Mike Faricy - Devlin Haskell 07 - Ting-A-Ling

by Mike Faricy

  “Yeah. Where do you think they are? Danielle and Paris and Hedstrom?”

  “God, who in the hell knows? They could all be together sitting on a beach somewhere for all the good it would do us. I doubt it, but stranger things have happened. We know someone ended up in that fire it might be one of them, Paris has my vote. We know Danielle is still out there, somewhere. And Hedstrom, good Lord, who knows?”

  “Think they’re still in town?”

  “I wouldn’t be,” Louie said and then pulled to the curb in front of our office.

  We got out and Louie walked around the car. We stood on the sidewalk and he looked from the door leading up to our second story office, then over to The Spot. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Couldn’t make things any worse,” I said.

  “Okay, but just one,” Louie said and we crossed the street.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Louie bought a round, then I bought a round, just the one round each.

  “Discipline,” Louie cautioned and we headed back out the door.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” I said once we were up in the office.

  “Well, about the only advice I can give you is to stay the hell out of Manning’s way,” Louie said and tossed his coat on the picnic table.

  I stared out the window for the better part of the next hour. Then, since I didn’t want Manning wise to my efforts, I wasted my time attempting to call Danielle from a pay phone around the corner. Not so amazingly, no one answered. I almost froze to death in the process.

  I borrowed Louie’s car and drove past Paris’ house which, at no surprise, turned out to be a complete waste of my time. The only difference from the last time I’d seen the place was that the snow had drifted deeper across the sidewalk.

  My drive past Danielle’s home was much the same. The place looked occupied with the walks shoveled and snow melting on the roof indicating the heat was on. But at four-thirty on a December afternoon there were no lights on inside and I didn’t catch as much as a twitch from a curtain or window shade. I didn’t call her from my cell for fear Manning would be alerted. I got out and rang her doorbell, another waste of my time. I should have just stayed in Louie’s car where it was warm.

  On the drive back to the office I was thinking about Hedstrom’s condo. If he was there, with the guard’s denying access to everyone at the front gate it could serve as the perfect safe haven for Danielle. At least up until Manning burst through the door and started looking under the beds, again. I was still thinking of the condo two hours later, sitting next to Louie at The Spot.

  “One more and that’s it for me, Linda,” he said, then pushed his glass across the bar and turned on his stool to face me.

  “You got time to drop me off so I can do some cross country skiing tonight?” I asked.

  “Are you crazy? It’s fifteen below out there and dropping. That’s not counting the damn wind chill.”

  “I need to get rid of some stress, not to mention burn some of these calories off before I start developing a pair of love handles,” I said, then took a sip of my Mankato Ale, not adding the ‘and ending up like you’ part of that statement.

  “Yeah, I suppose. God knows I haven’t been able to stop you from doing all the other incredibly stupid things up to this point. I guess there’s absolutely no reason I’d think I could stop you now.”

  “Thanks, I just need to change and grab my stuff. You can drop me off along the river. I’ll hop on one of the trails down there.”

  “How are you going to get home?”

  “Not to worry, I’ll figure something out.”

  He stared at me warily over the rim of his fresh drink, drained most of it and then said, “As you’re legal counsel I do not want to know.”

  “Relax, I’m just…”

  “No,” he said, then thrust the palm of his hand out toward me. “Stop, not another word. Come on, let’s get it over with. Then I’m going somewhere with plenty of folks around who’ll be able to attest to the fact I was nowhere near you tonight.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Louie dropped me off about a half mile from the Viagra Triangle. We hadn’t exchanged so much as a word on the drive down to the river.

  “See if you can pull off up here, there’s a sort of parking lot thing for tourists and stuff to look at the river,” I directed.

  Louie pulled into the viewing area. Amazingly it had been plowed. I could actually see the lights from the upper floors of the condo buildings as I took my skis out from the back of his car. I stepped into them, snapped the bindings into the low cut boots, then slid around to the driver’s side. Louie lowered his window a bit.

  “Be careful and stay warm,” he said then sped off.

  Another car pulled in as Louie left. The thing was sort of a non-descript gray and between the night sky and the tinted windows it was too dark to see into the vehicle. I guessed it was probably just a couple of teenagers looking for a private place to explore the differences between one another.

  Three minutes later I was skiing across what looked like a picnic area for the River View Terrace condominiums. You could just make out the tops of the picnic tables buried beneath almost three feet of snow.

  In a way, coming in by this route wasn’t that surprising. All the pomp and circumstance of a guard shack with guys wearing military sweaters and embroidered badges. No doubt they had ranked titles like Sergeant and Captain. The fancy gate out front where people like me were denied access made everyone in the complex feel safe and warm. Meanwhile, I’d just waltzed into the area through a side entrance and on skis, no less.

  There were five buildings making up the River View Terrace complex and Hedstrom’s was number three, directly in the middle and positioned right on the bend in the river. From his fourth floor condo he’d have a gorgeous view in a number of different directions.

  I skied right up to the front door of the building, stepped out of my skis and carried them inside. I was dressed for it, the skiing. I had on a heavy wool sweater, dark blue with large white snowflakes the size of a fifty-cent piece in the pattern, a matching knitted cap and mittens. The outfit had been a Valentine’s Day gift from Kristen, a Minneapolis Swedish girl who later threatened to have her brothers throttle me if I ever revealed her penchant for chocolate sauce in bed. Her secret remained safe with me.

  The building entrance was granite floored, with a dozen locked mail boxes set into a brick wall. Tall glass panels looked into the building’s carpeted lobby complete with upholstered furniture, four matching end tables sporting lamps and an elevator. A phone on the wall next to the mail boxes allowed you to contact the individual units. Hedstrom, R was listed as unit number 402, so much for tight security.

  I dialed the number and waited. Fortunately, no one answered. I was still listening to the phone ring when a couple came out of elevator and headed for the door of the lobby. I waited for them to open the security door then said, “Okay, Mom, I’ll be right up.”

  I pegged them as maybe in their mid-to-late-sixties. She was blonde, in a floor length dark fur coat and matching turban hat. The guy had a neatly trimmed mustache and wore an expensive looking camel colored cashmere coat. He had placed a brown fedora on his head as they exited the elevator. I held the security door for them once she opened it and walked out. He paused and gave me a look that seemed a little unsure while he pulled on sleek, brown leather driving gloves.

  “Lovely sweater, cold night for it,” the woman said. She nodded at my outfit and smiled with a sort of far away look, maybe remembering similar distant nights.

  “Yes ma’am,” I replied.

  The good manners seemed to alleviate any fears he had and she smiled back.

  “Stay warm,” I called after them, then ducked inside, stepped onto the elevator and pushed the button
for the fourth floor.

  The elevator opened onto a ‘V’ shaped hallway with beige carpeting, lighter beige walls and steel trim around the doors. Brushed aluminum wall sconces in sort of an art nouveau style illuminated the hall. A hint of some sort of classical music was coming from a distant unit off to the left. Number 402, Hedstrom’s place was straight ahead.

  I knocked softly and held my finger over the peephole, praying no one answered. I studied the two locks on the door, both manufactured by Schlage. It said so right on the locks.

  I waited a good minute and a half. It only seemed like a year standing in the hall with my heart pounding in my ears. I took my pick set out and went to work. Not surprisingly I had both locks clicked open in a couple of minutes. As was the case with a number of high security complexes, the actual security was at the castle gate. Once you made it past that things became relatively easy.

  I opened the door to the unit, stepped inside and hurriedly closed the door behind me. I was listening and at the same time checking frantically for any indication of an alarm system. I needn’t have worried. It turned out Hedstrom didn’t have one.

  I held my place for a good five minutes with my ears strained. Other than my heartbeat I couldn’t hear a thing. Even in the dark I began to get a sense of the unit’s layout. It was spacious, with windows at a right angle on either side of a fireplace providing a fantastic view up and down river. Even tonight, at close to twenty below and with more snow beginning to swirl outside, it was gorgeous. The moon had risen above the horizon and although you couldn’t really see it you had the sense of it glowing up there, just behind the clouds.

  As my eyes adjusted the furnishings came into view, contemporary and comfortable. The focal point of the living room was a gas fireplace. The room itself sported a large oriental rug. Two couches, a couple of end tables with lamps and then, of course, the marvelous view of the river on either side of the fireplace. Off to the right was a chandeliered dining area with an elegant table seating eight and matching marble topped side cabinets. Behind the dining room there looked to be a fairly large kitchen area.

  Off to the left, on the other side of the living room was a hallway with a series of closed doors, four to be exact. I headed cautiously down the hall, ears strained for the slightest noise. The first door was an office, complete with a fairly large desk, a computer, and a flat screen mounted on the wall. The desk was positioned in front of some built in closets.

  The room next to the office was a guest room sporting a matching bedroom set consisting of a double bed, a dresser and a makeup table and mirror. There was a little sort of stool with a needle point cushion in front of the makeup table. More built in closets were along the far wall.

  Across the hall was the master bedroom with an attached bathroom. A king sized, four poster bed dominated the room. A carved antique chest sat at the foot of the bed. The bed was high enough and positioned against the wall so you could lie in bed all day and just look at the river view out the window. Two large chests of drawers were lined up against the inside wall. The view out of the window was marvelous, looking out over the city’s downtown and then past all the lights down river to the bluffs and another bend in the Mississippi. A door led to the attached bathroom.

  I recognized the carpet and the base of the bed post from the evidence picture Manning had shown me of my belt. I checked under the bed, but nothing was there.

  Gorgeous as it was, the condo was empty. I quietly began to search, not knowing what I was searching for. Based on the contents of the closets and the chests of drawers this was strictly a guy’s place. Men’s clothes, shoes, a twenty-gauge shotgun along with some duck calls, boots, two softball bats. There was some women’s clothing, but not enough to suggest permanent residence. More like the casual visitor or a short stay. Perhaps Hedstrom had a girlfriend, or maybe he just had a daughter who came to visit.

  There were two empty coffee cups in the kitchen sink, one with lipstick. It struck me as strange that if Manning’s crew had been through here a few days back they would have left the coffee cups. Logic would seem to suggest they’d have taken the things and maybe finger printed them in a lab, or maybe here on site. Of course, maybe the cops just made some coffee, I had no idea.

  I checked the dishwasher, it was empty. The refrigerator held nothing of note. Four cans of Lite beer, no thanks. The usual ketchups, mustard, salad dressing sort of things you’d find in any place. There was nothing that looked like a plate of leftovers from last night or a platter of steak to be cooked tomorrow. Then again, maybe Hedstrom was the sort who just ate out every night.

  I went through the office area, but didn’t find anything of note. The computer required a password and a security code so I couldn’t gain access. What paper files there were yielded nothing out of the ordinary.

  It was after eleven when I stopped poking around and wandered back into the living room. With the curtains pulled back, despite the late hour the room seemed to be lit from the outside. The view in both directions was beautiful. I sat down on the couch, stared out the window and waited.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Thinking maybe I’ll fix myself a little drinky pooh, you want one?”

  The voice in my dream didn’t sound like me.

  “I think you’ve had enough for one night,” a woman replied.

  That certainly sounded familiar, but the exchange seemed to be interrupting my otherwise deep sleep. A light flicked on somewhere and the next thing I knew someone half shouted, “What the hell are you doing here?” then hit me on the side of the head as I was yanked off the couch.

  I rolled toward the fireplace a couple of times, aware there was a pair of feet after me. I was growing more awake by the second. A foot kicked out and missed me. I was on my knees when the second kick came. I caught it solidly in the midsection, held on to the shoe, twisted at the ankle and pushed back. I felt something crackle and give way in my grip just as the guy went down.

  “Ahhh-hhhh, Jesus Christ,” the figure cursed. He clawed at an end table for balance, dragging a table lamp down on top of him in the process.

  “Stop it. Stop it or I swear I’ll shoot you. I mean it, Dev.”

  I’d just gotten to my feet ready to kick back when I turned and looked at Danielle Roxbury. She was holding a small revolver in her demure little hand. Blued steel from the look of the thing with hatched wooden grips. I guessed it was a .38. She was pointing it at me with an outstretched arm and glaring eyes.

  “Danielle?”

  “I mean it, Dev, stop or so help me I’ll shoot you. I swear to God, I will.”

  “I believe you, Danielle, could you maybe just point that thing somewhere else?”

  “Ahhh-hhhh, my ankle, God, you maniac. I think you broke it,” Renee Paris groaned on the floor in a quasi-fetal position, clutching his ankle.

  “See if you can get up, Renee,” Danielle said.

  He wrestled with the table lamp on the floor for a moment before he tossed it off to the side. As the shade bounced off the floor I heard the bulb break.

  “Renee, stop it, someone will hear you,” Danielle said.

  “God, my ankle, I don’t know if I can walk,” he said, then gingerly hobbled to his feet and attempted to walk back and forth. His limp was pronounced and he held on to the back of the couch for balance. “God damn it,” he groaned with every step.

  Danielle rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll live, Renee,” she said, then fixed me with a wild stare and motioned toward the couch with the gun. “Sit down, Dev. What, exactly, are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you two the same thing.”

  “No, you couldn’t, not really, I’ve got the gun.”

  “God,” Paris groaned and limped into the dining room.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to check on Richard Hedst
rom. The police showed me a photo of my belt. It was lying under the bed in there. Thanks for that, you remember my belt?”

  “Most unfortunate. They missed us by no more than a minute or two, thank God. Apparently, his sister is worried and contacted them. Of course, Renee burning the car did nothing to help.” She’d raised her voice slightly as she looked over toward the dining room.

  “I almost had you, you bastard,” Paris said, then limped out of the kitchen with a glass of something that looked pretty strong.

  “Renee, no. You’ve had enough.”

  “I can…” He stopped whatever he was going to say and slammed the glass down on the end table. Some of the liquid splashed out of the glass and onto the table top. Even in the half light I could make out reddish marks on the side of his face where his skin had blistered after our last conversation.

  “We’re going to have to deal with this before morning, Renee. You’ll have to get the car and wait for us out front.”

  “I think we should…”

  But a look from Danielle cut him off again. “I’m going to need your help here, Renee, and then the car. Why don’t you just lie face down on the rug, Dev?”

  “Too bad the cops took my belt, we could…”

  “Just get down there,” she said and waved the pistol for added effect.

  “Oh, God,” Paris hissed and limped around in a sort of circle.

  “Renee, that little drawer at the end of the kitchen counter, there’s an extension cord in there, get it.”

  “I’m not sure I…”

  “Just do it, Renee, for God’s sake.”

  I heard him groan as he hobbled away and into the kitchen. It sounded like he pulled a drawer open, then groaned with every step as he limped back into the living room. “Will this do?”