphonse?" Chrissy stared slightly accusatorily at Ice.
Ice shrugged. "he's sore at me for some reason. Don't mind him."
Alphonse went to see Christian Bader. From the moment Bader opened his front door, something smelt fishy to the big Latin. Bader was too sure, his answers too pat, and his grief totally feigned.
Jacoby had gone to check over some paintings ready for shipment to a gallery in France. He'd stayed late, wanting to get the packing up done and ready to go the next day. The fire investigators had found that a lamp had fallen over, started a small fire in the packing materials and it had spread rapidly when it reached the cans of paint thinner, Jacoby had become trapped and perished in the blaze from smoke inhalation.
Alphonse listened quietly, his mind turning over several questions. He thanked the man and left.
Bader watched him from the window as he walked quickly up the street, when Alphonse rounded the corner he stood thoughtfully for a moment, then reached for the telephone.
Charlie had to check on Diane Allen's boyfriend. O'Connor had found it highly significant that Tom Berry hadn't been seen since Diane's death. Charlie had some trouble tracking him down, but the old infalliable criminal sense soon put him on the right track.
After a thorough check of parking tickets on Chrissy's laptop, Charlie narrowed Berry down to about three streets in a rundown area of the city. He reached for the phone.
"Wanna help me find Mr Wonderful?"
Corky's teasing little answer sent shivers up his spine. "What's in it for me?"
"Oooh! That's open for negotiation."
"I'll be there in five minutes."
With Laura on his mind, Ice headed back to the gallery. She was on the phone when he got there, and he took time to step back and admire her anew. She was a symphony in brown and gold today, the warmth of the chocolate brown perfectly complementing her skin, the gold scarf picking up the lights in her hair. Ice's senses leapt at the prospects in front of them.
She looked up, and caught his eye, her smile was warm and welcoming and Ice basked in the sense of delight that a new conquest always gave him.
He slid closer, putting his arms around her waist, a teasing smile "What you say we blow this place off for the day?"
Her answering smile plucked at his nerves like a harp. "What did you have in mind?"
"A drive out to the country, a little light lunch at a nice country inn, warm log fire, a little romance…" he chucked that into the heady brew.
"Weeeeellll!" She spun it out, playing along. "I have this dreary appointment at 5.00 pm or so, which I have to be back for, but………..Yes."
Ice didn't quite punch the air in triumph, but he came close.
Charlie and Corky stood outside Berry's dingy apartment and waited, finally, a thin weaselly man of about thirty with a straggly excuse for a moustache and beard appeared.
"Tom Berry."
Very wary, "Yeah."
"Got some questions for you."
He seemed strangely resigned to his fate, offering them no resistance. He didn't exactly invite them in, but they entered anyway.
Tom Berry caved in before Charlie had time to ask him anything. He slumped down on the ratty old couch and dissolved into tears. He'd been five minutes late, and when he'd got up to the apartment the front door was open…."and then I saw her lying there. She was dead."
He thought then of saving his own skin, he'd been involved in petty crime since he was a kid, and he knew the police would lay it at his door, so he'd pulled the ring from her finger and departed, after wiping off any possible fingerprints.
Charlie listened to this litany of self serving cowardice and tried to hold on to his temper. What a creep!
There seemed nothing more that Berry could tell them. He was the three wise monkeys rolled into one, deaf, blind and intentionally mute.
Ice dropped Laura back at the gallery. He was in expansive mood, the day had been perfect. Log fire, good food, good company. He was on a roll, the Ice man cometh.
Twenty minutes later, his mood had changed.
"........in conclusion, I have to say that, beyond an interest in Jacoby's work, the subject has no means, no motive, no opportunity and no desire to murder Miss Laura Neill." Alphonse's Damon Pickford act wore on Ice's nerves.
Ice glanced bitterly at him, "It just burns you that she's with me, doesn't it?"
"Ice man, she's pulling the wool! Why won't you see that." Alphonse leaned forward. "She killed Diane."
"And what do you base that on?" Ice rose up out of his chair, "Oh yeah, I forgot, the famous Royo sixth sense that says every woman who doesn't come on to you is a killer!"
"Ice, she's using you." Alphonse spun round. "Chrissy, help me out here. Charlie?"
Charlie's misplaced sense of humour, desperate to lighten the situation, made everything worse. "Just cos she's not out to get you, doesn't mean you're PARANOID."
Alphonse went a strange shade of dull red. "SHE'S THE KILLER. AND I'M GONNA PROVE IT!" he spat.
Chrissy tried to placate him. "Alphonse......"
"Alphonse, nothing. I ain't gonna wait here and listen to this. Just remind him," he jabbed a finger in Ice's direction, "who saved his ass when the time comes."
He was gone in an explosion of temper.
It was about six pm, Alphonse was working the streets, the small galleries, searching for something, anything that would pin it on Laura. Everything he knew about women, and about being a player told him that this one was trouble. And it hurt that his partners were treating him like an idiot. Alphonse was on a mission and nothing was going to get into his way.
He paused on a bench to read through the notes he'd been carrying around all day. He had a few pictures and he idly leafed through them. I wouldn't give 20 cents for some of this stuff, let alone 25,000 dollars. A picture caught his eye, one he hadn't noticed before and suddenly things started to take on a different meaning. Hurriedly he shoved the notes and pictures into his overcoat pocket, hafta get back to Briter's gallery.
He headed back towards the gallery. Turning down a side street, he pulled his overcoat collar up against the cold and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. So intent was he on what he'd discovered he didn't see the car.
The black sedan plowed into him, some instinct of danger made him half turn, the force of the blow and the car's momentum flipped him onto the hood, there was a split second of recognition as he registered the driver, and then his head hit the windshield with stunning force.
The car's speed hurled the unconscious body to the ground. The driver braked, and for a second considering reversing up to finish him. Nothing should disturb the first careless rapture of the body, a simple hit and run, could happen anytime any where. No possible connection to the case.
The car was parked and the driver got out, walking back to the body. The pockets of the overcoat yielded exactly what the driver was looking for. Then the rain started again, good, dark clothes, a dark alley, nightime, no one will find him for hours, he'll be dead long before they get to him.
The driver walked away.