A/N: Thank you everyone for your patience. This entire month has been insane for me and to top it off I was literally sick for an entire week. I'm just now getting back to writing again. Also, the last chapter was the halfway point. We're in the back half now. There will be a total of 16 chapters.
Ch. 9: In the Mist of Day
July 6th, 1955
Another day was dawning behind the cover of a grey sky that damped the air in his house. The cool air settled like a blanket over the city. San Francisco was typically cooler than other parts of California and the rest of the country for that matter during the summer months due to the valley. To the east, heat in the valley created thinner air and low pressure. The valley became like a vacuum that wanted to be filled by the heavier marine layer. It pulled that layer over the city and once it settled it was cool as it was right then instead of blistering heat. It was also why they had so much fog and rain. There were days where it got hot and humid, like yesterday, but it wasn't often.
He opened the windows in the living room and turned on the ceiling fan. The house was quiet in the early hour, Sara still asleep down the hall as he made coffee. As he stood in the archway, staring down the hall at his closed bedroom door, his mind wandered over all sorts of things. It was a constant swirling of questions and uncertainties, but mostly of fear.
It wasn't anything overwhelming, but enough of it that it prevented him from taking any steps, hesitant or otherwise, down the hall. This was no longer easy; he, of course, had himself to blame for how hard he had made things for himself over the past nine years. His own walls, his own distance, and his own reluctance at trying again, had made this all seem so much more difficult than he remembered it being before. Granted, he wasn't the most sociable, but he never was shy when it came to women, or in his case, a woman. He might not have known what to say or do at all times but being honest and forthcoming had always served him well.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and crossed the floor over to his piano and sat the cup down next to the glass ashtray. Eying the ashtray, he picked it up and took it to the kitchen. He went to only empty it out and place it in the sink to clean but ended up tossing the whole thing away. He'd quit; and this time he wasn't planning on going back. Grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch, he pulled out the empty cigarette case and tossed it into the trash as well.
Feeling slightly better about himself, he sat down at the piano and picked up the cup and took a drink as he tried to figure out what he wanted to play. Deciding to let his fingers figure it out for him, he started playing the first thing that came to mind as he closed his eyes as his thoughts drifted back to how easy it'd all once been.
Back before loving someone had become so difficult.
He smelt the salt in the air from the ocean mixing with the salty air of the popcorn and sweetness of the treats that were being baked, up-and-down the oceanfront carnival. The lights of the carousel spun like a kaleidoscope around him as he rested his head back on the bench as a Persian waltz played with bells. A white and pink horse rode beside him, up and down, as a child laughed and patted its head. Beside him his date finished the last of the popcorn he'd bought for her as she placed his hat over his eyes. Tilting the hat back, he glanced over at the woman that he was on the first date with and who had already stolen his heart.
He'd finally learned the name of the woman that had kissed him senseless on his birthday a couple weeks ago when he was coming out of the theater as she was walking in. Literally strangers passing in the night except that they had already shared a kiss. So not to embarrass her, he didn't tell her that he remembered meeting her that night, and despite keeping that to himself, somehow, he'd managed to ask her out and she agreed. And so far during their date, he found her to be brazen and fearless, completely unapologetic of who she was, and wild, though not a reckless sort of way, except maybe only to his mind and heart. She made him think about things he'd never considered before: a wife and marriage.
They'd just met, really, but she was like a dream that he hadn't known he ever needed to dream. And now that he had, he didn't want to dream of anything else. No wonder people called it "falling in love" because that was what it felt like. A free fall into a web of butterflies twisting his stomach with anticipation and a hope that he'd get to see her again and again. He wanted to spend more time with her than with anyone else he'd ever met. For him, that meant something because he didn't make time for just anything or anyone.
All the words he'd spoken came out so easily; he even made her laugh a few times. And her smile was something he could look at for the rest of his life. He just knew it. As he walked her home, because he didn't have a car yet, and it was a beautiful night, he answered her question to him with, "I currently work in the Coroner's office. I was supposed to be a Priest."
She looked at him confused as she laughed and asked, "What happened?"
He shrugged, telling her, "I had a love affair with science. It stole me away. Then, to seal the deal, I met a woman. I couldn't go back to God after that."
"That would do it. Who was the woman that stole you away from Priesthood?"
Glancing over at her as he wrapped his arm around hers, he told her, "You."
"Oh, that's smooth."
He stopped walking as he turned to face her, asking, "What'd you mean?"
She seemed amused and slightly offended as she asked, "Does that really work on women?"
Shaking his head in more confusion, he told her, "I'm…not used to this so maybe I'm doing it wrong, but…you're really the only woman I've ever been on a date with."
Nelda was a little stunned as she said, "Oh, my, you weren't lying, were you?" He shook his head. "That means that you've never…" At seeing his contemplative look as he was trying to understand her bewilderment, she said, "You've never even kissed a woman?"
Not until the night that she kissed him. Smirking at the memory, he shook his head, "No." Then he tried to explain his childhood without going into much detail, "I, uh, I was raised in a strict household. All-boys boarding school until I came here for college. Then once my love changed to science, I was so caught up in my studies to even think about dating." And he hadn't. His life before her had been a balancing act of school and work, and never involved dating. Looking at her, he saw a strand of her blond hair falling out of the clip that pinned it up in the back. "Then…" reaching out, he moved the strand back behind her ear, "…you…knocked me off balance."
She was giving him such an odd look before she grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. He nearly forgot who he was and when it ended, quickly and soberly remembered exactly who he was.
It was like the dream he'd been in lifted and he was staring into the eyes of a woman he could love but knew it best not to even try. Every self doubt he had rose up into his mind at the same time, knocking him down to reality: his social ineptness, the fact he was a workaholic, and not to mention the fact he was slowly but surely losing his hearing. There was so much she didn't know about him and how she could be okay with any of it, he didn't know.
"Having doubts already?" And she was apparently a mind reader. Or, she was better at reading people than he was. "Tell me what you're thinking and I might be able to tell you how wrong you are."
He nearly smiled as he looked down between them as he worked on putting into words all his fears. What came to mind was a poem by William Yeats, ""Sweetheart, do not love too long: I loved long and long, and grew to be out of fashion like an old song. All through the years of our youth, neither could have known their own thought from the other's, we were so much at one. But O, in a minute she changed-O do not love too long, or you will grow out of fashion…like an old song."...that was a poem by Yeats."
Her hand stayed on the back of his neck; fingers teasing the skin under his hair. "You're afraid I might change, that my love for you will stop, and that I won't love you for as long as you love me? We haven't even started yet."
"Then, I guess you have time."
"Time for what?" she asked.
"To prove me wrong."
The way her eyes sparkled up at his told him she was up to the challenge.
As the memory faded from his mind, eyes still closed, he was in the middle of playing "If I Loved You". His hands lightly stroking the keys, his voice low as he only sung the words to himself. "...If I loved you, words wouldn't come in an easy way, round in circles I'd go, longin' to tell you but, afraid and shy…I'd let my golden chances pass me by…" Opening his eyes, he saw movement and glanced over to see Sara leaning against the wall, cup of coffee in her hands, watching him. He almost stopped, his hands fumbling over the keys but he quickly recovered and looked down at his hands, focusing on his playing, as he finished the song. "Soon you'd leave me, off you would go in the mist of day…Never to know how I love you…If I loved you." His hands left the piano keys and he picked up the cup of coffee off the top of the piano as he stood. "I didn't wake you, did I?" He took a sip as she shook her head.
"I've been up," she said.
They stood for a moment, looking at one another, until he stepped away and went over to the phone. He had to make a call. Glancing over his shoulder, Sara disappeared into the kitchen as he picked up the receiver and turned the dial to call Catherine's number.
She answered after the fifth ring a little breathless. "Hello?"
"Catherine? It's Grissom."
"Gil, it's…seven in the morning, what—"
"Are you available this morning to fill in at the office?"
"Sara's not there?"
"No, she's uh…she's here."
There was silence on the other end and he wondered if he'd lost his hearing until he heard her say with a smile in her voice, "Oh, she is. Did she stay the night?"
He didn't know what that had to do with anything. "As a matter of fact, she did, but it's not what you think."
"Uh-huh, sure it isn't."
"Catherine—"
"I'll fill in on one condition. You pay me this time."
He rolled his eyes but asked, "How much?"
"A hundred."
He went to protest but stopped himself as he knew he was going to give it to her. There was no use in arguing. "Whatever you want. Thank you." He hung up and went into the kitchen.
Sara was at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee. There were things they needed to talk about but only one that he wanted to talk about: the case. Just because he found Mrs. Murphy that didn't mean he was done yet.
Rounding the table to sit down beside her, he leaned back against the wall and brought the cup up to take a sip. Then he said, "Let's talk this out."
"Good, I've been thinking the same. Gil, I know you're—"
"We need to figure out our next move. I'm thinking Chinatown."
Sara stopped and stared at him before saying, "You're referring to the case, aren't you?"
"What else would I be referring to?" he asked as he took a drink of the coffee.
"Wow," she said with a slight laugh of disbelief, "you're really going to ignore the elephant in the room. Or, should I say elephants because there's more than one. Fine, we don't need to talk about that kiss, but we can at least talk about Grayson and the threat—"
"Sara," he let out a sigh as he knew this was going to happen. He knew they had to talk about it, or at least do something about it, but now wasn't the time. They still were working a case and they still had so many unanswered questions. She shook her head at him and looked away as he said, "Sara, our job—"
"Our job now is to ensure that the Murphys stay safe and show for trial."
"I was going to say that it's inherently dangerous and you'll get threats all the time, but yes, that too. We also have to confirm where the crates of opium and weapons are coming from and where they're going."
"Why don't you hand that over to the detectives and let them do their job—"
"I can't do that," he said with a shake of his head. "Police are involved and have their own agendas. I give them everything I've got and it'll disappear—"
"What about Brass? You trust him."
That was the real problem he was facing. A question that hadn't been a question before. Could he still trust Brass? "Brass is Homicide. There's not much he can do. This case is Vice. Detective Shaw's case. He was one of the men in the photographs taken outside of Reiman's house."
Sara sighed as she leaned back in the chair. "You're thinking Detective Shaw, the Asian man—"
"Li Yat-sen—"
"—along with Police Commissioner Atwood and former D.A. Scott Reiman are all working together funneling drugs and weapons. And you want to find out to whom and where."
"We have a starting point. We know the opium is most likely coming from Chinatown. We need to confirm with our own evidence." He regarded her for a long moment, remembering what he'd said to her last night. "The job of any good leader is to prepare someone to take their place one day. You're ready for that."
"You want me to take your place?"
He shrugged as he said, "Of course. What'd you think we've been doing the past two years?"
There was a moment when she looked confused but he knew that it wasn't that she didn't understand; she understood all too well. It was that she was having doubts again. "How bad is it?"
He didn't need her to elaborate. "Bad enough to where I'm considering this being my last case as lead investigator." He didn't think anyone could look so disheartened as Sara did hearing those words. It was as if he'd said he was dying, which in a way felt the same. Once he lost his hearing completely, who would he be then?
"I know you said that I'm ready—"
"Which you are."
"I don't…" she hesitated a moment before saying, "I don't feel ready."
There were many things that caused him uncertainty, the job never was one of those things. Relationships, however, caused him that same feeling of unreadiness. Where did he start? What to do and how? It didn't come natural to him and he knew he was still very much a work in progress despite the fact that he'd been married once. Now he felt so out of practice and rusty that he was questioning whether he should give it another try or not. Before, he'd never done it so he had no fear about it. He didn't understand how much he could lose. He understood all too well now.
"The one thing I've learned about fear is that it's false evidence that appears to be real," he found himself saying. The words seemed to appear in his mind, on his lips, and he stopped trying to figure out if they were the right things to say or not. He could only be honest. He always was. "Forget everything that's holding you back, the doubts and uncertainty, that's all false evidence. Trust the work you do. The end results. Trust what you've done. Sara, trust me. You have nothing to worry about. Being a P.I. is always about walking on eggshells around barriers that you must not break and there is a fine line between being able to carry out investigations lawfully. You know all the rules, the laws, the work, and better yet, you know people. Whether you feel ready or not, Sara, this is what you've been working towards. What we've been working towards. I can't keep doing this, not when I'm losing my hearing. Yesterday it nearly cost me my life. I got lucky."
"I thought you didn't believe in luck."
He smiled slightly as he looked up from the table he'd been staring at. Her eyes were sad, and scared, but so full of eagerness. "I have been proven wrong many times. I don't mind it. Being wrong is a good thing, it's how I evidently get to being right. This case is proof of that."
"What about Grayson? He was in your house."
"Yes, he was. And he's very dangerous if provoked; that's why we're not going to provoke him. As of now, we do what he wants. First and foremost, he's an opportunist, Sara, a blackmailer."
"Who's he working for, I wonder."
"That's a good question. One that we need to answer. My theory? He works for whoever the crates are being delivered to. Whoever is at the end of the supply chain has to have a way of keeping everyone involved in line. Blackmail is a pretty good way of doing that."
"And it isn't Alex Hardy."
He shook his head. "No. Hardy's either a rival or a partner who was getting too greedy. Langston might be able to get him to talk if he offers up a deal, but I doubt it. Guys like Alex Hardy would rather be killed than to turn informant."
Her fingers were rubbing at the cup, spinning it on the table between them. It was spinning along with her mind. "You always say that everyone lies. This whole case was a lie from the very beginning."
"In the lies, we find the truth."
"Jack Murphy was trying to set you up to ultimately make you the fall guy. Big mistake." She grinned over at him. "You're a damn good private detective."
"So are you," he said as he meant that. "Now, will you go get licensed already?"
"Today? Now?"
He finished the coffee and stood up from the table. "Why not? The sooner the better. While you're filling out paperwork, I'll check in on the Murphys."
"Think Warrick's still sane?"
"He has help." He rinsed out the cup and put it on the counter to dry as Sara turned in the chair to look at him. "I have an operative who works at the motel I sent him to."
"Someone I know?"
He shook his head, "No, but I'm sure you'll meet her one day."
"Her?"
As he passed her to go down the hallway so he could get cleaned up and ready for the day, he told her, "You know you're not the only woman in my life." Stopping, he turned to see the stunned look on her face and nearly laughed. Pointing at her, he said, "But, since my wife, you are the only woman I've kissed. There, we talked about it."
She blushed and shook her head again as he turned around and continued walking to his bedroom.
As the radio played, he took the 101 and crossed over the Golden Gate Bridge, wound up and through the state park, and then crossed Richardson Bay to Silva Island. Frankie Lymon's "Why Do Fools Fall in Love'' was playing as he got off the first exit and took a long two lane road around the coast to a pink painted stucco motel with clay roofing tiles with rooms stacked next to one another. The motel made a "U" around the parking lot.
The motel's office and diner were to his left as he got out of his car, directly in front of him was room 7. Behind the motel was the side of a hill with the exposed rock showing. Up above the hill were eucalyptus trees and a few houses. Across the street were more hills and beyond the hills was the bay. At night time, the motel's red and white neon sign lit up the dark street; it was the only motel for miles.
Room 7 always stayed empty; not because it was right next to the office, but because the owner kept it that way for him. If anyone showed up asking specifically for that room, then the owner and night manager knew that it was because he sent them there and they needed to be looked after.
Instead of going to the motel room 7, he walked into the office. Music, something that sounded Spanish, filled the office as he smiled at the owner who was sitting behind the reception desk. Juan Álvarez was an older Cuban man who'd moved to California from Miami years ago with his family. His family all worked at the motel. His wife cleaned the rooms and his sons and daughters worked the attached diner.
Juan was smoking a cigarette and flipping through the newspaper when he saw him. He reached behind him and lowered the volume on the radio as he sat the paper down on the counter as he asked, "¿Acere, qué bolá?"
"I'm doing good, my friend. How're you?"
"You got my night manager watching that tipo cuadrao and his la jai with that prieto."
"That prieto is my associate Warrick. And I know Mr. Murphy's a tight-ass, but he's hardly a communist," he said as he eased up to the counter and looked around. He picked up a cigarette out of the dish next to the phone, next to the bowl of matchbooks. Next to the counter along the wall was a switchboard and telephone. He tapped the cigarette on the counter as he asked him, "Did any of them use the phone?"
Juan glanced at him as he told him, "I'm an old man. I don't see well at night."
He huffed out a breath as he slid the cigarette behind his right ear before pulling out his wallet and removed a five dollar bill. He went to hand it to Juan but pulled it back just as he reached for it. "Who used the phone?"
"A man." Juan picked up his paper and said, "Names will cost you more dinero, acere."
"From where I'm at, you haven't earned this yet," he said as he waved the five dollars. "You're at a buck fifty…my friend." He wasn't kidding around, Juan had a name and he wanted it.
"Grissom," Juan said like a man who realized he made a huge mistake. "Tumbar la guara—"
"I don't want to break this friendship up, either, but I'm not going to pay you for useless information."
Juan sat the paper down and reached for a book next to the switchboard that was along the wall by the counter. He flipped it open, scrolled down the page, and told him, "He called Lillie Ivers at Yukon 2-1566."
"There you go, Juan, I'm not paying for that. I don't care if Warrick used the phone."
Juan closed the book and turned to look at him as he said, "Not Warrick. Señor Murphy."
He stared at Juan as he handed him the five dollar bill, saying, "See, now that's interesting. Did you hear what they talked about?"
Juan shook his head as he pocketed the money into his shirt breast pocket. "I gave him some privacy. Bad for business to eavesdrop." He then reached over and turned the volume on the radio back up.
"Who's that on the radio?"
"Benny Moré, Cuban singer."
He noticed that Juan was looking over the sports section, most specifically the horse races and boxing matches. "Make any good bets lately?"
Juan glanced over at him and shrugged before saying, "Sol Sale de Nuevo in the third race and Rocky Marciano will stay undefeated."
He smiled as he gave a nod, saying, "Did you go to the fight that was here in May? The Rock versus Don Cockell?" Juan shook his head. "It was a hell of a fight."
"You were there?" Juan asked him.
"Yeah," he said as he picked up a matchbook with the motel's name on it.
"En esa case, voy a hacer café." Whenever a Cuban said that they were going to make coffee, it was them actually telling their uninvited guests to get the fuck out.
He sighed and threw his hands up as he backed away from the counter and said, "Fine. Me piro." He headed to the door and stopped with his hand on the handle as he told Juan, "Hey, Juan, on second thought, get that coffee ready, and some lunch. And…no me vayas a dichabar!"
"Who am I to tell? I'm a gambler, I know how to keep secrets," Juan said as he tossed the newspaper down and stood up. He muttered something else under this breath. Reading his lips, it looked very much like fucking, gringo before he was out the side door that led to the diner that was on the other side of the office.
Leaving the office, he walked to room 7 and knocked as he leaned against the wall and ached for the cigarette that was behind his right ear as he looked around the parking lot, the big blue sky that opened up behind the grey clouds, and felt the mist in the air. It was threatening to rain. The door opened and he smiled at the blond woman who stood in the doorway.
She took one look at him and said over her shoulder, "It's Grissom," before opening the door for him to enter.
Removing his hat, he asked, "How's it going?"
"They're not dead."
Sofia Curtis was more than the night manager at the motel, but one of his operatives that he used while working a case. Most of his operatives never met any of the others; he felt it best that way so no one could identify each other. It kept people safe. This was an exception. He had two people to not only protect but to ensure didn't kill one another or run away. So, he had sent Warrick to the motel and together he and Sofia could keep an eye on the Murphy's.
"I thought you only said one associate of yours would know where we're at?" Warrick said as he leaned against the doorway of the bathroom.
"Sofia isn't an associate," he said as he eyed the two other people in the room. "She's an operative. There's a difference."
Sitting on the bed was Jack Murphy and standing by the window next to him was Allison Murphy. There were two beds in the room, a table with an ashtray and four chairs, a nightstand with a lamp and nothing else.
His hand reached for the cigarette case that was no longer in his jacket pocket and he pulled out a pen and small notepad instead while asking Sofia, "Has anyone eaten yet?" When she shook her head, he said, "You two," he looked to Warrick, "go grab the food that Juan's getting ready." He put the pen and notepad on the table and then pulled out his wallet.
He'd stopped at the bank and cashed the check Langston had issued to him last night. He gave Warrick his portion of the payment, which was five hundred, and Sofia a hundred as they headed to the door.
Warrick looked at his pay before pocketing it as he held the door for Sofia to go in front of him. "This going to be a regular thing?"
"Only if you want it to be," he told him. Warrick gave him a nod and then left him alone in the room with the Murphy's. He grabbed a chair that was at the table and turned it to face the two beds and gestured for Allison to sit down on the empty one. Once she was seated, he removed his hat and dropped it on the table and then sat down in the chair in front of the two beds that sat the Murphy's. He grabbed the cigarette from behind his ear and straightened it out in his fingers as he said, "I hate being lied to, Jack. I've gotten used to it in this business, but when it comes to my friends…" he looked up at him as he said, "I expect the truth. I guess that means we're not friends." Jack had the decency to look ashamed of himself, but it was too little too late for that. "I tell you what, the first one to talk to me will get the deal."
"I already have a deal with Langston," Jack said.
"You do, with Langston. I have the pictures. Now, I can make sure some of those never see the light of day again. Save one of you the embarrassment. Who will it be?"
Both Jack and Allison looked at one another as he looked between the both of them. Allison looked at him and asked, "I'll tell you whatever it is you want to know."
Jack scuffed out a bitter breath of air as he shook his head.
He handed the cigarette to Allison and opened the matchbook. He lit the match and lit it for her. Shaking the match out, he tossed it into the ashtray that was on the table.
Allison took several puffs off the cigarette before she told him, "I started seeing Alex…Mr. Hardy, a few years ago—"
"I can't listen to this," Jack said as he stood and went to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and locked it.
He knew that the small window in the bathroom wasn't big enough for any man, woman, or child to climb through so he wasn't concerned with Jack skipping out of him. Looking back at Allison, he gestured for her to continue.
She got up and tapped the ash into the ashtray before she started pacing, saying, "It started out innocent. We had become friends. I didn't even know who he was—"
"Where'd you two meet?"
She was puffing away on the cigarette as she paced, getting more and more worked up as she talked. "Through a friend of mine. Fay Doyle. She works at an investment firm. Real estate. He was always there. When we would get together for lunch, sometimes he would join us. He had a yacht and invited us on his yacht a few times for drinks."
"A yacht?"
"The Pharaon. That's the name of his boat."
It was also the name of a ship in The Count of Monte Cristo novel, he thought as he wrote that down in the notepad. "And the name of the investment firm?"
"R.B. Investments."
He wrote that down as he asked, "R.B.? Are you certain of those initials?" She was staring off at the wall when he looked back up at her. "Allison?" She blinked and looked down at him in sudden fear. Her face was ashen and the ash from the cigarette was about to fall to the floor. He stood and took her by the elbow and had her sit down in the chair at the table. Taking the cigarette from her, he taped it into the tray and handed it back. "I knew that the two of you knew each other. You and Grayson. It's his investment firm?"
She gave a nod.
"Grayson was funding real estate contracts for Alex Hardy. Hardy was buying the property but the money was coming from Grayson. In reality…Grayson owns Hardy's property seeing how he's putting up the money to pay. That could also be how they laundered dirty money, through real estate. Do you know who Grayson works for?"
She shook her head and her hand was shaking as she brought the cigarette up to her lips. "I don't know. Grissom, I swear to you, it did start out innocent. I only wanted a piece of the action. I wanted to make my own money so I could divorce Jack. I wasn't happy. We aren't happy. I didn't mean to…with Alex, I didn't…" She was pleading for him to understand.
He didn't, but he had to make her think he did. He gave a nod as he told her, "I know you didn't. When the police arrested Alex, that's when Grayson went to Jack with evidence of your affair. He wanted to blackmail Jack into botching his defense of Alex. Grayson wanted to cut ties with Alex since he was no longer useful to him since he was under police investigation. Grayson was afraid that investigation would lead to him and his investment firm, and wanted to see to it that it didn't. Jack agreed but he also wanted something in return. For you to be killed for having an affair."
"Yes. That's the way it was supposed to go, but then the camera got stolen and that's when things changed," she said as she looked away towards the closed bathroom door. "That bastard. I could've had Alex kill him, you know, but I didn't want to do that to Jack. I just wanted out of the marriage."
"Do you have anything against Grayson? Anything I can use—"
"Nothing," she said as she shook her head. "I don't even know why he kept me alive. He could've killed me."
"He had several reasons to keep you alive. Leverage, for starters. To discredit me when the exchange went sideways. Maybe he even had a plan to make it look like I was the one who killed you."
"Why then did he let you have me? I'm telling you everything I know."
"He knew it wouldn't matter. He's clean, and he knows it. If he wasn't, he would have been arrested right along with Alex Hardy."
The door opened behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see Sofia and Warrick walking back in with trays of food. He stood and grabbed one of the trays that Sofia was balancing on her hand. Sitting it down on the table, he sat back down.
"Where's Jack?" Warrick asked.
"He's in the bathroom." Looking at the plates of food, he felt his stomach ache as he grabbed a plate of arroz con huevo frito, which was rice and fried egg. There were also plates of rice and black beans, lechón asado, fried ripe bananas, guava and mangos, and flan de leche.
Sofia sat on the other side of Allison as Warrick sat beside her and Jack on the other side of Warrick. Once everyone had plates of food in front of them, he poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip before grabbing a fork and digging into the fried egg and rice. Grabbing a mango, he used a knife to cut it open as Sofia leaned into Warrick and whispered something into his ear. He watched them as he leaned back in the chair. Warrick and Sofia kept laughing and whispering to each other while Jack and Allison looked on in eternal misery. Outside the window, the rain started to come down.
A while later, he was escorted to his car by Warrick. It wasn't that he needed the chaperone, but that he wanted to talk to him privately. Warrick asked him on the five short steps from the door to his car, "How long am I keeping them here?"
"I'll talk to Langston about that when I see him later today. He's drawing up the legal papers now for Jack to sign. I'm bringing them up tomorrow." There were only a couple of other cars in the parking lot, one he knew to be Juan's, the other had been parked down at room 10 since he arrived. He leaned against his car door as he told Warrick, "Jack Murphy used the office phone to make a phone call last night."
"I didn't know I was supposed to keep them from making phone calls. He said he needed to talk to his law partners to recuse himself from the case."
"He didn't call his law office, or any of his partners." He really didn't know how else to approach this because he didn't know what it could possibly mean. It made no sense to him. "How well do you know Lillie Ivers?"
Warrick shifted his weight as he stared at him and he was wondering if he made the wrong call to question him about her now. "Lillie? I've known her for years."
"Are you two a couple?"
"We're…on again, off again. Mostly off as of late. Why are you askin' about Lillie?"
He glanced at the motel room window and saw the corner of it open before it was shut. With the shadows made by the clouds and sunlight, he couldn't see who it was in the window watching them. I could have been any of them in the room. "Does she have any reason to need a lawyer?"
Warrick worked his jaw as he realized what he was saying. "Murphy called Lillie?"
He gave a nod. "Any reason why?"
"No, but I can find out for you."
He realized that he could have made a mistake by the way he'd said that and immediately straightened off the car as he told him, "Just don't use your fists, okay? Try to be tactful."
Warrick nearly laughed as he turned back around and said, "I can be tactful. And if he doesn't tell me, I'll get it from her."
He watched as Warrick went back into the motel room and hoped he didn't make a mistake. There was nothing he could do about it now. He opened his car door and slid behind the driver's seat, started the engine, and then backed out of the parking lot. Pointing his car towards the city of San Francisco, he started driving.
As he pulled into a parking spot near his office, he put the top up as the grey clouds cleared out completely, leaving only blue sky. Going into the building, he went up to the offices of Albert, Johnson, and Murphy. Rapping his knuckles on the door as he entered, he peered inside and didn't see any of the two men anywhere. Checking his watch, he wondered if they were in court.
Heading down the hallway to his office, he walked in and smiled at Catherine sitting behind Sara's desk. Not waiting for her to ask or say anything, he pulled out his wallet and pulled out a hundred dollar bill and handed it over to her.
She took it as she said, "You have a visitor," as she pointed with the money toward the opposite wall behind him.
Looking over his right shoulder, he saw Madame Heather sitting in a chair against the wall. He hadn't seen her when he'd entered because he'd been so focused on Catherine. They looked at one another as she stood and he gestured for her to go into his office. He only glanced over at Catherine as he removed his hat and hung it on the coat rack before following Heather into his office and shutting the door behind him.
Heather was looking around his office, studying the diplomas on his walls, looking over the bookshelves and when she spotted the case with his tarantula in it, she didn't back away or scream. Instead, she eyed the Mexican red knee tarantula with a slight smile on her face. "Is he your watchdog?"
"Unfortunately not. I had a break-in a few days ago."
She straightened and then opened the purse she had on her arm and removed two things: his gun and the camera lighter. Placing both on his desk, she told him, "I told you that I would help you. I kept my word."
He sat on the edge of his desk as he looked up at her. "You did, and I appreciate it. You can continue to help me by telling me everything you know about R.B. Grayson." Every time he mentioned that name, fear seemed to be the appropriate response from everyone. Heather wasn't any exception. It was odd seeing that look on her face. Then she pushed it away and stilled her face but didn't tell him anything. "Okay, I've got something. Stop me if I'm wrong. You said that Alex Hardy owned that block, maybe he does on paper. He owns the land. Land bought with funds given to Hardy by R.B. Grayson's investment firm. Making Grayson the real owner of that block. My question to you is, who does Grayson work for?"
Heather looked away as she spoke, making it suddenly hard for him to hear her but he was able to make it out as he watched her lips move. "I don't know who he works for; all I know is there is someone else over him and he's out of state. I've heard talk of a man in Nevada."
"Nevada?"
"It makes sense seeing how that's where the shipment goes."
He stared over at her in surprise. "You know where the crates are going?"
She turned back to look at him and saw his eyes on her mouth. She spoke, quietly, and he had to pay close attention to know what it was she was saying; something about her…mother? No, her daughter? "You're losing your hearing," she said more clearly, causing him to look up at her eyes.
"What makes you say that?"
"Every time I turn away, you watch my mouth. When I speak softly you lean forward, tilt your head and your eyes go to my lips. You're struggling to hear me."
Smiling slightly, he told her, "I'm also struggling as to why you didn't tell me about the destination of shipments before."
"And I remember telling you before that I was being paid for my silence. I couldn't tell you."
"Why tell me now?"
She let out a breath as she looked to the floor; catching herself, she looked back up at him, licked her lips, and told him, "Before I didn't have police detectives running in and out of my place of business because a man was killed under it."
"Did they find anything?"
"If they did, they're not telling me." She studied him for a long moment and whatever he had felt for her nights ago that made him think they had a connection was gone. Whatever there was between them now it was strictly professional. "Reno, Nevada. That's the train's destination. Where the shipments go from there, your guess is as good as mine."
"I don't want to guess. I want to know who's at the other end."
"The pictures I took might help you in your search. Good luck."
He watched as she opened the door and walked out. Several seconds later, he heard the front office door open and then close. Picking up the lighter camera, he held it in his palm a moment before putting it into his pants pocket. Then he grabbed his gun and stuck it into the shoulder holster. Getting up, he left his office and saw Catherine watching him.
"Brass called for you."
He didn't want to talk to Brass. It was inevitable, especially if Brass was assigned the shooting in the tunnel under Madame Heather's place of business, however, he wasn't ready to talk to him just yet. "Where's Lindsey?" he asked her instead.
"Her grandfather is in town; she's visiting with him." In Catherine's hands was a medical journal that she was reading through as she rested her feet on top of the desk.
He gave a nod as he headed into the parlor where the kitchenette was located. On a wall was a water cooler and he used it to get him some water.
"Where's Sara?" Catherine asked as he walked back into the room. "Did she quit?"
"Obtaining her P.I. license."
"Good for her. It's about time."
"Once she gets here, we have to head over to Chinatown. Do you work at the hospital today?"
"It's my day off. That's why I wanted to be paid," she told him without looking away from the medical journal. "I can stay here all day if you need me to."
Good, because he was going to need her to. He finished the water and tossed the paper cup into the trash as he headed to his office.
"You should hire a secretary." He stopped at the door and looked over at her as she finally looked over at him. "Just saying you're going to need a new one."
"If you weren't a nurse, I'd hire you."
She went back to reading as she told him, "You can't afford me."
He huffed out a laugh as he thought she was right. He couldn't afford her. He could barely afford Sara. Going into his office, he sat down and grabbed the phonebook and tossed it down on his desk. Last night when he was going through the photos from Grayson's camera, he had spotted a photograph of Lin Yat-sen out on a street in Chinatown. Behind Yat-sen was a brick building with a sign, the business name on the sign was 道 / 顺丰 which translated to Tao/SF. Sara wasn't the only one who knew different languages. Tao in Mandarin meant "way, path". "The way" or "The path" of San Francisco was the business name. It sounded like it could be a travel agency or tourist business.
Flipping open the phonebook, he searched for the business name. He found several possibilities and wrote down the addresses as he heard the front door open. Glancing up towards his open office door, he saw Sara walk in and smiled when he saw the smile on her face. "How'd it go?"
She opened her bag that was slung over her shoulder and pulled out a flip wallet and showed him the license. "The certificate's in the mail."
He glanced up at the certificate on his wall before looking back at her. "Guess we have to get you an office to put it in."
"I don't know; I think this office is big enough for two desks."
He stood and grabbed the notepad and flipped it shut before pocketing it, telling her, "Catherine says I need a new secretary." Joining her at the door, he took the wallet from her and looked at the license more closely. Seeing her name on it, under the words Private Investigator, made him smile even more before handing it back to her. "I'm proud of you."
She took it from him and put it back in her bag. With the flap unbuckled and open, he saw a glint of something metal in the bag. He realized it was a gun. She'd never carried a gun before. Noticing that he noticed, she told him, "Don't worry, I have a permit."
"That's not what I'm worried about. I know you know the law, your limitations with the job. What you can and can't do."
"Like breaking and entering, although—"
"It's only a misdemeanor if you don't remove anything," he told her.
"And inconsequential if you don't get caught," she said, making him smile a little bit more.
"Is that how you two flirt?"
They both glanced over at Catherine who was still seated behind the desk, watching them. Sara moved away from him as she headed to the door while he grabbed his hat and shot a glare towards Catherine. Neither said anything as they left the building together.
TBC…
Disclaimer songs mentioned: "If I Loved You" by Frank Sinatra. "Why Do Fools in Love" by Frankie Lymon & the Teenagers. "Mi Saoco" by Benny Moré.
