B004183M70 EBOK

by Rosemary Stevens

  "I need you to get in touch with the best criminal lawyer in New York City and get him down to the jail and straighten out this mess!"

  "Calm down, Bebe, okay? I'm going to help you. What precinct has Bradley been taken to?"

  Oh, God, my trouble with numbers! Bradley had told me, but I forgot. But wait, he'd said he'd seen my "friend," Detective Finelli. "Stu, I don't know the number, but it's the one where Detective Finelli—you remember him—works."

  "Yeah, I sure do remember him, after what he put Darlene through a few weeks ago. I know just the lawyer to call, but before I get him, I want you to promise me to try to calm down. I'm sure there's an easy explanation as to how Bradley came to be found with the body."

  My empty stomach lurched. "Hurry, Stu. I'm going down there now to see what I can do."

  "Bebe, no—"

  I hung up, grabbed my purse and gloves, and raced out of the apartment and down the stairs. I tripped on a child's red truck on a step and almost fell headlong to the ground. Telling myself I had no time to break my neck right now, I grabbed the rail, righted myself, and continued down.

  Outside, the morning chill hit me, and a quick glance at my watch underneath the building's light said it was five forty-five. The streets were dark, and I imagined Harry asleep behind the Catholic high school across the way. A couple of young men stood loitering at the corner I had to pass.

  I didn't care. I had to get to Bradley.

  As I walked briskly over to Lexington, catcalls greeted me, but I kept going at a no-nonsense pace. I paused long enough to hail a taxi, opting not to take the subway, and slid into the backseat.

  "I don't know the exact street and number," I told the taxi driver, wishing I'd remembered to get them from Stu, "but I'll guide you there."

  "Okay, lady. It's your dime."

  We sped off, with the Four Seasons singing "Big Girls Don't Cry" on the cab's radio. By the time I arrived at the police station, dawn had turned the city sky a pale lavender. Trucks were delivering goods to stores and restaurants, garbage trucks noisily took care of the city's trash, and lights dotted the windows of apartment buildings.

  I ran up the steps and entered the police station.

  The uniformed desk clerk, a balding, paunchy man in his forties, eyed me suspiciously. "Help you?"

  I clunked my purse down on the desk. "Yes, please. You see, my boss, Mr. Williams, has been arrested, and I'm here to get him out of jail, because it's all simply a terrible misunderstanding. If you would show me to where he's being held, we can be on our way."

  "You his lawyer?" he asked with heavy sarcasm, bushy eyebrows raised.

  "Well, no, but I'm his executive secretary!"

  He riffled through some papers, then looked at me with total unconcern, head cocked. "Nobody but his lawyer's allowed to see the Williams guy."

  Anger rose up in me for this man who obviously cared nothing about Bradley. I read his name tag and said, "Listen, Mr. Lonegan—"

  "That's Officer John Lonegan," he interrupted.

  "Very well, Officer Lonegan, Mr. Williams is a very important man. He runs a company! His uncle owns a conglomeration of entities across the United States. Mr. Williams doesn't belong here in this rather unclean building."

  "Does if he strangled a broad and left her naked except for a fur coat, like this report says he did."

  Naked? My voice rose. "Mr. Williams did not kill anyone! I give you my word on that."

  Officer Lonegan had the nerve to chuckle. "Your word? Tell it to the judge."

  My temper snapped. "Don't you dare treat me in such a condescending manner, mister. I'm here to see Mr. Williams, and I will see Mr. Williams, and I want you to take me to him right this minute and stop wasting my time and his, or I'll report you to Detective Finelli!" I yelled, pounding my fist on the desk for emphasis.

  The officer narrowed his eyes at me and began to walk around the desk. "Lady, maybe you need to be clapped in the slammer for being insolent to a policeman."

  "Don't even think of laying a hand on me," I commanded, ready to kick him where it hurt.

  "Did I hear my name? And your voice, Miss Bennett?"

  Detective Finelli, glowering, came out from the depths of the station house. I scurried past the mean desk clerk and hastened over. Detective Finelli and I had become acquainted—although he hadn't liked it— on a previous murder case I had managed to solve.

  Reaching him, I barely refrained from grabbing the lapels of his gray suit. "Detective Finelli, they've got Mr. Williams locked up for something he didn't do! Get the key and release him."

  "I can't do that." The detective ran a hand back and forth across his brown crew cut, a gesture of frustration I remembered well.

  "Why? You know he's innocent."

  "I don't know anything of the kind, Miss Bennett I was at the scene a few hours ago, and your boss was the one with the dead body. I'm sorry, but it looks clear to me that he killed her, though I will investigate the crime."

  "You'll investigate? That's a good idea. Then you can find out who really did Suzie in."

  "Miss Bennett, Miss Wexford was a celebrity known across America for her modeling. Her personal life was public knowledge. For instance, there was a picture of her and Williams at that photographer's party in the Times."

  "That's just gossip," I tried.

  "Are you saying to me, an officer of the law, that you have no knowledge of Bradley Williams and Suzie Wexford having had a personal relationship in addition to their business relationship?"

  "No," I said.

  The detective spread his hands. "Williams had the opportunity—we found him crouched over the body— and as for a motive, maybe a lovers' quarrel. I'll find out. Meantime, no visitors."

  Oh, dear God! In a calm, reasonable voice like Mama used when she wanted to guilt someone into doing something they didn't want to do, I said, "Detective Finelli, Mr. Williams called me, and I'd like to see him, please. I'm aware that what I'm asking you might be against the rules, but because I know you to be a good man, I'm asking you to bend the rules a tiny bit, since I assisted your department in bringing the Philip Royal murder investigation to a successful conclusion." I took a really deep breath and waited.

  "Catholic girl, aren't you? You sound exactly like my mother," he said. "Come on, but just fifteen minutes, do you understand me?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  We walked down a dingy beige hall; then another officer let us into the cell area with a key.

  Detective Finelli turned to face me, his voice low. "I've told you more than I should have regarding this case, but I did it for a reason. You're not going to get mixed up in this, are you, Miss Bennett? No breaking and entering, no questioning of suspects, no putting yourself in danger?"

  "You seem to think you have the killer already, so how could I be putting myself in harm's way?" I asked, eyes wide.

  "Don't give me that innocent look. I know what you're capable of."

  "Aw, you flatter me, sir," I said, exaggerating my Southern accent.

  Detective Finelli patted the white handkerchief he always had tucked in the breast pocket of his suit. "I want your promise, Miss Bennett, that you will not interfere with police matters like you did before. Otherwise I won't let you see your boss."

  Naturally, I crossed my fingers behind my back. "I won't interfere like I did before." Because this time will be different. That was an effective way of putting it to the good detective, I thought, though I knew I'd have to jot this lie down in my notebook under the "Confession" section.

  "I'll hold you to that statement, Miss Bennett," he said with a skeptical look. "Mr. Williams is in a holding cell with lots of company. I warn you, it won't be hearts and flowers."

  I gasped. "Do you mean you've got him locked up with common criminals?"

  "Unless his lawyer can call in a favor with the judge on a Sunday, Williams will be our guest." Throwing open yet another steel door, Detective Finelli entered first, holding the heavy door for me. "Not a pla
ce for you, Miss Bennett," he tried one last time.

  That made me determined to show him I could be tough. I marched inside like I had a gun strapped to my garter, like a James Bond girl would.

  In a large square cell, men in varying degrees of dirt and quality of clothing slumbered on the cement floor, some snoring. The room smelled like sweat and alcohol and maybe something else. Eeewww.

  And there, in the middle of the filth and stench, standing against the back wall wearing an expensive slate-blue suit, white shirt, and narrow tie, was Bradley, a swan among the ugly ducklings. His rumpled hair, five-a.m. shadow, and fingers massaging the bridge of his nose were the only outward signs of any distress. I fought back tears. Bradley needed me to be strong.

  I heard Detective Finelli say he would sit in a chair and remain during my visit "for your own protection."

  "Mr. Williams?" I said, going up to the iron bars.

  He raised his golden head and looked at me.

  I was shocked at the grief in his eyes, never having considered that he would be feeling the loss of Suzie.

  But of course he would, I mentally kicked myself. They had been . . . involved.

  At the sound of a female voice, two of his cell mates woke and began saying vulgar things to and about me. Bradley pushed himself away from the wall and growled, "Leave her alone unless you want a shiner."

  That shut them up, but they still stared at me. I didn't care.

  Bradley came up to the bars until we were mere inches apart. His eyes were red, probably from lack of sleep.

  In a low voice he said, "Miss Bennett, what the hell are you doing in a place like this? I called you to get me an attorney, not to come down here looking as fresh as a daffodil and about as innocent."

  Innocent! Maybe it was time to start changing Bradley's view of me. I flung my arms through the bars, wrapped my hands around his neck, and pulled him toward me. I pressed a kiss on his forehead and then brushed my lips softly over the same spot.

  As if nothing had happened, I released him, over the cries and whistles of the other two inmates who were awake. "Are you going to treat me like an adult and tell me what happened, so I can help you out of this mess you've gotten yourself into?" I kept the pitch of my voice completely professional.

  Bradley's normally cool composure stayed in place. Still keeping his voice low, he said, "You are the sweetest, most adorable little pain in the neck I've ever known."

  I smiled. "Why, thank you."

  "Did you call a lawyer?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Of course I called a lawyer. Or rather, I called Stu Daniels; you remember him—"

  "Yes."

  "I figured he would know the best criminal lawyer in the city."

  "Good thinking, Miss Bennett."

  "Stu promised to get someone over here quickly."

  "Excellent. I could use a cup of your coffee." He tried to smile, and when he did, I felt a powerful urge to tell him I loved him and that everything would be okay. Fortunately, I got hold of myself before the words came out. Besides, what if everything didn't turn out okay? Dear God!

  "I'd certainly like to make you a pot of coffee. You look like you could drink the whole thing. Want to tell me what happened, since I'm here?"

  Talking to the floor, Bradley said, "We went out to dinner at the 21 Club. Suzie was tired from standing on her feet all day, so we skipped dancing. Instead we lingered over dinner, discussing her future plans with the agency. I officially gave her the Durden account— you know, the important swimsuit shoot set for the Virgin Islands next week?" He glanced up at me.

  "Yes." Boy, was that another plum assignment! Suzie would make thousands off that job—or she would have if she had lived. I wondered if Lola had been hoping for the job.

  "We'll have to find someone else now," Bradley muttered.

  "Don't worry, Mr. Williams; I'll start on it today. What happened after dinner?" I managed to ask without my voice breaking.

  He hesitated. "We went to Suzie's place for, er, a nightcap." He glanced at me again, and when I kept my expression neutral, he looked at the floor again and went on. "The hours went by, and Suzie asked me to go out for something."

  "What?" I asked, wondering what she could want at what was surely by then two in the morning.

  He straightened and looked me in the eye. "Miss Bennett, I don't know that I should be telling you all this—"

  "Don't be silly. What did you go out for?"

  He mumbled something.

  "What did you say?"

  "Chocolate syrup."

  I tilted my head. "So you were making sundaes; what's wrong with that?" Then my brain flashed back to something Darlene had told me once when we were talking about guys. Ooooh! I made a mental note: Once Bradley and I were married, I'd keep Hershey's in business.

  Bradley ran his right index finger down the side of my left cheek. "Nothing, kid. Anyway, when I got back to Suzie's apartment, I found her on the floor of the living room. The killer had strangled her with that Pucci scarf you wrapped for me."

  "Yes, I remember."

  "Someone had called the police, a neighbor. Maybe Suzie screamed. . . . God, I could use that coffee."

  "And that's when the police found you with her?" I asked, remembering that the officer had told me Suzie had been naked with a fur coat thrown over her.

  He nodded. "Yes. I just don't get it, kid. Who would want to kill Suzie?"

  Oh, boy, could I give him a laundry list of people, but now was not the time. I heard the big door to the cell area open, and Officer Lonegan entered with a tall, thin gentleman carrying a briefcase. He reminded me of illustrations of the character Jeeves from the P. G. Wodehouse books I'd read, with slicked-back black hair, a fair complexion, and very dark brown eyes. I hoped he was as clever as Jeeves.

  Officer Lonegan said, "Williams, here's your lawyer, Mr. Pickering."

  "That's David Pickering, Esquire," the lawyer intoned with an English accent, looking down his long nose.

  My mouth dropped open. He was English! Maybe he would be like Jeeves and have Bradley out of jail in the blink of an eye. Stu wouldn't have sent just any lawyer.

  Mr. Pickering eyed Bradley, nodded as if he would do; then his gaze dropped to me before he settled his attention on Detective Finelli.

  A grim expression crossed the detective's face before he stood, shook hands with the lawyer, and said, "Mr. Pickering, nice seeing you again."

  "Good morning, Detective Finelli. How is your family?"

  "Fine, thank you. The boys are a trial for the wife."

  Mr. Pickering allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. "Boys of five and seven will do that to a woman."

  This was new information for me. I had suspected that Detective Finelli possessed a family, but he'd never mentioned sons. I guessed that Mr. Pickering and Detective Finelli had been on opposing sides previously, and, from the look on the detective's face, he had not always been the winner.

  "You will, of course, provide Mr. Williams and myself with the privacy of a conference room, so that I might become acquainted with him." He turned to Bradley. "That is, if you are amenable to the plan, Mr. Williams."

  "Mr. Pickering, I'm amenable to anything that will get me out of here," Bradley said.

  I looked at him and smiled, trying to broadcast the message that this man was here to help and now was not the time for masculine competition.

  With a start, I realized Mr. Pickering had turned his sharp gaze on me. "I see from your bare left hand, miss, that you are not Mrs. Williams. May I ask who you are, and what you are doing here?"

  Bradley spoke before I could answer. "I'm not married. Miss Bennett is my executive secretary and the friend of Stu Daniels who contacted him."

  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Pickering," I said, and turned to Bradley. "Mr. Williams, I'll be at the office working on plans for that photo shoot we discussed. You can reach me there once you've been released." These last words were directed at Mr. Pickering.

  Officer Lonegan l
ed me from the room, back down the hall, and to the exit.

  "Looks like your boyfriend will get out after all," the officer said. "Pickering will arrange bail. He's a big shot at the courthouse and knows all the judges."

  With my hand on the doorknob to freedom, I said, "Mr. Williams will be released and cleared because he didn't kill anyone."

  "Tell it to the judge, lady."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Stepping out of the police station, I felt drained. Heat rushed to my face when I remembered how I had brazenly kissed Bradley. Funny, though, he hadn't chastised me for it, or given me a lecture on office romances. And he had called me "the sweetest, most adorable pain in the neck" he'd ever known.

  Remembering that made me smile, but I couldn't dwell on it now. First I had to get some coffee in me, since I hadn't had anything to drink or eat yet today. I felt a headache coming on, and needed aspirin and caffeine. There was a Chock Full o' Nuts near the Ryan building, so I whistled for a cab (Harry had taught me how).

  Later, as I sat at my desk munching doughnuts between sips of coffee, the thought crossed my mind that meddling Debbie Ann would not condone my breakfast. No doubt she'd lecture me about my figure while writing down instructions for making oatmeal. Luckily, since it was Sunday, she was not around.

  Sunday! I clapped a hand over my mouth: I'd missed the early-morning Masses at St. Patrick's, and had told Bradley I would be at the office, so I couldn't leave now to attend the later Mass. Groaning, I pulled my notebook out of my purse, turned to the current "Confessions" page, and wrote down my transgression.

  Then I got up and put on a pot of coffee for when

  I'd finished my take-out cup. I still couldn't think straight, so I decided to call Darlene.

  To my surprise, she answered on the second ring.

  "Darlene, I didn't think you'd be home."

  "Then why'd you call, silly?" she asked, and laughed. "Where are you?"

  "I'm at the office, and I need to talk to you."

  "Honey, I know we haven't had any time together, but we will tonight, I promise."

  "Really? You mean you won't be with Cole?"

  "Now, Bebe, I know for some reason Cole has rubbed you the wrong way—"