Authors Note: I had to repost this. Apparently it magically disappeared. So thanks lilymoonlight for catching it! To the folks that reviewed the first chapter, it was my intent to write you back, until the story disappeared and I lost the reviews. If you review this one, I'll happily write back...
Chapter Two
Sure enough, the doorman gives me a second look as I brush by him and into the massive lobby of the building that billionaire Andrew Bedford III calls home. The furniture is worth more than my life and the chandelier costs more than what I've made in ten years of doing my job. The open expanse is covered in white carpet and white furniture. I compliment it well in my brown slacks, brown trenchcoat and muddy shoes. I make my way to the elevator. The doorman is still staring at me. I thumb the button for the top floor and grin. "Hey, I'm sorry. Think I mighta smudged your buttons." The elevator dings and the doors pop open. "I'll try not to leave too many footprints!" I call as the doors close.
I have a whole twenty floors to stare at myself in the polished walls and listen to music that is definitely made for rich people's ears. The elevator tone sounds and the doors slide open, and I find myself in a penthouse apartment that reminds me a little of Lindsay Monroe's place on 5th Avenue. I haven't heard from her or the grimy gangster she calls her fiancé, Danny Messer, since they moved out of the city in '22. Back then, Danny was moving her out to the middle of nowhere. I can't imagine what either one of them are doing out there. She doesn't seem the type to be the little woman, and I can't for the life of me picture an ex-con driving a tractor.
The door into the apartment is standing open, but I can see a bunch of uniformed officers running around inside. I step just inside the penthouse and glance around. It smells funny in here. The place looks like a museum-there's something covering every surface. Most of it sparkles or glitters. Clearly, Andrew Bedford was not killed in a robbery attempt.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
I glance over my shoulder. Newly-appointed Chief of Police Mac Taylor comes into the sitting area from the kitchen. Since he started seein' Stella, he's loosened up a little bit, but today he's all cop. The uniform is so starched I'm surprised he doesn't break when he walks. His eyes are glinting the way they do when he's on a tough case, so this one must be a real doozie. "Heard a rich guy died," I reply easily. "Thought I'd come see if he left me anything."
"How did you-" He starts to ask me how I even knew Bedford was dead, but I see the answer dawn on his face. "Stella told you?" His voice seems to soften a bit when he mentions her name.
I don't wanna get her in trouble, not with the Chief of Police. "Rich guys dies in New York City, Mac, people talk."
"Yeah well, talk about it somewhere other than my crime scene," Mac tells me.
"Someone's a little testy this morning," I shoot back. "Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morn-…." I trail off. And start laughing. "Ah ha!" Now I know why Stella was late for work this morning…
"Get your ass out of here before I throw you down the elevator shaft," Mac threatens with a growl.
"Gentlemen," a soft voice speaks up from behind us. I turn around to see a beautiful blonde woman in a royal blue skirt and yellow blouse coming toward us. She looks like one of those silver screen stars-all the right curves in all the right places, full lips, big eyes. This has to be the missus. I can see why Bedford puts her in all their print ads. She looks like she's trying to maintain a front, but from the red-rimmed eyes it's not going so well. And now I feel like a real rat for joshin' with Mac when he's supposed to be finding her husband's killer.
If he's been killed. It occurs to me that I don't even know the whole story yet. Haven't given him a chance to enlighten me yet.
"Mrs. Bedford," Mac says with an apologetic look, "this is Donald Flack, a private investigator."
"Ma'am," I say, taking off my hat. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you, Mr. Flack," Colleen Bedford replies. She looks confused. "Chief Taylor, what is a private detective doing here?"
Before Mac can say anything, I say, "The police force is a little overtaxed around the holidays ma'am," I lie smoothly. "I'm just here to see if I can offer my assistance." I can see him glaring at me, but I ignore him.
"Flack, perhaps we should go have a look at the scene," Mac says to me pointedly.
"Sure, Chief," I say. "Whatever you say."
"Mr. Flack," Colleen says, catching my arm. I turn around. "Ma'am?"
"I'm glad you're here to help find my husband's killer."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mac tense. I look at Mrs. Bedford. "Mrs. Bedford, what makes you think your husband was murdered?" I ask carefully.
But she doesn't answer me. Instead, she bursts into tears and disappears into the kitchen.
I glance at Mac. "What the hell was that about?"
Mac shakes his head. "Your guess is as good as mine. First thing when I get here, she's got hold of my jacket begging and pleading me to catch the man that did this to him."
"Did what?" I demand. And then I realize. The smell from earlier. I know that smell. I don't encounter it very often, but I know what it is. "Let me see," I tell Mac.
He leads me through the living room and back out the door. For a second I think he's going to escort me right back downstairs until he opens another door and the smell hits me full force. I can see why Mac and his boys have kept the door closed as I get my first glimpse of what's left of Andrew Bedford III.
The fire looks pretty localized, mainly keeping to the area around the desk. Andrew Bedford's body is slumped back in his desk chair. The head is resting on his chest, and the arms are limp at his sides. "Who put out the fire?" I ask Mac, covering my mouth with my sleeve. Mac smirks. "The Bedford's doorman Titus-you probably saw him downstairs-was coming up last night to let Mrs. Bedford back into the apartment."
"Couldn't hide the key in the dress she was wearin'?" I ask.
"She'd gone down for a meeting with some friends, realized she didn't have her key when she got back. When they got upstairs the office was smoking." He shakes his head. "Tell the truth I'm surprised she's as collected as she is."
"Maybe she panicked thinking she was gonna burn the building down," I suggest.
"You missed the part where she asked you to find her husband's killer, huh?"
"Nice misdirection," I reply with a wry smile. "Meanwhile…how'd the fire start anyway?"
Mac points to the desk. "Cigarette," he says, gesturing to the desk. "I think he fell asleep smoking while working late, caught the papers on the desk on fire. Before it could spread out of hand, the wife and the doorman got here and put it out, but by then he was gone."
I come around. I'm getting used to the smell by now and take my arm away from my nose. "Good theory," I offer. I study the desk, and the body. "That's a good thought, real crack police work, Mac."
He crosses his arms over his uniform and glares at me. "I sense a 'but' coming on," he says.
"Well, now that you mention it…" I nod to the desk. "You know I've been known to have a cigarette to wind down at the end of the day-"
"Bet that don't take the whole cigarette," Mac mutters, and I laugh.
"I like to keep my ash tray within arms' reach though," I continue, taking a pencil from my pocket and tapping the ash tray, which is sitting at the edge of the desk. "His seems a little out of the way, doesn't it?"
"You're as bad as she is," Mac throws his hands in the air. "There's nothin' in this office that suggests this was anythin' other than an accident!" He gestures to the desk. "Just 'cause his ash tray is halfway across the desk, you jump to murder?"
I shrug. "Just seems awful strange for him to be half asleep over here after a hard days' work, have a cigarette in his hands, but have the ash tray halfway across the desk." I grin as I put my hat back on. "You figure out how smoking killed him, Mac, you let me know."
"Where the hell are you going?"
"To go talk to the wife," I say. "Can't hurt to hear her story." I walk out of the office, sure that the stench is going to be stuck on my clothes until the day I die. I go back into the penthouse and make my way into the kitchen, which is the last place I saw Colleen Bedford headed, and sure enough, she's sitting in the kitchen with a young man who is a dead ringer-pardon the expression-for Andrew Bedford. "Mrs. Bedford?" I begin, but the kid standing next to her raises a hand.
"My mother has answered enough questions for today," he informs me.
Look who thinks they're king of New York. "You must be Andrew Bedford IV," I guess.
"I am," he says. The kid is a good-looking buck and he knows it. He's wearing a suit that probably cost more than my car. He's got brown eyes and brown hair, and stands just a hair taller than me. There's something in his eyes…I get the feelin' he doesn't like me very much. "And….you are?" he asks, looking down his nose at me.
"Don Flack," I say, offering him a hand. "Private investigator."
He stares at my hand for a moment, then shakes it. He doesn't let go right away, and neither do I. When he finally gives, I notice he's flexing his fingers. Score one for me.
"And why exactly are you here?" he asks, not sounding like he really wants to know the answer.
"The Chief of Police asked me to give the crime scene a second set of eyes," I reply. Let Mac deal with the spoiled brat. "If you object to my presence, you can take it up with him."
"I believe I might," Bedford Junior tells me. "And I repeat, Mr. Flack, my mother has answered all the questions she needs to today. If you would like to question her further, you may do so at a later date."
I nod. "I believe I just might do that." I nod to Colleen Bedford. "Mrs. Bedford, I'm sorry for your loss." I look at Junior. "Mr. Bedford Junior, it was a pleasure meeting you." Meaning it was anything but. I tip my hat and leave the kitchen and punch the button for the elevator.
As I ride it back down to the main floor, I look at myself in the doors. The face staring back at me looks like he thinks that Bedford Junior is a spoiled brat….but a spoiled brat with something to hide.
And I agree with him.
When I get back to the office later that afternoon, Stella is sitting in her chair, on the telephone. She waves frantically at me as she takes notes. I stop, taking in the panic etched on her face. "We'll be there as soon as we can." She hangs up the phone and looks at me. "Flack, that was Danny Messer."
"What's wrong?" I ask instantly. "They're supposed to be on a cow farm in Montana or somethin' right now, ain't they?"
"Lindsay's grandfather was almost killed in a mugging last night," she tells me.
"Lindsay's grandfather…Sterling Monroe?" I ask. "The newspaper man?"
"The one and the same," Stella replies. She runs a hand through her hair. "Lindsay and Danny are in Chicago, they'll be here tomorrow morning. She asked if we would-"
"Get your coat," I interrupt. "Did they say what hospital?"
Danny Messer and Lindsay Monroe are about the closest thing I have to friends in this world apart from Stella. So if they need my help, they're guaranteed to get it. Stella and I arrive at Queen of Mercy about a half hour later. I go up to the nurse at the desk and ask which room Sterling Monroe is in. She glances at me over her glasses. "Are you a relative?" she asks me. Her tone is nasally, and I don't like her a bit. Stella is outside at the moment, collecting herself before she comes in.
"He's a relative of a friend," I tell her, and she shakes her head.
"I'm sorry but only family is allowed to visit."
"His nearest family is in Chicago, they're on their way here," I explain. "We're the closest thing he's got right now."
She gives me a condescending tsk. "Sir, I'm sorry, we can't-"
"Excuse me, nurse," Stella comes up smoothly behind me. "I'm here to inquire about Sterling Monroe? He's my uncle."
The nurse gives Stel a doubtful look. Stella flashes her beautiful smile. "I was told he's at Queen of Mercy, but my sister didn't tell me what room."
"It's all right, Nurse," a new voice says, one that I recognize. It sounds tired, and sad, but it still has a commanding edge to it. "These fine people are family."
I turn around. "District Attorney Hammerback," I say with a smile. "It's good to see you again."
"And you as well, Mr. Flack," Sidney Hammerback replies. He looks pointedly at the nurse. "We'll find our own way upstairs, thank you."
We leave her speechless as we head for the elevator. "You have an uncanny knack at showing up at the right time," I tell Hammerback as we ride upstairs.
The district attorney offers me a smile. "And you have a knack for sticking your nose in all sorts of trouble, Mr. Flack."
I cringe. "Please, Mr. Hammerback. You're a friend. Call me Don."
"Mr. Flack was his father," Stella adds with a wink.
"The lovely Miss Bonasera. I believe the last time I saw you was the Sonny Sassone sentencing."
"Hiding in the back." Stella nods politely. "That was a magnificent performance that day, sir," she praises him.
"Agreed. A hell of a job," I tell him, and the DA claps my shoulder.
"All in a day's work," he replies. "And if I have done it to the fullest extent of my ability, you won't have to worry about him again."
"I'm not worried," I tell him honestly. Then I look at him, confused. "If you don't mind my asking sir…what are you doing here?"
The door opens onto the 6th floor and Hammerback gestures for Stella to come out first. "He's in room 611," he tells her. Stella nods and makes her way down the hall, understanding that Hammerback has something to say that may not be pleasant. If she needs to know it's understood that I'll tell her later. We step off the elevator and the attorney looks at me with a haggard gaze. "I was with Sterling last evening when he was attacked," he explains.
It's then that I notice he's holding a jacket in his arms, and I can see blood on it. "It's not mine, Don," he says, when he catches me looking. "I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job of patching Sterling's shoulder."
"He was shot?" I ask, and his nod confirms it. "What happened? Where?"
Hammerback pinches the bridge of his nose. "We were coming out of Bertolli's-you may remember that restaurant?"
"I do. Doorman tried to kill me."
After a momentary pause and a questioning glance, Hammerback continues. "We were walking home when a young man pulled a gun and demanded Sterling's and my money and personal effects."
"I take it Mr. Monroe didn't take kindly to the suggestion," I comment.
This elicits a small chuckle from the attorney. "He did not," he confirms. "He put up a struggle and the young man was surprised. I believe he fired on accident; however, the shot struck Sterling in the shoulder. We'd drawn enough commotion that the young man ran and we were assisted right away, but…" He sighs. "He's unconscious right now. I understand his daughter is on her way here?"
"They'll be here tomorrow," I reply. "In the meantime, you should get home to your wife. Stella and I will stay here, and we'll let you know if something changes."
"I really ought to-" he tries to protest, but I won't let him. I walk over to the chair outside Mr. Monroe's room and stretch out. "This isn't as comfortable as my office chair, but it'll do." I close my eyes. Half a minute later I open them, and Hammerback is still staring at me. "You're still here?" I ask. "Go on, go home, or your wife'll think you have a girlfriend."
I get a genuine smile from him, and after I assure him yet again that we'll let him know if he's needed here, he eventually leaves. I lean back and close my eyes for real.