A/N: Thank you for the follows, favorites, and the reviews. I greatly appreciate it.
Ch. 7: Let Your Eyes Put Out Their Light
Sara parked in front of the building where Greg lived; the corner house with wooden stairs that zig-zagged up the front. He slipped out of the car as he wiped the sweat away from his forehead and put on his hat. It was midday, the sun was high in the sky, and the humidity was getting thicker. The grey tweed suit jacket he wore was starting to weigh down his shoulders. Reaching up, he loosened his tie as they headed toward the stairs that lead up to the second floor. The wooden steps cracked and wobbled slightly as he trudged up the steps. It wasn't just his body that felt heavy but his legs. He'd been awake for thirty hours and the fatigue was really starting to set in. His head was still pounding. He really needed some migraine medication, or a shot of whisky, but he'd settle for a glass of water as soon as Greg let them in.
Sara was ahead of him on the steps and got to the landing first. She started knocking on the door but then stopped as he heard her say, "Gil."
Getting to the landing, he saw her face first before he saw the ajar door. It had been busted away from the door jamb. Easing Sara back as he instantly reached for his gun, he moved closer to the door and used his foot to push it further open. Greg's house was normally a mess, but this was different. Everything was knocked over with everything scattered over the floor.
"Greg?" he asked as he stepped inside. Looking over his shoulder at Sara, he told her, "Go down to the street and keep a lookout. There's a back door off the hallway."
She gave a nod and headed back down the wobbly wooden steps.
The only light in the house was the sunlight that streamed in through the front bay window. Stepping over the books, magazines, and the baseball equipment, he searched the house room-by-room. The dining room was as chaotic as the living room with every camera equipment piece taken apart or broken and then thrown around on the table or the floor. Walking through the kitchen, he was careful of the broken glass and dishes on the floor. All the cabinets were open and food containers dumped out.
There was a swinging door off the kitchen that opened into the hallway. As he pushed it open, he saw the window that led out onto the fire escape. A door at the end of the hallway led to the back steps. The first door on the right was to a bathroom; it was empty. The second door was closed and it had to be the bedroom.
As he took a step towards it, the door opened and out walked a man that wasn't Greg. He was tall, wore jeans and a short sleeve green utility shirt and was moving quickly towards the backdoor. "Hey, stop!" he called out as the man pushed open the door.
Getting to the bedroom, he peered inside and didn't see Greg anywhere. The relief he felt that Greg wasn't dead on the floor was short-lived as he pushed open the backdoor and followed the man down the wooden steps that zigged-zagged down to the gate that opens out onto the sidewalk. A clothes line was hooked to the landing of the steps that was strung out over the backyard to a pole. Looking down into the yard as he chased the man, he saw someone on the ground in the yard. It was Greg.
"Sara!" he called out as his feet hit the ground at the bottom of the stairs.
As the man yanked open the gate and rushed out onto the sidewalk, he rushed over to Greg. He was still alive but he had blood coming from his mouth and nose with bruising forming on his face. The gate opened as Sara ran over to him.
"Stay with him," he told her as he headed to the gate.
Sara called after him, "He ran across the street, going south on 25th!"
Yanking the yellow wooden gate open, he quickly looked around the street before darting across to the next block, going in between two parked cars, and heading south on 25th. The street was on a hill that sloped down before leveling out in a valley before it sloped back up another steep hill. He saw the man running towards the intersection that was at the bottom of the hill.
Running downhill was not an easy thing to do. He felt the momentum wanting to send his body forward. If he leaned forward too far he wouldn't be able to keep his balance and he'd fall, which was happening to the man. The man was stumbling forward before he suddenly tumbled, rolling to a stop halfway down the hill and nearly hitting a tree and parked car. There were several people out walking and they moved out of the way as he was able to gain some distance on the man before he pushed himself back up and started running again.
The man rounded a car as he turned the corner and as he neared he heard a car horn and shouting. As he rounded the corner, he spotted the man getting on the streetcar that was moving through the intersection in the middle of the road. He pocketed his gun before going up to the door and jumping on it right behind the man. He paid the quarter fare as he moved past the streetcar operator.
The man was shoving his way through everyone standing and sitting as he headed to the opposite end of the streetcar. The man glanced his panicked blue eyes over his shoulder at him and that was when he got a good look at his face. He had a thick bushy mustache over a day's worth of beard growth. The green shirt looked dirty and worn; so did the jeans and the black work boots. That got him wondering if the man was a dock worker.
As they neared the back, the man stopped and grabbed a pole by the door and waited. Reaching up he grabbed a handrail and did the same. Turning his head, he looked out the front window of the trolley and he could see the tall steeple of Saint Paul's Catholic Church up ahead. They were nearing Valley Street. At 30th, the street ended as the intersection came to a 'T'. That was also the last stop of the 'J' line streetcar before it headed back north to Market Street and then to the Bridge Terminal.
Looking back at the man, he saw his eyes searching the upcoming street. He was in no hurry to rush the man or to pull his gun. There were too many innocent bystanders on the streetcar and he couldn't risk anything happening. Even though he didn't see a gun on the man that didn't mean he didn't have one hidden or that he didn't have a knife on him. The last thing he wanted to do was startle anyone into doing something drastic and dangerous.
They passed the church and kept going. Houses, business, and cars passed by as they headed to the 'T'. He felt the sweat running down his face and back, the burn in his chest, as he took in some deep breaths. He hated having to run after somebody. The man, though face red and just as sweaty, was breathing just fine.
"My name's Gil Grissom. I'm a Private Investigator," he told the man once he got close enough to him. "I only want to talk."
The man's eyes jerked to his as his hand gripped the pole tighter. As they slowed to a stop at 30th Street, the man took off. He let go of the handrail and took off after him, jumping from the trolley to the street before running after him. Up ahead on the corner was a new brick and limestone building under construction.
A wrought iron gate was in front of the steps that lead up into the building and the man yanked it open and disappeared up the steps. Going through the gate, he headed up the steps. By the time he got to the top his legs were aching and knees were killing him as he entered through a golden double door into a long wide hallway that stretched the length of the building with marble floors.
It was dark in the building as none of the lights worked due to it still being built. The echoing of footsteps turned him to the left. He saw the man turn the corner along with his shadow on the wall and he started after the sound of running footsteps. Passing half-finished offices and plastic covered doorways, he neared the back of the building and saw the steps leading up to the second, third, and fourth floor.
There were wooden boards covering the windows that had yet to have any glass put in them. Sunlight beamed streaks of light between the wooden boards but it did little to lit up the stairwell. Pounding of running footsteps echoed up the stairs and he started up after them. The running stopped on the third floor.
Nearing the landing, he slowed as he took a breath as he saw the frame of a doorway; the head jamb, side jamb and threshold were all put up but no doors on the hinges that lead into the hallway. Walking through the doorway, he stopped at the corner of the hallway and listened.
Aside from his own breathing and pounding of his heart, he didn't hear anything. Rounding the corner, he kept his eyes moving from one side of the hall to another as he strained to hear. Most of the wood frames for offices were erected but with no drywall up yet. There were plastic sheets and drop cloths hanging from the wooden frames and over windows. His shoes clicked on the marble floor as he walked; the sound echoed in the silence.
Nearing the end of the hall, he turned toward the stairwell and heard a rustling of a plastic sheet. Turning in time, he saw the man's shadow moving fast along the left side wall, heading back the way he came. He started running back down the hall after him; both of their footsteps echoing throughout the empty building until he didn't hear it. He didn't hear anything; not even the sound of his own shoes against the marble and his heartbeat that throbbed at his ears.
Sliding to a stop at the corner, he pulled his gun and eased around it, his eyes searching for movement. He didn't see anything. No man standing there waiting; no shadows moving through the broken slits of light.
He didn't know where the man was and he couldn't hear him coming. Walking towards the stairwell, he leaned up against the wall and leaned over the railing and peered up to the fourth floor. He saw the stairs, the railing, and the boarded up window at the top of the stairwell as the sunlight broke a thin slice of light through the boards.
Letting out a breath, he had to either wait and see if he heard anyone once he got his hearing back or forget it and leave. It was a huge building with multiple floors and a fire escape with a back exit and front entrance. He didn't like the fact that he'd lost the suspect, but he wasn't about to search around without being able to hear anything.
Holstering his gun, he kept his head on a swivel as he headed back down the stairs. He took it one step at a time, eyes in front of him and then behind him to ensure no one was coming down behind him. His chest was pounding, lungs burned, and his legs were aching from all the running and fatigue.
At least he got a good description and maybe his occupation. They should be able to track him down either by employee records or maybe the police already had a mugshot of the guy.
Getting to the first floor, he lifted his hat up off his head as he used his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his brow. It was hot and stuffy in the building. As he neared the door he'd entered through he saw a shadow moving across the wall; it was coming up fast behind him. He dropped his hat as he turned into the body that slammed into his, sending them both to the floor.
He landed hard on the floor as a fist impacted his face, sending a shock of heat through his head as sparks lit up his eyes. The world blurred around him, darkening in his vision before it came back into focus. There was a ringing in his left ear as the man appeared in front of him, ready to hit him with his arm drawn back.
Holding out his hands in front of him, he told him, "Stop! Listen to me. I know you're not a killer. You didn't kill Greg when you had the chance. You didn't bring a weapon with you. I'm not trying to fight you. I'm not reaching for my gun. I only want to talk. Please, if you stop and think, you'll see that you don't have to do this."
He watched as the panicked blues eyes of the man eased with his words. The man's arm wavered as he took a breath. As he waited, he didn't move; didn't even try to knock the man off him. He took a deep breath, one after another, as he pleaded with his eyes and eased his own hands down to the floor. "I'm not after you," he told him. "I just want to find Allison Murphy. I just want to be able to tell her husband whether she's alive or dead."
The man seemed to deflate at those words. He dropped his hand but shoved it into his left side, going for his gun. He could have been making a mistake by letting him but it was a risk he had to take. The panic, the fear that he'd seen in the man's eyes was gone. In its place was contemplation.
Taking his gun out, the man eased off him and stood, keeping the gun leveled with his chest as he told him, "Get up."
He did what the man said and got up. His hearing was back but the ringing never left. He rubbed at his left ear as the man turned him around and shoved him towards the door.
"Let's go."
He kept himself in front of the man as they walked out of the building and into the sunlight together. There was a payphone on the corner that he was led over to and the man made a phone call. He needed a taxi.
"Where are we going?" he asked as he looked over his shoulder at the man.
The man didn't answer him, just shoved the gun into his back as they waited on the corner.
Warrick's hands moved effortlessly over the piano keys as Lillie stood behind him at the microphone. Reggie was running late to rehearsal, again, and Tommy was behind the drums. He couldn't help but close his eyes and listen as she started singing "'Round Midnight".
"It begins to tell at midnight, 'round midnight, midnight. I do pretty well, till after sundown, suppertime I'm feelin' sad; but it really gets bad 'round midnight. Memories always start 'round midnight; haven't got the heart to stand those memories…"
There was something about that woman's voice that sent shivers down his spine. The sultry simmering heat of her voice and the piano were the only sounds in the building. Like how it always felt when they played together: just the two of them. Alone on stage as the whole world disappeared.
His only job was to match that emotion with his playing. He had to feel what she felt and she made it too easy. How could anyone not feel what she was singing with a voice like that? Tommy's drums finally kicked in but he stayed in the background and let the vocals shine; using brushes on the snare drum instead of sticks. There was no beating and thumping, just a nice shimmering that shivered with her voice.
By that time, he was no longer focusing on what he was doing, he just knew he was doing it right. Eyes closed, hands hitting the keys as he swayed with the movements; feeling it. Arnie on the bass was barely there until keeping all of them together.
"...Let your eyes put out their light at that time 'round midnight. I'll think no more about today, for in a while this old day will be yesterday…Alone here in my room, I sit here in my gloom…"
The bass drifted away, then the drums, only leaving the piano and her voice. Turning on the bench, he looked at Lillie as she finished the song.
"And let my dreams take flight 'round 'bout midnight."
His fingers lightly stroked the keys as he let it play out with a grin on his face. Lillie opened her eyes into the sunlight that lit up the room. A smile on her face as she turned to face the band, grinning before nearly screeching in joy.
"That's it! That's it, fellas. We're doing that one tonight. It's gonna burn this place to the ground." Looking at him, she said, "Warrick," as she glided over to him and sat down on the bench beside him. "You played lovely."
"I forgot where I was for a moment; felt like I was flying." He picked up his glass of water and stood.
"We were soaring, baby," she said as she started tapping on the keys.
He downed the water as he headed to the kitchen while asking, "Want something?"
"I could use some water."
As he refilled the glass, he heard the door in the back hallway that led to Billy Dixon's office open and he saw the owner walking around the corner. Dixon always wore a three piece suit but always kept the suit jacket hanging. He liked spotting just the vest. Today it was a black and gold vest that matched the bowtie. Dixon's eyes scanned the counters, checked the stoves and then spotted the dishes in the sink.
"I'll get to those," he told him as he shut off the tap water.
Dixon turned his eyes towards him as he pulled out his pack of cigarettes. "Your friend's back."
"My friend?" he asked with his hand on the door as he pushed it open.
Dixon used his teeth to pull out a smoke as he told him, "Yeah. The Private Detective. Saw a taxi drop him and another guy off in the back alley. He didn't look too happy 'bout it."
He gave a nod and pushed the door open and headed back over to the stage. Lillie was up and pacing as she threw up her arms and said, "Where's the hell's Reggie?! Every day he's late! I'm over this! We need a new horn player. Get me that guy, that one guy, from The B-J's, Bennie—"
"It's the Bennie Jay Brother's Band," Tommy said with a laugh as he tapped his drumsticks on the edge of the drum. "Danny Jay and his brother, Bennie. Danny plays the trumpet."
Sitting the glass down on top of the piano, Warrick glanced towards the hallway that led to the backdoor. "Imma take a smoke break," he told everyone as he headed toward the hallway.
"Don't be long, we have a lot of rehearsing to do," Lillie called after him before yelling out, "Tommy, get on the phone and get me that guy—Get me Danny on the phone."
Moving down the hallway, he heard someone coming up behind him and turned to see it was Dixon. He was taking out his lighter as he neared him; unlit cigarette in his mouth. "I'm not going to let you go alone."
Warrick smiled as he turned back around and headed towards the door. Pushing it open into the back alley, he looked around and didn't see Grissom anywhere but there was a taxi at the end of the alley and the door to Madame Masque's Palace was open. A short man with his hair pulled up in a pompadour wearing a black suit stepped out and shut the door; he took a long hard look at them before crossing his arms over his chest as he stood in front of the door. He looked young; too young to have any experience keeping anyone out of anywhere. Though he was acting like a tough guy, he knew he wasn't a "heavy"; what he'd heard was the muscle for some gangster.
Dixon handed him a cigarette and lit it for him before lighting his own. Keeping his voice low, he said, "There was another guy with your friend. He had a gun."
"That him?" he asked as he gestured to the guard at the back door.
"The pretty boy?" Dixon asked incredulously with a soft laugh before shaking his head. "Nah, he looks like he could be Elvis's lil brother. Guy I'm talking about looked rough. Lanky and dirty. Blue collar worker."
Warrick huffed out a laugh as he said, "Looks can be deceiving. I bet the pretty boy has a gun under that jacket."
"Yeah. For show. I bet you can put him on the ground before he even thinks about reaching for it."
"I'd normally take that bet," he said as he smiled slightly and dropped the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it.
"But?" Dixon asked as he took a puff off the smoke and blew it out.
He just smiled as he headed over to the pretty boy guard at the door, saying, "I've got a better idea. C'mon, I'm going to need your help to keep him busy," he said as they walked towards the guy guarding the back door to Madame's Masque's Palace. "This him?" Warrick asked Dixon as he stopped right in front of the short young man in the suit and pointed to him.
Dixon glanced at him before eyeing the man at the door. "I don't know. Could be."
"I could be what?" the man asked as he dropped his arms. "Look, if you two don't get outta here—"
"What? You're going to make us?" Warrick asked as he stepped up to him. "I think you're him."
"Him who?" the man asked in confusion.
"We had a robbery yesterday afternoon, about this time. A guy that looked just like you—"
"Hey," the man said as he raised his hands in front of him, "it wasn't me. I wasn't even in this neighborhood yesterday."
Warrick and Dixon glanced at each other before Dixon asked, "You work here?"
"No."
"Then what're you doing here?" Dixon asked as he blew out some more smoke.
The man waved his hand around, trying to fan the smoke out of his face, as he said, "That's none of your business."
Dixon eyed him as he shook his head, saying, "Nah, see, I think you're casing the joint." Pointing his cigarette at him, he said, "You're him."
"I'm not—"
"What's your name?" Warrick asked.
"Eli. Eli Cook."
"Maybe we should call the police, Eli," Warrick eyed Eli whose eyes shot up in panic. "What'd you think?"
Desperate, Eli said again, "I'm not the guy!"
Warrick gestured to the door as he asked, "Anyone in there who can vouch for you? 'Cause if not, I'm getting the cops out here—"
"The owner knows me, okay. She told me to watch the door."
"Yeah, yeah," Dixon said as he reached for the door and it opened as he pulled. "It's not even locked. You were waiting for us to leave so you could go in—"
"No," Eli said as he went to grab Dixon's arm. "You can't go in there."
Dixon pushed Eli away as he told him, "Don't touch me."
Eli balled his hands up and came at Dixon.
"Hey," Warrick said as he got between the two of them, shoving Eli into the door. "Let's calm down, alright." Once Eli calmed and shoved him away, he said, "I say we ask the owner if she knows this guy and if she saw or heard anything yesterday."
Dixon stared at him before shrugging, "Whatever. Where's the boss?" he asked Eli who was still trying to figure out what in the hell was going on.
"She's in there," Eli gestured to the door.
"Well then, let's go talk to her," Dixon said as he stood waiting for Eli to open the door.
Eli looked between the two of them and realized that he only had one option. Dixon reached around him and opened the door for him. "Fine, but she's not going to like this."
Dixon said as he followed him inside the building, "I'm sure she'd appreciate our concern making sure she doesn't get robbed."
Eli shook his head at him as he told him, "Not you. Only him," he said while pointing to Dixon.
Warrick stopped just inside the door and held up his hands as he said, "I'll be out here waiting." Pushing the back door open, he headed out into the alley but didn't shut the door all the way as he kept his hand on the handle.
After waiting a couple seconds, he slowly opened the door back open and peered down the hallway. It was empty. Slipping inside, he let the door shut behind him. Immediately to his left was the staircase that went down to the lower floors. He remembered watching two men carrying cargo crates down those stairs while Grissom inspected the delivery truck. There were two doors down the hallway, both were restrooms. The hallway made an "L" turn and he figured that was the direction Dixon and Eli went.
He went down the stairs.
Moments Before...
The dock worker, who he learned was named Trevor, shoved the gun into his back as they entered through the backdoor of Madame Masque's Palace. "Down the stairs."
Doing as he was told, he headed down the stairs to the basement floor that opened into a long hallway that ran the length of the building. The second door on the right was the room with the hole in the wall that opened into the tunnel that led to the warehouse at the docks. When they reached the door, it was already open. There were metal stairs that led from the door down into the small brick room. At the bottom of the stairs was Heather and a young man in a black suit.
"Go watch the door, Eli," Heather told the young man who only took a passing glance at him before going up the stairs.
Trevor grabbed a chair and it scraped over the concrete floor directly behind him. He was shoved down into the chair and held at gunpoint. He saw that Trevor positioned himself directly behind him and he was certain his own gun was pointed at his back. He was facing the hole in the wall.
Heather was contemplative as she eyed the two of them. "Why did you bring him here?" she asked Trevor.
"He's like a dog with a bone, that's why. He's asking about her again. Allison. He ain't gonna stop."
"So, you bring him here?" she asked steadily as she eyed Trevor. "Now?" He couldn't see Trevor since he was standing behind him, but he could see the look in Heather's eyes. She was annoyed and angry, but mostly afraid. Trevor made a mistake bringing him there.
"Whose gun is that?" she asked.
"Mine," he said.
"His," Trevor answered.
Heather's eyes landed on his as she shook her head slightly before looking away. Moving around him, he heard her saying, "Give it to me." Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as Trevor handed Heather his gun. She quickly pocketed it into her jacket. That's when he took in her outfit. She wasn't wearing her usual Victorian wear but instead wore pants, a blouse and jacket. "Now, get out of here."
"No," Trevor said as he held his ground. "I know he's on his way here and I ain't leaving except through that tunnel, back to where I belong. He'll want to know if I found it."
"Did you?" Heather asked.
Trevor glanced at him as he shook his head. "I was interrupted."
He could only assume that they were talking about the camera and the pictures since Trevor was searching Greg's house. The fact that Heather knew about the camera, and that Trevor was looking for it, shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. It seemed like everyone in this damn city was looking for the same thing for different reasons.
Heather was saying, "He won't be happy—" when she was interrupted.
"You're absolutely right, Madame, I won't be."
They all turned to the opening in the wall and stared into the darkness of the tunnel. Beyond the archway, it appeared as dark as night as if all light that entered was swallowed up into the darkness. Then he saw a shadow of a body that blocked the dim light down the tunnel as the person who spoke those words moved.
The voice had a familiar tone to it but one he couldn't place. It was a deep, rich voice that made a person turn to listen. A man appeared at the edge of the light at the archway, half in light and half in darkness. He wore a dark grey suit, white shirt and black tie that looked like it was hanging from the top of the archway before the man ducked down to clear it.
Once the man straightened he saw who had spoken those words. A towering six foot tall man with broad shoulders that looked as if they could take down a charging bull. Where Bobby Stone had been a big man in girth, this man was something else entirely. He was a beast. His face had bulldog cheeks and his eyes a threatening steely blue. One thing was for certain; he knew that the man could snap his spine like a twig if he wished. It wouldn't take much.
When he spoke again it was a deep baritone that commanded everyone's attention. There was something else in the tone of voice. Something that rang in his ears. It was cold and icy. Dangerous. "Why aren't we alone, Madame Heather?" The man didn't ask. He demanded.
"I brought him," Trevor said with a wobble in his voice. That quake had been put there by fear of the man who'd asked the question. "This is the Private—"
"I know who he is. We've met before," the man said as he eyed him. Then his menacing lips twisted up into a smirk as he said, "The sleuth."
The voice registered as being the one he'd heard only in darkness while Bobby Stone was smacking him around. This was the mystery man. And if he remembered correctly, he'd wanted Bobby Stone to kill him. Licking his dry lips, he told him, "I didn't catch your name," he told him.
"I'm certain you could've found that out for yourself, if you were any good at your job."
He felt himself smirk as he said, "Can't find a name if you never see the face of the man."
"Now you have."
The door opened above the stairs and the man along with Heather looked towards it as a woman appeared in the doorway. "Madame, there's a gentleman here who wants to talk to you. He's with Eli. He works next door and has some questions about a robbery."
Heather turned to the man with a question in her eyes. It took him a moment for him to realize she was asking him for permission.
"Go on ahead. We'll talk later."
Heather left the room, never looking back at him or anyone else in the room. Being left alone in the room with Trevor and "The Man", as he was going to start calling him until he got a name, set a slight chill in the air. He normally wasn't easy to intimidate. He also didn't scare easily. However, as the Man looked down onto him with those dangerous blue eyes, he couldn't help but feel unnerved. If he was being completely honest with himself, he was terrified.
"Trevor," the Man said as he looked at the dock worker who was still standing behind him. "You're dismissed."
Trevor appeared in front of him as he walked toward the tunnel. Stopping, he told the Man, "I-I want to say that I did my best and—"
"It wasn't good enough, now was it? You failed."
The dejection on Trevor's face was etched into every wrinkle that suddenly appeared on it. He turned, head bowed, and walked into the darkness of the tunnel. The Man waited a moment before he reached inside his suit jacket and pulled a gun.
Before he could warn Trevor, the Man aimed the gun down the tunnel and fired. The gunshot sounded like a cannon as it thundered down the tunnel. He heard more than saw the man being hit as he let out a scream before a "thud" of a body hitting the ground.
"You didn't have to do that," he said as he stared down the tunnel.
The Man pocketed the gun back inside his suit jacket as he told him, "He was an oxygen thief as he was no longer useful to me. Once a man stops being useful, he's like a horse that breaks a leg or a dog that snaps at your hand, the only thing to do is put it down."
He stared up at the Man as he felt a chill settle into his heart. That was the most cold thing he's ever heard anyone say in his entire life. The Man didn't just emulate danger, he was a cold-blooded killer. There was another chair in the room and the Man grabbed it and brought it down in front of him. Sitting down in it, the chair creaked in the legs as the Man pulled out a cigarette case. He offered him one but he waved it off.
The Man removed one and stuffed it back into his suit jacket. He lit it and took a few puffs off it before removing his hat and hung it on his knee. Leaning back, he eyed him as he asked, "Are you going to be useful to me, Mr. Grissom?"
Despite a lot of his uncertainty and misunderstanding of human nature, he knew intimidation. And right then, he knew he had no other choice but to appease this man or else he'd be lying dead in a pool of blood along with Trevor. "Can you answer a question?"
"Certainly I can," the Man said with an amused smile.
"How can you kill so easily?"
The Man blew out smoke between his lips as he continued to stare with those deadly blue eyes of his. Then he flatly told him, "You think that was easy? He was my cousin."
He blinked back in confusion and disbelief. They'd been family, and he still killed him? He took a breath to try to control the emotion that rushed through him as he kept his face as stoic and movements as still as possible. He adjusted the right sleeve of his suit slightly up his arm, exposing the camera watch on his right wrist, while at the same time leaning back in the chair as he tried not to draw too much attention to his arm. Finding the dial by feel alone, he pressed it and took a picture.
"Well? Are you?" the Man asked again.
"How can I be useful to a man whose name I don't even know?"
The Man smirked as he took another drag off the cigarette. "I like you. You don't quit. It's Grayson. R.B. Grayson."
He wondered what the "R.B." stood for but decided against asking. Even though Mr. Grayson appeared amused, he knew already how quickly he could change his attitude. Mr. Grayson wanted to know if he was going to be useful to him. There was only one answer to give. "I have no other choice but to be."
"Right you are, Mr. Grissom, right you are," Grayson said with a suddenly wide smile. "You can start by telling me where it is."
"Where what is?"
Grayson's smile disappeared as he stood abruptly, knocking the chair over onto the floor from the force. "We've done this all before and it wasn't funny the first time."
Staring up at him, he said, "Everyone's going around calling it a "device" or an "it" and it makes me wonder if anyone actually knows what it is they're looking for."
Grayson worked that around before saying, "It's a camera."
"In the storage room in the back of Marty's store, you said that it was yours. That it was dangerous."
"It is mine. And the contents that are on it are very dangerous to whoever sees it. If you had any sense, you'd leave it alone."
He gave a nod as he asked, "How is it yours? Did you buy the camera?"
Grayson laughed. It was an odd sound coming from such a dangerous man. "Buy it? No, I didn't buy it. Do you know what kind-of camera it is, Mr. Grissom?"
"A Russian spy camera. Are you Russian?"
"Do I look like a Red commie? Now, I'm not one to beat my gums but I'm going to tell you what it is you have. See, Grissom, I fought at the Siege of Bastogne during the war. Became a POW. Due to suspicions that I might have been Jewish, I was selected to be sent to the Berga slave labor camp along with nearly twenty other POW's. During our imprisonment, we endured inhumane treatment as laborers in underground tunnels along with prisoners from the nearby Buchenwald concentration camp, all while suffering from starvation and beatings. Several of us escaped, got away, but we weren't able to make our way home. We were trapped in East Germany for several years. I only got out with the help of a Red. A Russian by the name of Viktor Petrov. He thought we were friends and I let him think it. One night, I snapped his neck while he slept. In his pocket was the camera. I wanted it. I wanted that along with his ID and passport. I could pass for him, you see. Same height and build. Thanks to him, I made it out of Germany. I made it back home. I've had that camera for a decade until some cook stole it from me. I want it back."
He stared at the man who towered over him, saw the impact that the war had had on him, and wondered if he actually did ever make it back home. It was no wonder the man could so easily kill if it became all he knew how to do.
"That's not why you want it. You want it so you can save Alex Hardy from a life sentence. Why? Do you work for him?"
Grayson tapped the ash on the floor then looked at the tip of the cigarette as he told him, "That's shit for the birds, Mr. Grissom."
He had no idea what that meant, but it sounded like it meant that he was wrong in his understanding of the situation. And maybe he was. No one ever called Jack Murphy to set up a time and place for the exchange between his wife and the camera. They only told Jack to look for the device and take it. So, if not to clear Alex Hardy, then what for? And why was Allison taken if not to ensure Jack's compliance? Letting out a breath, he told him, "I'll give you the camera, if you give me Allison Murphy."
Grayson's mood suddenly changed. He could go from ice cold to amused in seconds. From the twinkle in his blue eyes and menacing smile on his face, he would say that Grayson was now amused. "Most certainly. I'll give you Allison. Then she can tell you all about what she's been up to for the last couple days."
He hadn't actually expected him to agree to that. "She's alive?" he asked as he took another picture with the watch as Grayson looked away from him.
"More alive than ever. In fact, she's here. One room over. You can take her. Talk to her. I'll let you do that. Expect my call to set up a drop for the camera. I have your number already. If you don't come through…I will kill your assistant." He finished the cigarette as he dropped it to the floor and put it out with his shoe. "Sara's her name, isn't it?" he asked as he looked over at him and the twinkle was gone. The ice cold blue eyes of the cold-blooded killer were back as he said, "Sara Sidle."
He felt his blood run cold at the threat on Sara's life coming from Grayson's mouth. There was no doubt in his mind that Grayson wouldn't follow through with that threat.
Grayson picked up his hat off the floor and put it back on his head. He smoothed down the brim with his left hand as he smiled, telling him, "Tell Allison "hello" for me."
He watched as R.B. Grayson turned and ducked back under the archway in the wall and disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel. Quickly moving out of the chair, he reached for the brass shell casing that was left on the floor. He pocketed the casing before hurrying up the stairs and out the door. He needed air to breathe, but most importantly he needed to get Allison Murphy.
The door to the room next door was closed and he gave it a tap with his knuckle before reaching for the handle. It turned and the door opened as he pushed on it. On seeing the two people in the room, he froze. The woman was Allison Murphy. The man was Warrick Brown.
In the room was some furniture, including a bed and kitchenette. His head was spinning with too many questions and he didn't have enough time to ask any one of them. They had to leave, now.
Warrick sighed as he said, "This isn't what it looks like. I was trying to find you when I found her."
"Well, now you found us both. C'mon, we need to leave. Bring her with you."
Allison, a blond-haired woman in a blue dress, went to protest when he walked over to her and lightly grabbed her arm. "Mr. Grayson said "hello". He also said I can take you with me. So, unless you want to upset him, I suggest we leave together."
She snapped her mouth shut and started to walk with him towards the door. Warrick was right behind them. They hurried down the hallway to the stairs that went up to the ground floor. Immediately to the right was the backdoor that exited out into the alley. Pushing the door open, he held it for Allison and Warrick who was bringing up the rear.
Looking both ways down the alley, he gestured to the nearest intersection and headed for it. Allison was at his side, her high heels tapping over the pavement. He thought that Warrick would go back into the jazz club but instead he kept walking behind them while looking over his shoulder to ensure they weren't being followed.
He saw a familiar car drive by the alley before it stopped and reversed. In the driver's seat of the black caddy he saw Sara, in the passenger seat was Greg Sanders. Getting to Sara's car, he opened the backdoor and helped Allison into the backseat.
Glancing at Warrick, he told him, "If you're joining us, get in on the other side."
Warrick walked around the back of the car and got into the backseat behind Sara.
As she pulled away into traffic, Sara looked back at him and asked, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. This is Allison Murphy," he introduced her to Sara before asking her, "How'd you find me?"
She grabbed something that was on the seat between her and Greg. Holding it up for him to see, he saw that it was his hat. "It's a long story."
"We have time," he told her as he wanted to smile. She was a damn good investigator if she was able to track him down. He knew it was time for her to apply to receive her own Private Investigator's license. She was ready.
"Where're we going?" Allison asked with a slight tremor in her voice.
He gave it a moment's thought before telling Sara who was wondering about that herself, "We'll stop by my office first then head to Ray Langston's."
Sara drove them to his office; he told them all to stay in the car as he hurried inside. He got to the second floor and headed to the end of the hallway where his office was located. He used his key to unlock the door and walked inside. Looking around, he grabbed up his portfolio that held all the evidence he'd collected on the case. Going over to the file cabinets, he opened the one that had the placard "A - F". He searched through the files until he landed on "Dukay, S". He pulled the file and shoved it into his portfolio along with everything else.
Leaving the office, he relocked the door and while walking back to the staircase, saw the office for Jack Murphy closed. Walking over to it, he tapped on it. Through the door, he heard someone call out, "Come in!"
Pushing the door open, he looked around and saw only Albert and Johnson in the office but no Murphy. "Where's Jack?" he asked.
Albert, the oldest of the law firm members, shook his head as he told him, "We've been wondering that ourselves. He was a no show today."
"Thanks," he said as he shut the door and headed back down to the car.
On the drive to Langston's house, he flipped open the file on the Susan Dukay murder and reread it. In the front, Greg and Sara were bantering back-and-forth like they were old friends. They had just met a little less than two hours ago. Warrick was silent on the other side of Allison, and Allison was so wound up she hadn't breathed since he mentioned that name of Grayson to her.
An hour later, as the sun was starting to set and dusk was threatening the horizon, Sara parked on the street in front of Ray Langston's house. He lived on the first floor of a three-story Victorian house on a slanted street a block from Coit Tower. Going up the steps, he opened the door for Sara, Greg, Allison, and Warrick and told them, "It's the first door on the left."
Sara gave a knock on the door as he walked up beside her. R.B. Grayson's threat lingered in his head as she looked over at him with a worried frown on her face. She was still concerned for him because she knew that he hadn't told her everything. He didn't know how to tell her that her life had been threaten by a killer.
The door opened and he saw Langston standing in the doorframe. He was dressed in his work suit, minus the tie and jacket. Ray took one look at him and his eyes rose in anger. He went to yell at him when he noticed everyone else standing in the hallway. Catching himself, he asked, "You thought that if you brought your entourage that I wouldn't rip your head off?"
"I was hoping that you'd let me explain first."
Langston worked his jaw as he opened the door wider, telling him, "Get in here." The moment everyone was inside, and the door shut, he spun around as he yelled, "You got my witness killed!"
"I thought you were going to let me explain? I didn't get him killed."
"He was alive then you went and talked to him and a few hours later he was dead! Someone followed you-"
"I wasn't followed," he tried to explain as Langston stepped right up into his face; he held his hands up in front of him to put a distance between them.
"How'd you know that?" Langston asked.
Letting out a breath, he leveled the D.A. with his eyes as he told him, "Because I know who killed him and why and they didn't need my help to find him."
Langston eyed him and all the anger seemed to evaporate as he asked, "And who was that?"
He looked around at everyone else in the living room who were watching them. "Maybe you should put some coffee on first, Ray, we have a lot to talk about. First off, this is Allison Murphy."
Langston glance at the woman and said, "Hello," before returning his attention back to him with a sharp glare. Then he shook his head and muttered something he couldn't hear under his breath and went to the kitchen to make that coffee.
Sara eased up beside him and asked, "Gil?"
"Sara, do me a favor. Go to Jack Murphy's house, take Warrick with you, and bring him back here."
She was eyeing him with worry but gave him a nod as she looked at the only man in the room that had to be Warrick. Warrick walked over to the door and opened it as he said, "Guess I'm the muscle."
"So is she," he said to him as he gestured to Sara. "You might have to restrain her." Sara pushed her lips together as she tried not to smile as she glanced back at him before heading out of the house. He watched her go as Warrick shut the door behind him.
Allison sat down on the couch, clenching her hands together as she eyed the floor. Greg was standing in the middle of the room, completely uncertain of what to do. Walking over to him, he grabbed his arm and lead him away into the dining room. Passed the dining room and through the sliding pocket doors was the kitchen where Ray was making coffee. Dropping his voice, he asked him, "Do you have the pictures and the camera?"
Greg gave a nod as he patted his jacket. "Right here."
"Good, don't show them until I ask; okay?"
Greg gave a nod as he asked, "What should I do until then?"
He shrugged as he told him, "Sit, watch, and listen."
Greg pulled out a chair at the dining table and sat down while he went into the living room and sat beside Allison Murphy. He knew that she had a lot of explaining to do, but she wouldn't say anything until her husband got there. It wasn't solely because Jack would demand it from her, but because he was a lawyer.
TBC…
Disclaimer song mentioned: "'Round Midnight" by Carmen McRae.
PS: The "R.B." in my original character's name stands for the actor playing the role in my head, and that is Raymond Burr. He was in a lot of my favorite film noirs, including "Pitfall" which is one of my all-time favorite movies. But he was/is most famous for playing the role of Perry Mason in "Perry Mason".
