Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery

by Louise Gaylord

  Both of us are dressed in black: jeans, heavy sweaters, down parkas and running shoes.

  We’ve just arrived at the back door of the sealed-up basement level of Cliff ’s townhouse. It’s almost ten but the glow from the city lights reflecting on low-hanging clouds gives us ample light. The bad news is I’m acutely aware of the damp cold creeping beneath my turtleneck.

  Mindy gives an expletive deleted under her breath.

  I turn. “Afraid we’ll get into trouble?”

  “Easy for you to say,” she hisses. “You’re not a cop. You’re an ‘independent agent,’ whatever that dumb title means. Greene can’t do much to you, but my career—my future is on the line here. If I’m caught going against his orders, he can get me demoted easy as swatting a fly.”

  I want to make some smart remark about how Greene has no intention of firing her since the two of them have been trading cloying looks across the conference table for a couple of days, but now is not the time.

  “Don’t make such a big deal out of it. You thought it sounded like a great idea over dinner.”

  “Don’t rub it in,” she sniffs. “Lost my big fat mind, that’s what.”

  “Don’t worry. Greene and Platón won’t see us. We’re out of sight under this overhang and they’re too busy creeping around inside to notice anything.”

  I shine my flashlight on the back door. The glass panes are covered on the inside with paneling of some sort. I reach for the doorknob—there is none. Only the hole where it should go.

  “The doorknob is missing.”

  “Surprise, surprise. Didn’t you hear a word Jaime said after his surveillance?”

  I ignore her. “Looks like they’ve done some kind of cheap paneling job.”

  Mindy tugs at my sleeve. “Okay. We’ve scoped the place. I’m freezing. Let’s make tracks.”

  I shake her hand away. “Relax. I’m telling you, Greene and Platón don’t have a clue we’re here. I just want to check out one more thing.”

  I move to the window next to the door, use my light long enough to see that it’s paneled and move to the window next to it—same treatment.

  Mindy’s hovering so close to my left shoulder, I can feel her nonstop quake. “What did you see?”

  “The bedroom window is paneled as well.” “How do you know it’s a bedroom?”

  “I saw the place once. It was a dump then, but it looks like Cliff might have had it remodeled. As best as I can recall, the front door opens into the living area. To the right were some stairs to the kitchen above but those were sealed before Angela bought the place. There used to be a pre-fab kitchen unit built into the wall and just past that was the back door where we’re standing. To our right there’s a bedroom just big enough to hold a twin bed and a dresser. Off that, there’s a midget-sized bath.”

  I move to the final window. This has to be the bath since the opening is several feet higher than the other windows and isn’t as large. No luck here. Frosted glass.

  When I turn to say as much to Mindy, I realize I’m alone. Detective Cha has abandoned me.

  I’m about to follow when there are heavy footsteps on the porch above and I hear Jaime say, “I thought I saw a light down there.”

  A beam cuts through the dark, and I flatten myself into the corner beneath the metal circular stairs.

  His foot hits the first step just as Greene’s warning saves me. “Careful, man, those steps are metal and slick as hell. You don’t want to bust your keester.”

  “You are right. Only a fool would come this way.”

  Their footsteps fade into the house and then down the front steps. My guess is they figure they don’t have to be very careful since Cliff and Sigrid Hale are out in Jersey.

  I wait for a few minutes, then go back to the frosted window. With a little urging it inches up, enough for me to take a peek inside.

  My flashlight beam floods the bath. It’s bigger than I remember and it’s squeaky clean: shiny white tiles, new pre-fab shower, and state-of-the-art Kohler toilet and sink. The bad news is the door to the bedroom is closed.

  I struggle to shut the window, turn off the light, then stop dead when I hear footsteps crunch on the gravel path at the side of the townhouse. I manage to make the shadowed corner beneath the stair when a man rounds the corner and heads in my direction.

  He stops at the bathroom window and shines his flashlight on the frosted glass. It’s then that he turns slowly in my direction. It’s Bill.

  We both let out our breaths at the same moment and he moves to take me in his arms. All is forgiven—at least for the moment. To feel his mouth on mine is sheer heaven.

  He can barely get his words out between his heavy breathing. “What in hell are you doing here?”

  Unfortunately, I’m having the same problem with my air intake and pant, “I might ask you the same thing.”

  “I was in the area and dropped by the trailer. Surveillance told me Greene and Platón were over here, but they never mentioned you.”

  “That’s because no one knows I’m here.”

  He studies me a few seconds then says, “I won’t tell, if you don’t.” Before I can get out some wise retort, Bill draws me back into his embrace.

  Gasping, I step away, embarrassed that I can’t seem to control my feelings for him in spite of my suspicions. “We better save this for another time.”

  Bill gives a low laugh. “All business, aren’t you?”

  I ignore the dig. “What are you looking for?”

  He goes back to the bathroom window. “Our other operative assigned to The Castle made a sweep of all the rooms and reported them clean. We think they might have moved the drug distribution to this site.”

  His mention of The Castle brings back the conversation I had with the detective only the day before. “Speaking of The Castle, I told Greene what you said about Larry Templeton and his Foo Dog mask.”

  When Bill doesn’t say anything, I add, “We also have tapes of Cliff talking with Templeton about Sigrid Hale. I mean we have Cliff ’s end of the conversation, so it’s obvious they’re connected.” “Makes sense. Our surveillance reports a laundry truck with the name Dee’s Linen Service has been delivering large bundles wrapped with brown paper ever since Danes moved in. That’s a hell of a lot of linen.”

  I sidle past him and point to the window. “Before you got here I was able to raise the sash far enough to see in. It’s a brand-new bath.”

  Bill shoves his flashlight at me. “Hold the beam on the window, maybe I can open it all the way.”

  With little effort on his part, the window squeaks upward. Bill sticks his head through the opening. “You can still smell the paint. Too bad the window is so small.”

  “I might be able to wiggle through if you help me.”

  “Not a good idea. We don’t have a clue what’s on the other side of that closed door.”

  I briefly describe the layout as I remember it. “Would that space be big enough to handle cutting and distribution?”

  “I’d have to see it.” “Then let’s do it.”

  Bill shakes his head. “Much too risky. The window is too small for me to get through. Maybe you could get in there, but if something were to happen, I couldn’t cover you.”

  He shines the flashlight on his watch. “Besides, it’s almost eleven.”

  “That still gives us more than a good hour. What are we waiting for? All you have to do is lift me high enough so I can slide in feetfirst.”

  “I can see that, but it won’t be so easy getting you out.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We have to move now. This might be our only chance.”

  I’m already untying my shoelaces. “I’ll slip out of these, that way I won’t track up the area.”

  As I predicted, getting in is easy. But once I hit the floor, I turn toward the window and realize that the sill is now a good six inches higher.

  Bill notices the discrepancy from his side. “I told you getting out wouldn’t be that easy. May
be there’s a box or something you can stand on.”

  “No good. They’ll know someone’s been in here. Let’s worry about that later.”

  He hands me my flashlight. “Don’t take too long.”

  I turn the handle to the door. When it swings open, I freeze. There’s no drug-cutting going on in this place. Dee’s Linen Service has been making legitimate deliveries.

  The walls, including the windows and doors, as well as the ceiling, are upholstered with pleated white sheets.

  Gone is the partition that separated the small living area from the bedroom. At the center of the wall at the far end of the room is a king-sized bed. To its right, against the back-window wall is an ornately carved armoire. To the left of the bed is an empty space that gives the room a lopsided appearance.

  The old pre-fab kitchen unit has been replaced with a brand-new model. To the right of that is a door. I open it to see stairs and realize the only visible entry to this room is from the kitchen above.

  Several feet in front of the kitchen unit is a sitting area made up of a round-skirted table with two ice-cream parlor chairs. To one side is a chaise longue covered in the same fabric and next to that is another small table bearing a single lamp.

  I walk to the bed. Though there are no signs of the ropes or leather thongs that were once attached, I know. The wrought iron headboard is Caro’s.

  Images of Angela’s brutalized roommate and the hapless Sheri Browne flash. I shake off a shudder, but others quickly follow as it dawns that this setup really might be for me.

  With my heart in overdrive I lurch into the bathroom to hear Bill’s reassuring, “You okay?” “Get me out of here.”

  There’s no other way to extricate me from the bathroom than by pulling me backward over the window ledge.

  Once I’m out, I turn and throw my arms around him. “Hey there,” he says, “everything’s going to be all right.”

  “No, I don’t think it will be.” I bury my head against his shoulder.

  “Okay, just what did you see in there?”

  “The bed—the bed is Carolina’s. I’m dead-sure about that because I saw both Caro and Sheri Browne strapped to that wrought iron headboard. Oh, God, I need a drink.”

  ————

  I finish my martini and turn to Bill. “I think I’ll have another.”

  “Here, take mine.” Bill shoves his drink next to my empty glass, waves at the bartender and leans close. “So, you saw a bed—a bed you recognize?”

  I take a sip from his glass, but I can’t get the next sentence out on first try. After a second slug that dances down my gullet to warm my stomach, I say, “I think that room is being prepared for me.”

  Bill moves away, his blue eyes searching mine for a moment before he speaks. “For what purpose?”

  I shake my head, afraid to put it into words. Afraid that if I did, the reality would be too much to bear. “They want the jewels. They know I have them.”

  “What do you mean by ‘they’?”

  “Cliff isn’t in this alone. Larry Templeton and Sigrid Hale are somehow involved. Greene’s picked up on a couple of interesting phone conversations.”

  Bill shakes his head. “I don’t like this.”

  “I’m not too keen on it myself, but I have to be the one to get in there. I don’t see any other way. At least none I can think of.” He leans forward to take my hand in his and squeezes it with each word. “You cannot. And I mean cannot go back there.”

  “But I’m the only one, don’t you see that? We’re so close to exposing Hale.”

  “The DEA will take care of Hale. Plans are already—”

  Bill’s martini arrives at the same moment his pager beeps. He checks it, shakes his head and stands. “I have to take this. It’s urgent. Wait here, will you?”

  He disappears around the corner and, after a few seconds, returns to lean down and touch my raised mouth with his.

  “Gotta go. Sorry.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be fine. Or I will be after I down these.”

  “I’m going only because I know you’ll be safe here at the hotel. Please, Allie, promise you won’t do anything about the townhouse until you hear from me.”

  He takes a few steps toward the door, then turns.

  I shake off the first effects of the vodka to wave the glass in his direction. “So, go.”

  Chapter 38

  THE SOUND OF THE HOTEL MAID shoving the vacuum cleaner against my door jolts me awake to squint at the digital clock. Nine already. I’m in trouble. I drank all three martinis and not only do I have one of my rare jackhammer headaches, but my back is a mass of painful bruises. I crab through my morning routine like a hundred-year-old woman with one ear cocked for Bill’s promised call.

  By ten, I give up waiting for the telephone to ring. Still, that makes me twenty minutes late for the scheduled report meeting at our chilly makeshift office.

  When I give a halfhearted, “Sorry, took forever to hail a cab,” and slide into my chair next to Mindy, she shoots me a nervous glance, then shuffles through her papers until Greene begins his report.

  “No problem with the entry. Or with Danes’s suite. But Jaime was right; the lock system on Hale’s door is something I’ve never seen before. We took detailed photographs of the apparatus and sent them to Quantico. If they can’t help us, we’ll try the CIA lab next.”

  Greene stares down at his hands. Jaime gazes at the ceiling, and Mindy’s glare dares me not to say a word.

  I ignore it. “What about the first floor?”

  The detective looks up. “What about it?” “Were you able to scope it out last night?”

  Mindy slips her hands from the table into her lap.

  I look down to see them clenched together and slide my hand over to give her a reassuring squeeze.

  Greene’s voice brings me to attention. “Couldn’t get to it. We can cover that later.”

  “You don’t have to. I got in.”

  The two men lurch forward at the same moment. Greene says, “You did?”

  “I know you said to stay out of this, but I couldn’t. I was below the back porch when Jaime started down the steps and you warned him about slipping on the ice.”

  They look at each other then back at me, and Greene says, “You couldn’t do it alone.” He looks at Mindy, who remains focused on the papers in front of her.

  “You’re right. Bill Cotton helped me.”

  I feel Mindy’s eyes on me as Greene gives Jaime a look, then says, “Are you saying he just happened by?”

  “I guess. He said he was in the area and stopped in the trailer. The guys told him where you were.”

  The detective scribbles something on his yellow legal pad and shoves it over for Jaime to read.

  After Jaime leaves the room, Greene stands, puts a cautionary finger to his lips and says, “I’m starved. How about taking an early lunch at the Grill before we tackle that problem? I’ll give Jaime a call and tell him to meet us there.”

  ————

  We’ve all ordered when Jaime slides into the chair next to Greene and shoves the yellow paper he took with him in front of the detective.

  I lean forward. “What’s with the notes, you guys? I thought we were a team. If you have some information, Mindy and I would appreciate your sharing it with us.”

  Greene whistles that awful tuneless tune before he says, “Sorry, Allie, I wanted Jaime to speak with the men in the van before—” He looks at Jaime, then back at me. “I know you’re involved with Bill—”

  “It’s not good news,” Jaime says. “Neither of our men spoke with Bill Cotton last night.”

  My mouth drops. But how could Bill know what was up? I snap my mouth shut and turn to Mindy. I can almost hear her saying, “I told you so.”

  Greene pulls out his notepad and begins writing. “So, let’s start from where you’re at the back of the house.”

  “I was able to raise the window in the bathroom just enough to peek in. Then Bill showed
up. He was able to push the window open as far as it would go.”

  “And he helped you in?”

  “Not at first. He was against my going in alone because he couldn’t cover me. But you know me, I bugged him until he finally gave in.”

  I tell Greene about the boarded windows and doors, the new kitchen unit and the refurbished bath. Then I describe in detail the walls covered with sheets and the king bed with the wrought iron headboard.

  But when I mention the newly opened stairway to the upper floor, Greene turns to Jaime. “So, that’s where the door in the kitchen leads.”

  Jaime looks at me. “We got the door open, but there was nothing but sheetrock. Guess they’re not done yet.”

  Greene and I stare at each other for a few seconds before he says, “What do you think the rooms are for?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

  And it’s pretty plain Bill Cotton was playing me for a fool. My mouth goes dry and I have to swallow a couple of times before I get the next question out. “So how did Bill know you were going into the townhouse?”

  “He’s one of them—the wrong side—the people who have our place bugged.” Greene says. “That’s the only way he could have known about last night.”

  When I shoot the detective a baleful look, he says, “I’m sorry, Allie, nothing came from us.”

  Greene looks around the restaurant dining area for the second time in as many minutes. It’s still early so the place is practically ours. Despite that, he leans in close, his chocolate eyes searching mine. “Are you still willing to go along with whatever these people have in store for you?”

  I slap a large bandage of enthusiasm over the quivering hole in my stomach. “Isn’t this what I—we’ve been waiting for? We’re so close to getting Hale, we can’t stop now. What’s our next move?” “We press.” Greene gets out his spiral notepad and flips to the back, reads some scribble, then looks at me. “You told me you had to be in Chicago for your sister’s wedding at Christmas, right?” “Yes. That’s a must.”

  Greene pockets his notebook. “Let’s see what happens when you announce your departure. That’ll be the first item of business when we get back to the office.”