I was not pleased. If they locked me up now, I was good as convicted. Nobody was looking for evidence to see who was guilty, they were just looking for evidence that proved I was guilty. Besides, I had a lead. During the time I spent in my hotel room, I had finally uncovered something that was very suspicious—to say the least. If I could only get out of here, I might be able to find out the truth. I had to try.
But how?
The window had bars and the only other exit to the room was the door into the hallway. I didn’t know what led to the left, but to the right was the parking lot through which I first had been brought. I could make a run for it, but I would surely get caught that way. So the only other alternative was to walk out.
I opened the door a crack to see who was coming, waiting a minute until the coast was relatively clear. I didn’t dare hesitate too long, knowing Lt. Bower would be back at any moment. I was closing the door behind me when two young uniformed policemen rounded the corner of the right hallway down which I was planning to make my escape. They were hauling, almost dragging, a drunk in an expensive business suit along with them.
I quickly reopened the door and shouted back into the room with a friendly wave, “Thanks again, Lt. Bower. I’ll get right on it. Maybe we can play a round of golf this weekend. Fine. See you then.” I closed the door and walked confidently down the corridor. I overheard one of the officers whisper suspiciously to the other something about not knowing that Lt. Bower played golf. I ignored their exchange and continued walking.
“Just a minute, sir,” one of them said.
“Yes, Officer?” I asked impatiently.
“Was that Lt. Bower you were just talking to?”
“Why yes it was.”
“I know this is going to sound silly, but I wonder if you’d mind waiting here while my partner checks . . .”
“My God! Harry! What are you doing here in this condition?” I shouted, grabbing the drunk’s head in my hands. “I told you last time to call me next time you wanted a drink.”
“Yah did?” he asked, spraying me with a fine mist of liquor.
“You know this man?” the suspicious officer asked.
“Know him? I hope to tell you I know him. I’ve been his lawyer for five years.”
“But you called him Harry and his driver’s license states that his first name is Andrew.”
“Of course it’s Andrew. How long have you been on the force, Officer? Harry’s just his nickname. He hates being called Andy. His first wife always called him Andy and he hates his first wife. I ought to know. I handled the divorce. She took him for everything he had. The name Andy is the only thing she left him with. You know how it is. So his second wife started to call him Harry and now that’s the only name he’ll go by. Right Harry?”
“Huh?”
“You like Harry, don’t you?” I enunciated, pinching his checks good-humoredly to keep him from passing out.
“I like Harry. He’sh a greaht but he drinksh too mush.”
“Does Caroline know you’re out in this condition?”
“Huh?”
“Caroline. Your wife. Does she know you’re out of the house like this?”
“I don know.”
“Well Officers, you can see he’s hopeless. I’ll go over and pick up his wife and we’ll be back down in an hour.”
“Just a minute, sir,” he said, still not convinced.
“What do you mean ‘just a minute’?” I shouted, pointing my finger at him as if I intended to drill his teeth with it. “Are you trying to deny my client his constitutional and legal rights? Because if it’s a fight you want, you’ve come to the right person. I’ll have you both up on writs of habeas corpus, corpus delicti and Corpus Christi before you’ve had a chance to memorize your badge numbers. Harry, hold on. And record everything these two do to you here. I’ll be back in an hour with Caroline after I’ve made a few calls to the Chief of Police and the District Attorney.”
“Alrigha Harry,” he belched as I stormed out of the building, the two officers hesitating, but reluctantly resuming their former duties.
Once outside I ran as fast as I could across the parking lot and grabbed the first bus I saw. I could have afforded a cab now with the money I had left from Mr. De Young but I didn’t want them to trace me through the cab company. It took a few transfers before I was finally at the address Heather had made me memorize that morning. It was a fancy apartment house with red carpets and a black doorman.
“Whom do you wish to see, sir?” he asked.
“Miss Stephens, please. I’m her cousin.”
He made the call and I was allowed into the elevator. A few seconds later I rang the bell to apartment number 304.
“Harry?” she whispered through the locked door.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
She opened the door with a relieved smile which quickly disappeared when she saw the grim expression on my face. I marched past her and into the living room where Melinda was sitting reading a magazine.
“Harry, we’re so glad you’re finally back,” she began to say before I grabbed her roughly by the arms, lifted her to her feet and began to shake her violently.
“Let’s take it from the top,” I shouted. “And this time I want the truth.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Harry! My God, have you gone crazy?” Heather screamed as she pulled frantically at my arms. I released Melinda with a reluctant shove, certain that she had gotten my message, however theatrically delivered. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her, merely to convince her that she had more to worry about from me than from anyone else at the moment.
“No, I’m not crazy. And I’m also not dead, no thanks to our grieving friend here.”
“What are you talking about? What happened?” Heather looked expectantly at me and then at Melinda, who sank back into her chair rubbing her arms where I’d grabbed them. She stared sullenly at the floor, her eyes brimming, each blink launching another silent tear. But they weren’t from the shaking I’d given her.
“Is somebody going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Heather demanded, almost stomping her foot.
It was at this point I did something not only unusual but potentially dangerous. I told the truth. I filled her in on everything that happened that day, including my background and my intentions of leaving town that morning. I didn’t know exactly why I did it, when it seemed to me that a lie would have worked just as well and probably better. After all, I had enough enemies as it was, and my list of friends was already rapidly decreasing.
But there were none of the grim rebukes and hysterical accusations that I have learned usually accompany the truth. Heather merely nodded, smiled a smile that threatened to quiver into happy tears, threw her arms tightly around my neck and said softly, “I’m glad you’re here.”
There was nothing for me to do but hug her back and also be glad that I was there. What had happened that moment between us suddenly didn’t need any more words, so we returned to the problem at hand.
“I still don’t understand why you acted that way to Melinda. She’s really been through enough already.” She moved over to comfort Melinda.
“Well, I don’t know the whole story yet, but I do know that Melinda here had a rather prominent hand in framing me for that explosion.”
“What are you talking about?”
“And I also know who put her up to it.”
Melinda stirred as if to protest, but didn’t seem to be able to summon enough strength or conviction. Heather looked from Melinda to me, realizing for the first time that I knew what I was talking about. And that Melinda did, too.
“Who was it?” she asked evenly.
“None other than her father and our employer, Eugene C. Bartlett.”
“Now I know you’re crazy,” she replied. “Either that or I’m crazy.”
“If I were you, I’d place my money on Bartlett as being the top crazy-in-residence around here.”
“Look Harry, I know you’ve had it
tough today, but you haven’t forgotten that Mr. Bartlett has been declared legally dead, have you?”
“No. He may be a bit on the loony side, but he’s also just as much on the brilliant side. I don’t know everything that’s happened or why, but I do know that Bartlett wasn’t killed in that explosion. And I don’t know who the real dead man is that they’ve mistaken for Bartlett, but I do know that Melinda here is the one who salted the evidence to convince the police of his death.”
“Will you stop with these dramatic revelations and just tell me what happened?”
“All right. Something about Bartlett’s supposed death had been nagging at me since this morning. Something about the evidence that had been discovered. But I had been so busy trying to get away from here, I didn’t stop to think about what it was. Finally, when I was sitting in my room at the Hilton having just finished knotting my tie, I remembered that part of the evidence proving Bartlett had been in the explosion were the cuff links and tie clasp.
“It was then I realized that on the night of the explosion Bartlett and I were dressed almost exactly alike, except for one thing. I was wearing a regular necktie and he was wearing a bow tie.”
“Of course! He had just started wearing bow ties in the last few months.”
“So the cuff links and the tie clasp they found belonged to me and had to be planted by someone after the explosion had taken place. And the one who found me and gathered up my possessions . . .”
“Melinda!”
“Exactly. Melinda here picked up all my things, but kept the tie clasp and cuff links and later threw them into the fire where the explosion took place. And all this time you thought you were helping her and protecting her, she was playing you along as a sucker.”
“Stop it!” Melinda sobbed. “That’s not true.”
Heather started to move toward her, but I held her back. Right now I had to know how much of what I’d just said was true more than Melinda needed compassion.
“You mean to tell me that you didn’t plant my cuff links and tie clasp?”
“No, I did it, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. Honest. He made me do it.” She was choking on her tears and sobs as much as she was on her confession. I couldn’t restrain Heather any longer, nor did I want to.
“Who did? Your father?”
“Yes. It was after I’d found you lying in the bushes. I left you with my friend and went off to find Heather. There were so many people running out of the garden doors I didn’t think I’d be able to get through, so I went around back to try the kitchen doors. That’s when I ran into him. He was coming out of the cellar. When I told him about finding you he really got mad. He pulled me behind the bushes and asked me about your cuff links. I made some remark about more important things going on and he slapped me hard. I can still feel it. There was something about that slap; it wasn’t out of annoyance like usual, but out of fright it seemed. I mean he really looked scared. He told me to throw your cuff links back into the fire. At first I refused and he slapped me again, but I still wouldn’t do it. Then he told me that the explosion meant someone was trying to kill him and how it would be best if they thought they had succeeded. I told him I didn’t care what they thought. But he promised that he’d go away and never see me again if I did that.”
She hesitated, continuing in a hoarse whisper as if whatever she was about to say was too horrible to say aloud. “Even then I didn’t agree. But then he told me that if the insurance company thought he was dead, I would inherit a quarter of a million dollars in life insurance. Suddenly I was thinking how far away from everything I could go with that much money and how if he were declared dead he’d have to stay away from me. I agreed to do it.”
She stopped again, looked up at me and cried, “I just did it for the money!” and cried quietly on Heather’s shoulder with what strength she had left. Heather led her into the bedroom.
“She could use a nap; she’s exhausted,” Heather said, closing the door and rejoining me.
“She’s a good kid.”
“Don’t you think you were a little hard on her before?”
“Yes, I do. But there were things I had to know. In case you’ve forgotten, there are a lot of people after me who either want to lock me away for life or kill me. Besides, she probably feels a lot better now that she told us.”
“She wanted me to tell you she was sorry. She didn’t know that it would get you into trouble.”
“Tell her it’s all right”
“I did,” she grinned.
We kissed, not too passionately, but fully. For once I had other things on my mind.
“Why can’t we go to the police with what we know now?” she asked, pulling me to the couch.
“Because it’s not what they’d call hard evidence. Besides, even if Bartlett is alive, that doesn’t mean I still couldn’t have set the bomb. It only means I missed Bartlett.”
“Then what are we going to do now?” she asked, tugging at my jacket.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve got a suggestion,” she smiled, unknotting my tie and loosening my buttons.
“But I’ve already had a shower,” I quipped, as she chased me into the other bedroom, wielding a nasty-looking pillow. Those other things would have to wait.
They waited about forty-five minutes before I was once again moping around the apartment trying to figure out the best way to save my life.
“Why does Melinda hate Bartlett so much?” I asked Heather as we sat in the kitchen over some coffee.
“She blames him for her mother’s death.”
“Did he have anything to do with it?”
She shrugged. “Not directly. It was the same old story. Mr. Bartlett was a rich and powerful businessman who neglected his family at every opportunity. The wife turned to alcohol and killed herself in a car accident.”
“Whew,” I whistled. “Bartlett’s certainly no Captain Kangaroo.”
“Not exactly.”
“How’d you get hooked up with him?”
Heather started into her coffee cup as if looking for the answer there. “His former secretary got married and moved back East and I was sent by a temporary employment agency. Shortly after that I became his mistress and then his full-time secretary. A few months later I was just his secretary.”
I stopped trying to bite the edge off my cup and asked, “What happened between you?”
“It turned out I just didn’t like him.”
“Then why did you stay, for Christ’s sake?” I demanded patiently.
“The pay was excellent, I had lots of fringe benefits and the working conditions were good. I was pretty much my own boss. And he didn’t make any more advances that I couldn’t handle. So what more should I want?”
I grumbled inaudibly for a few moments, intentionally, during which time she slid her chair closer and wrapped her hands around mine. Hers were warm.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it now and get it over with, Harry. You’ve got a right to be surprised, but not a right to be indignant. So say what’s on your mind, but once you’ve said it, I don’t ever want to hear another word about it again.”
“Didn’t you even know he and his phony company were fronts for an organization?”
“How should I know? Everything in that company was run with perfect business efficiency. And, except for where he got the money to invest, everything else about the company was legitimate.”
“I guess you’re right,” I grudgingly admitted. “Even the money he got would have been filtered through other dummy corporations.”
We looked at each other for a few minutes, I don’t remember how many, until our stares turned into smiles and we were hugging each other. Somebody was mumbling “I’m sorry”—I think it was me.
“That reminds me,” I said, my mind snapping back to our present problems, “just how did Bartlett go about choosing me as a bodyguard? He could have had a dozen well-known professionals at any time. I mean, as I’ve been told, nobody
puts an ad in the paper for a bodyguard.”
“That’s exactly what I told him when he told me to place the ad. I even offered to get the name of a reputable service for him, but he insisted on placing the ad. He said that after Mark Bendix’s death he wouldn’t take any chances. I argued that he was taking more of a chance this way, but he said he knew what he was doing.”
“Yeah, but how did he go about screening the applicants?”
“Well, we had a lot of ex-cops and private detectives apply, but he told me to screen out anybody taller than 5′11″ and shorter than 5′9″. They also had to weigh between 140 and 150 pounds, have no scars or distinguishing marks and have no close living relatives. I asked him about that and he admitted that he wanted somebody who would be his same general size so as to confuse any assassination attempts, and that they must not have any close relatives because he couldn’t bear the ordeal of having to tell them in the event the bodyguard was killed. I remember when he told Mrs. Bendix about her husband it really broke him up.”
“So what it comes down to is I was hired to be a target and nothing more.”
“Mr. Bartlett explained that to you when he hired you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but that was different. That was when I thought I was fooling him into thinking I was really a bodyguard and that he should hire me for my skill. But now it turns out he didn’t care about my skill, only if I’d fit into his coffin.”
“Well, apparently it worked. Somebody tried to kill you, thinking it was Mr. Bartlett, and Mr. Bartlett got away safe and sound. So you did your job after all.”
“Except that now I’m being hunted by the police for killing the very man whose life I saved. And then there’s some other nut who’s taking shots at me for reasons I still haven’t figured out. Which brings up the question of who really set the bomb.”
“What about the men killed in the explosion whom the police think is Mr. Bartlett? Couldn’t he have been the one who set the bomb but got caught in it before he could get away? You know, poetic justice and all that.”
The Goulden Fleece Page 10
