Instead, he chose to do a little recon. He took the elevator up to his floor, then the fire stairs to hers. First he walked the hallway, listening to see if it sounded as if anyone was home. He heard a TV in one of the apartments, but it was at the far end of the floor from seven-o-six—Seaver's apartment.
Satisfied that it was fairly unlikely he'd be interrupted, when he got to the apartment door he knocked, waited, then knocked again. Hearing nothing, he took a small kit from his pocket, knelt to study the door handle, and, within moments, had the door unlocked. He eased it open, waiting for the beep that would tell him there was a security box he'd have to disarm. No beep, so he stepped inside, ready to beat a hasty retreat if the situation warranted.
Nothing happened, so he closed the door and began his walk-through of the place. "Typically male," he said under his breath when he saw that a leather recliner and an entertainment center were the main pieces of furniture in the living room. A sofa was relegated to one wall, with a cheesy velvet painting hanging over it. The dining area held a table with four kitchen chairs around it. The bedroom was better; giving him the feeling Ms Garland had probably redecorated it when she'd moved in with Seaver.
He was careful to stay away from the windows, and he used a handkerchief when he opened drawers, cupboards, and closet doors. The closet in the bedroom held an unexpected surprise. Although maybe not, if we're right in our thinking. Other than a couple of pair of worn jeans and a ratty sweatshirt pushed to the end of the clothes bar, everything else in it was definitely feminine.
Who takes all the clothes they own when they go on a business trip?
He checked the dresser drawers. One was empty. The rest held female underwear and tops.
On a whim, knowing he was being silly, at best, he checked under the bed. There was nothing but dust bunnies—enough of them to tell him neither Seaver nor Ms Garland were impeccable housekeepers.
Not a thing—at least that he'd found on his somewhat cursory search—gave any indication that someone had been killed in the apartment. Not that he'd expected bloodstains, but…
After taking one more look around the bedroom, he checked the bathroom. There were no men's toiletries and only one set of towels and washcloths. After that, he headed to the front door. Unlocking it, he checked to be certain no one was in the hallway, then exited, pulling the door closed behind him, with a click that told him the lock had engaged.
He was heading to the fire stairs when the elevator doors opened.
"What are you doing up here?" Ms Garland demanded.
"I was going to leave you a note, asking if you felt like going to dinner with me sometime," Rory replied, going for the only somewhat logical response, "but I changed my mind at the last minute"—he grimaced—"especially since I don't know which place is yours. Besides, I figured it would be better to ask in person, when you got home from work." He looked at her in question. "Of course, I didn't think that would happen quite so soon."
"I forgot some papers I brought home to deal with last night," she told him without blinking an eye.
Unless you hid them under a cushion or the mattress, that's a lie. Of course, he didn't say that aloud. "Sucks when that happens," he replied. "I went off on a business trip one time and left all the paperwork I needed sitting on my desk."
"Yeah, it does." Then she dimpled, asking, "Do you really mean that, Tony? About dinner?"
"Sure do."
"I won't be home until around six thirty, if that works."
"Great."
"Okay. I'll knock on your door. Well, if you tell me which one it is."
"Five-o-two."
"Got it. And I'd better grab those papers and get back to work before my boss decides to fire me." She tossed him a grin and hurried down the hallway to her apartment.
That was close. A couple of minutes earlier and she'd have caught me, unless I'd decided to keep the dust bunnies company until she left. If she did…or does.
Deciding he'd better move it in case she decided to check on him, Rory took the stairs two at a time down to his apartment. He gave it half an hour, spending the time rearranging his new furniture more to his liking. Then he took off—presumptively to do what a visiting salesman would while they were in town. When he was certain he wasn't being followed, he went to the gallery, getting there just in time to catch Lou before he left.
Lou listened to Rory's report on Seaver's apartment before saying, "I agree. The empty closet, or rather the lack of men's clothes, is definitely strange, not that you can say anything about it to her, while you're having dinner."
"Yeah. Even if she invites me back for a nightcap, I can hardly go prowling around and see that."
Lou arched one dark eyebrow. "You'd really accept, if she did?"
Rory waggled a finger at him. "Don't go getting jealous. She is definitely not my type, and you know it. If that happens, I'll graciously decline, and say, 'Maybe, next time'. That should keep her on the hook until I can figure out if she, or someone, has killed Seaver." He sealed his promise with a kiss meant to show Lou that he was the only person in Rory's life that mattered. Apparently, it worked, because Lou returned it in kind before telling him to watch his back then leaving for work.
*****
Dinner with Beth Garland at a restaurant close to the apartment building was unexciting and unproductive, as far as Rory was concerned. As they ate, they chatted about things that interested them—the way two people who don't really know each other but might want to—would do in such circumstances. He tried to elicit some personal information from her, but each time he did, she deflected it with a wave of her hand, or, "I'm not that interesting. What about you? Why did you… Why are you…"
Having no choice, without seeming too pushy, he played along. When she asked about his renting an apartment instead of staying at a motel, he smiled at the memory of Lou asking him the same question when they'd first met. Then, his now husband had thought it was because Rory was a spoiled, rich brat with money to burn. He hadn't replied to Lou's question at the time. However, he did answer Beth's, saying, "Since I spend more time on the road than at home, I like to have a place I can call home. Motels are too impersonal."
"Doesn't it get expensive? I mean, if you have apartments in several cities?"
Rory chuckled. "Not when I can write it off as a business expense."
"Clever. Why did you choose our building?"
"Probably for the same reason you did. It's close to downtown, the rent is reasonable, and"—he smiled at her—"from what little I've seen, in the whole day and a half I've been here, the tenants are nice."
She grinned, replying, "And you've asked every one of them to have dinner with you?"
He grinned back. "No. Only you, so far."
"So far." Beth laughed then changed the subject, asking him what he thought of the city—again deflecting any chance of his trying to find out more about her.
After they'd finished dinner, they walked home. When they got to his floor, she stopped him as he got off the elevator, surprising him by kissing his cheek. "I had a nice time tonight, Tony."
"So maybe we can do it again?"
"Maybe," she replied before the doors closed, leaving him alone in the hallway.
Now that was definitely unexpected. Why the sudden turnaround, when she'd spent the whole evening avoiding anything personal? At least, personal when it came to her. My boyish charm finally got to her? Rory laughed at that idea. Me and "boyishly charming" do not belong in the same sentence. With that thought, he unlocked his door and entered the apartment.
*****
RORY: I've had company.
Lou read the text and immediately called him. "When and who?" he asked without preamble.
"While Ms Garland and I were out to dinner. That might explain why she was so willing to accept my offer, even though she barely knew me. No clue who, though." Rory talked quietly as he paced the hallway outside his apartment.
"How did you figure it out?" Lou asked.
"Okay. Since she was with you, we know it wasn't her. I don't like the idea that she's obviously working with someone else."
"Possibly Seaver, but I doubt it. Why go to all the trouble of erasing any trace of him from his apartment if he's still alive and around?"
"I agree. So, guess what you get to do."
"Find her partner in crime."
"Did you have anything in the apartment that says you aren't Tony Marshal?"
"Damn, Lou. I do know what I'm doing. I left all my ID at our place."
"Sorry." Lou sighed. "I'm not happy that someone was there, presumably looking for something that might say you're not who you seem to be."
"I'm not exactly jumping for joy. There is a plus, though. It sort of reinforces the idea that something is going on. Whether Ms Garland and her partner are trying to cover up killing Seaver, or she and Seaver are…hell, who knows what? Making him disappear to get out from under alimony payments?"
"Pretending he's been murdered is a bit drastic," Lou replied. "If that's the plan, they're going about it the wrong way, since Ms Garland would be the obvious suspect. No, I think it's her and a partner doing their best to make it seem as if he's moved out. It's the only explanation for his missing clothes. Did you check the bathroom to see if any of his personal things were there?"
"I told you I did," Rory said in exasperation. "The only thing that says a man lived in the apartment is the furnishings. I'm betting, if anyone commented on them, she'd have some excuse—like, they're hand-me-downs from a brother or belonged to an ex-boyfriend who decided to upgrade." He shook his head. "I tried to get her to talk about herself while we were at dinner. She's very good at avoiding anything personal."
"Did you ask outright if she had a boyfriend?"
"I tried. She countered with, 'Do you have a wife and family at home?', rather than giving me an answer. Then she began talking about how her father used to travel for work, which evolved into a movie she'd seen about a traveling salesman."
"Did you believe the bit about her father?" Lou asked.
"Not really, not that I can say why. It's just a feeling she was making it up as she went along."
"Are you in the apartment now?"
"No. And yeah, I thought of that too, but I don't have anything with me to check for bugs."
"Probably a good thing you don't, since the searcher might have found it. What about your lockpicks?"
"With me," Rory replied, instinctively patting his jacket pocket.
"Okay. That means they didn't find anything that said you aren't who you're pretending to be."
"But why think I could be?"
"The fact she caught you on her floor, for starters. And your excuse for being there."
"Yeah," Rory said. "That probably wasn't my best move, but for the spur of the moment—"
"It worked and gave you a chance to get to know her."
Rory snorted. "Or not. Like I said, she's big into avoidance."
Lou started to reply then said, "I have to go. I'll call when I get home, unless you want me to come there."
"Not a good idea. If you ran into her here, she might remember you and wonder."
"True. Watch your back, and I love you."
"Love you." Rory barely got that out before Lou hung up.
*****
Quint called Lou just after ten, when Lou was on his way home from work.
"I have some information on Beth Garland. I can give it to you now, if you want to come by the loft, or it can wait until morning."
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Lou asked.
"Tell that to Jamie," Quint grumbled.
Lou laughed. "In that case, I'll be there in ten, give or take."
Quint let Lou in when he got there. He put a finger to his lips then pointed to Clay's studio. Lou nodded, practically tiptoeing as he crossed the living area. When he glanced back, he saw Clay on the sofa, gently rocking the baby, who was now sound asleep. He looks beat but happy. I guess kids will do that to a person.
"What do you have?" he whispered to Quint.
"We can talk. As you saw, Jamie's finally crashed."
"And Clay might be next."
"No kidding." Quint opened a folder lying on Clay's work table. Taking out a photo, he gave it to Lou. "Meet the first Mrs Seaver."
"You have to be shitting me." The photo showed Beth Garland, wearing an elegant wedding dress, kissing Floyd Seaver in front of what were quite obviously bridesmaids and groomsmen. "When did this happen?"
"Three years ago. A year and a half later they were divorced. Then he met and married Coleen Rogers—and divorced her four months ago."
"At which point he rented the apartment, and Beth moved in with him? That makes no sense. Why, when I spoke with her, did Coleen Rogers say Beth was, if I remember correctly, another in a long line of Seaver's whores? She should have known Beth had been married to him. And another thing… Why the hell didn't this show up in the info you and Gideon dug up on him?"
"Because he was using the name of Michael Odell when he and Beth were married. That could explain why Ms Rogers didn't know they'd been married."
"I suppose. Which one is his real name?"
"Legally, both of them, although obviously not at the same time," Quint replied. "However, his birth name is Mitchel Seymour."
"How did you manage to connect him to all three names?"
"Gideon did, thanks to facial databases of driver's license photos. Not that we couldn't have," Quint added. "It just never occurred to me to go that route."
"I have to let Rory know. This puts a whole different slant on things."
Quint nodded. "We still don't know where Seaver is—and why."
"Unless he's off looking for wife number three, and Beth's holding down the fort. That would account for his clothes being missing, too, if he set up somewhere else. That doesn't explain why someone broke into Rory's place tonight."
"What?"
Lou gave him the details of what Rory had told him. "We think, maybe, she took advantage of their being out to dinner to have her cohort check Rory out."
"Meaning they're suspicious of him, for some reason."
"Yep." Lou tapped the photo. "If Beth and Seaver are working together on some scam, then who's the murder victim?"
"We haven't proved there is one," Quint replied. "It's all conjecture, based on Olivia's photo. It might not be what it looks like."
"The bruises on Beth's throat say otherwise. And Seaver is the man in the photo."
After a moment, Quint said, "It's time we talk to Harber again. He won't be happy about Rory's part in this, but he'll deal."
Chapter Six
Late Friday morning, Quint, Lou, and Rory met with Harber to fill him in on everything they knew about Seaver. "And don't know," Quint said wryly when they finished. "Like where the hell he is."
Harber was less than happy that they had brought Rory into the mix. "You're a civilian, damn it. If you screw up…" He shot a hard look at Rory.
Lou disagreed. "He's trained for undercover work. It's part of what he does for Gideon Monahan. As we told you, he's already made contact with Ms Garland."
"And had someone break into his place while they were out to dinner. That doesn't speak well for his training, as you put it," Harber replied sourly.
"In my defense," Rory said, "that may or may not have been my fault. Ms Garland is undoubtedly leery of anyone who seems interested in her. Yeah, I moved too quickly. I didn't have a choice when she and I ran into each other on her floor. But my excuse was logical, since we'd already talked a couple of times before."
"I suppose," Harber replied. He looked at Quint. "What comes next?"
"Following Ms Garland, for starters, and bugging Seaver's apartment. If we're right and they're working together on something, they have to be in contact."
Harber no
dded. "I'll send one of our men to plant the bugs. Who do you want to put on her? It can't be any of you, since she's seen you."
"Damn, Lieutenant, it's not like we'd be visible," Lou said.
"Don't argue with me."
"Sorry."
"Use Dave Thomas," Quint said.
"Will do. Is there anything else?"
Quint looked at the others, then shook his head. "I think we've covered everything."
"All right. This case has now become official, not that you weren't treating it as such all along. I'll let you know as soon as the bugs are in place. Rory, I'm not going to make you pull out. That would be a big giveaway that they were right to wonder about you. If you can—if she lets you—stay in contact with Ms Garland."
"I was planning on it. After searching my place, they have no reason to think I'm anything other than what I seem."
"Just—"
"Watch my back." Rory rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I will."
Harber smiled. "I was going to say, don't do anything stupid."
"Okay. That, too."
*****
"At least he didn't shut us down," Quint said, once they were back in the squad room.
Rory nodded. "Now all we have to do is find Seaver, dead or alive."
Lou chuckled. "Remember the movie Rear Window? Isn't that the one where the hero noticed dead flowers or something in the courtyard of his apartment complex then figured out that's where the wife's body was?"
"Yeah, I think. The trouble is, there's no courtyard for this building—or even a backyard of any kind. Ergo, no buried body," Rory replied. "Oh, by the way, did Olivia hand over the negatives for the pictures?"
"Yep," Lou said. "Sorry. I forgot to tell you. She did, and I passed them on to our experts."
"And?"
Lou grimaced. "Let me check. I'll be right back."
Rory laughed when Lou hurried out of the room. "Sometimes he can be so scattered."
It Takes a Photographer Page 4
