“Oh, most definitely,” she said with amusement shining from her eyes. “Listen, Morgan told me she saw Daphne Franco. I’d already had my eyes on your Murk fellow over there. At the very end of the ceremony, after we’d dismissed the crew, I spotted him. I caught him massaging that paunch of his; it’s such an odd gesture,” she said with disgust. “Anyway, I was tailing him because I just felt like I should, I guess.” It’s the best quality a detective can have, a gut instinct. No wonder she was so effective.
“So, winding through a lot of back streets, he ended up here. Meanwhile, as I rounded the corner to enter in the front, Morgan came up and said she and Eric had gone back to where Daphne had spotted them hot on her trail. They got the feeling they’d interrupted whatever she was doing. They found her.” Mary leaned a fraction closer, eyes wide. “Daphne’s here.”
CHAPTER 48
“Holy shit,” said Roarke.
“Maybe that’s what’s got Murk so agitated,” I whispered.
Roarke looked over, giving up on his cover. “He’s gone.”
In those split seconds, Murk had disappeared. Mary and I turned our heads and the bartender was looking pale as he motioned with his head to come over. Quickly.
Roarke left money for the bill and we quickly but smoothly went to the bar, trying not to draw too much attention to ourselves. Roarke said, “What’s going on?”
The bartender gulped and said, “We’d just been shootin’ the breeze, but then a small guy came up to him, he’d come right up to him from the front door. I tried to look busy and disinterested, but giving it my best shot to listen in. They were talking close, almost in each other’s ear. The little guy stayed only a few seconds, then left out the back. But I did hear Murk say the name Daphne. I can say he was definitely afraid, he kind of squeaked when he said her name.”
“Did he say anything else?” I asked.
He swallowed again, then said, “He called me over and asked me to look toward the door, out in the lobby area, to tell him who I saw. So I did. I went toward the other end of the bar while I shined up a glass and looked out to the line for lunch.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Mary.
“I just listed out the three or so people I saw. Two businessmen, one really tall, one average, both with gray hair. And a woman with light blond hair and a red hat.”
“A red hat,” I whispered. Could it be that red hat that I’d admired earlier? “Was it dipped down over one eye?”
He nodded.
“What did Murk do then?” asked Roarke.
“He looked like he might have a heart attack right then and there. Jerky movements, rubbed his face trying to come to a decision. Then he bolted out the back door, same one the short guy went through.”
Roarke and I looked at each other. Mary said, “That’s Daphne. Morgan gave me a detailed description.”
I felt woozy. It was the same hat. I’d been within a few feet and even admired her goddamn hat. I grabbed Roarke’s arm.
“Roarke.”
“What, Lane?”
“That perfume, that scent I was telling you about. I smelled it right when I was admiring a lady’s hat just in front of us when we were walking to the luncheon,” I said.
“So the memory you’re still teasing out is from her perfume,” he concluded.
I nodded sickly.
Mary said, “I’m going to try to tail her.”
“Be very careful, Mary,” I said with a solemn tone. She nodded, then left quickly. For a large woman, she practically floated, just as silent as her looks were invisible.
I looked at Roarke and he patted my hand, which was still gripping his arm. “I think we should follow Murk. Think that little guy must be the Crusher?” I asked.
“Yeah, I do. Let’s go.”
We wrapped ourselves in our wool coats and made our way cautiously out the back after thanking the bartender. We went through the kitchen, the hustle and bustle of the staff creating enough of a distraction that no one even gave us a passing glance. The only exit was clearly marked. We paused.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yep,” I said decisively as I pushed out the door.
The cold air packed a punch, having dropped in temperature through the day. We had come out the side of the Rockefeller building. It was a kind of alley with several workers loading and unloading a variety of vehicles including a horse-drawn cart. It made me quirk a smile as I remembered a fabulous getaway involving me and Morgan’s crew and a large junk cart careening through Manhattan. That thought and the humorous image that would be ingrained in my memory forever of arriving at Finn’s precinct in my red gown, disheveled hair, holding my high heels in one hand and dagger in the other, in front of a very amused group of policemen . . . gave me a surge of courage.
For once, Roarke and I weren’t being chased, we were the pursuers.
“There!” said Roarke urgently, pointing to the far corner where we glimpsed Murk and Crusher in a heated conversation. Crusher’s head barely reached Murk’s shoulders, but Murk looked plenty nervous in the presence of a clearly more powerful man. I shivered recalling how Crusher had gotten his apt moniker. I’d disdained Roarke’s advice about not finding out the origin of his nickname. He was right, I shouldn’t have asked. Suffice it to say, it involved a car door.
We slid up to the side of the building, wanting to overhear and see whatever we could. I leaned into Roarke and said, “So I’m thinking that Daphne is part of this, and maybe one or both of them double-crossed her . . .”
“That’s what I’m thinking, too. Otherwise, why have such a scared reaction to her arrival?”
“Yeah, maybe she’d been so far under the radar and the heir to Rex’s legacy hadn’t been discovered for so many years after his death . . . maybe they’d taken liberties as if she wasn’t a threat or at least that the Red Scroll wasn’t a threat any longer.”
He had a grim set to his lips. “That makes sense. But jeez, they are no match for her. Even with Crusher’s history. She’s in a different league.”
Just then, Crusher saw us. I have no idea what cued him other than a villain’s instinct. His eyes went right to mine and the men both took off. In two different directions.
“Damn it!” I yelled. We ran over to where they’d been, looked at each other reading each other’s minds, and split up. We weren’t apprehending them, we were just chasing. I just wanted to see what happened.
I ended up running after the Crusher. I wasn’t in an all-out pursuit, which was a nice change of pace for me. I had on my lovely black boots, which were easier to run in than my usual high heels. I did wish I had on my dove-gray wool trousers instead of my gray dress suit with the wide buttons up the front and on the cuff. But again, I didn’t need to tackle the guy, I just wanted to see where he was going.
We were on 49th running west. Crusher took a hard right at Sixth Avenue. I started to get a stitch in my side. You really can run faster and farther when someone is trying to kill you.
Up ahead, Radio City Music Hall was on the right, its running lights dazzling even in the daytime. Born to Dance was playing with Jimmy Stewart and Eleanor Powell. Crusher ran in through the Art Deco doors. I was gaining on him, so I hit the doors not too far behind.
I’d been here several times, but I still gasped as I ran through the lobby that was a work of art. The gold and red tones created a sizzle in the air, a feeling of anticipation. Whether you were chasing a bad guy or just coming to see a film, I might add. With gold leaf everywhere, tall columns, glamorous Oriental murals that made you dream, and luxurious draping, it was like walking into a golden palace.
The soaring ceiling with the tall, almost skyscraper-style chandelier led my eyes right to the grand staircase up ahead where Crusher was taking the steps one at a time. I took them two at a time. I often said we got to walk through works of art during our wonderful era with its Deco doorways, ceilings, and lights. Today I was running through it.
He kept running up to the
very top. I hoped he was heading to the legend, the secret apartment that the music hall designers created for the late Samuel “Roxy” Rothafel, the spectacular producer. I got to the top, sweaty and panting, but he was out of sight. The place was full of employees running about, doing their jobs to prepare for the evening show. I stopped a guy and asked about the secret apartment, it had to be where he was headed because other than the actual theater, there wasn’t anywhere else to go. I identified myself as the aide to Mayor La Guardia and that appeased him that I was legitimate. He nodded to a nondescript door. I opened it and quietly went up another flight of steps.
I walked into an apartment out of some kind of jazzy fairy tale. It held the same warm and opulent tones as the lobby, but the ceiling was completely covered in gilt. Floor-to-ceiling windows ran along one wall, with two leather club chairs flanking a gorgeous and glossy brown oval table with drawers. There was another grouping of striped chairs and a davenport in the middle of the room, a cocktail bar on the end. I wished I could spend hours here hosting a party or curling up in a luxurious chair with a favorite book.
The click of a door shutting pulled my attention away. I ran back down the entryway stairs, truly feeling the consequence of running so much. I was dying from heat. I tore off my winter coat, dropping it right on the floor, and opened up my scarf as I kept walking, a trickle of sweat running down my chest.
In the main hall where I’d asked the employee for directions to the apartment, a dark cackle made my head swivel to the grand staircase. Crusher was laughing at me as he ran down those goddamn stairs, looking as if he could run a marathon and not break a sweat.
Bastard. The more I ran, the hotter I got, the more I found myself swearing. I gathered one more burst of strength and ran down the stairs. He bounded across the long lobby and bolted out the door. I wasn’t far behind, managing to gain on him. He wasn’t laughing now.
I got to the door and burst out. He’d gone up the street about twenty feet or so. He looked back at me and darted out into the frenzied traffic of Sixth Avenue. Cars jerked to a stop and honked their horns.
I was about to cross, when a blur of green came up swerving around the halted cars. A hard arm grabbed me and pulled me back just as the green car swept by, awfully close to where I’d been standing. I gasped and my eyes flashed to Crusher up ahead as he turned to look back. Our eyes locked tight just as the evergreen car rammed right into him.
His body bounced high, up and over the car. The driver stopped with a screech of tires. As the driver exited the car, a bright red hat shone over the roof. Turning to me, Daphne’s eyes found mine, sent me an air kiss, then smoothly took her seat again and drove off, not a care in the world.
CHAPTER 49
The man who’d grabbed me abruptly let go, but kept a hand on my shoulder to make sure I was steady. As I spun around, he ducked his head down into his black overcoat and walked away.
“Hey!” I yelled.
He turned slightly back and I shouted, “Thank you!” He curtly nodded. His black fedora had a dark blue band and he cut a dashing figure, tall, and with a good Roman nose. I started to yell, “Who—” but was cut off by a siren. I looked around and Roarke bounded around the corner.
He rushed up and breathlessly asked, “Where’s your coat? Are you okay?”
“It’s inside. I’m fine, but Crusher . . .” I nodded to the gruesome scene. I quickly filled him in as we went back inside Radio City to retrieve my coat. Now I was chilled, inside and out.
The coat felt secure and warm. We waited outside for the police to arrive, the ambulance drivers already having declared Crusher dead on the scene, a white sheet laid on top of his crumpled, small figure. That diminutive countenance belied a horrid man, but his small form under the sheet still engendered a mournful response in my chest. It was just slightly bigger than a child’s.
Roarke said in a low voice, “Did you learn anything? How’d this happen?”
I relayed the whole chase scene and my stomach flip-flopped when I got to the part where Daphne rose out of the car.
He flung his head back and said, “Wait. Who was the guy who pulled you back?”
“I don’t know, I think just a stranger. I wasn’t going to run into the street, but I’m sure it looked like I might. And she sure wouldn’t have bothered to avoid hitting me, either. So I’m glad he did.”
“I’m shocked it wasn’t Finn,” he said, earning a chuckle from me. It felt good.
“I know. Me, too. But I have to say, he did look a little familiar. I never caught his face full on, just the profile. I swear I’ve seen him before.”
The sound of more sirens coming close directed our eyes downtown. A black sedan led the fleet of police cars that charged up Sixth Avenue. The sedan had barely stopped when a short black tornado flew out of the car flapping his arms and bellowing at everyone. Roarke and I stood to the side, his arm around my shoulders.
“Lane! Roarke!” barked Fio. “What in the Sam Hill is going on here? I heard a call on the police radio, thought I’d check it out on the double, then I saw you two on the sideline!”
I think the chase, the heat, and sweat from earlier mixed with the frigid cold, not to mention locking eyes with someone who seconds later would take his final breath, all of a sudden made my teeth start to chatter. I was freezing.
Fio’s voice softened. “Lane. Here, you and Roarke take my car back to the office. We’ll debrief there. I’ll just be a little bit.” It was a Saturday, but with Pete’s funeral, it was still a working day for the city.
“Okay,” I said, my voice sounding funny through the shivers. “Hi, Ray,” I greeted as we met Fio’s driver. Ray was also Fio’s unofficial bodyguard and he read my probably white-as-a-sheet face with quick acumen. As I sat down in the backseat, he reached in and poked a little indent that I hadn’t noticed before. A small door popped open and a bottle of whiskey and a glass stood waiting to help.
I looked up at him with a smile. “Th-th-thanks.”
Roarke got in the other side and said, “Aw, Lane. Here, let me pour us a restorative tot, as Aunt Evelyn would say.”
I would’ve just taken the bottle, but my hands were shaking, too. After a swig of the burning liquid hit my throat and gut, I felt immediately better. “That stuff really works,” I said.
“I know,” said Roarke, who had also looked pretty darn white. “Here I’d been thinking that for once we weren’t the ones being chased down. It was kind of fun, you know?”
I snorted. “I know! I was thinking the same thing. I still say it’s much better chasing instead of being chased. But what a day.”
We stayed companionably silent the rest of the way, watching our city flow by us as we rode downtown. The Empire State Building with its staunch and straight sides with impressive height and majesty. The Chrysler Building with the Art Deco windows and style radiating all around it. Both constant reminders of where we’d come from with the Great War and the Depression, yet still creating, building, drinking cocktails, inventing . . . in spite of it. The beauty of life was that much more breathtaking because of the adversity. I found my pearl dagger in my clutch and took a closer look at it again. Beautiful. Dangerous. I liked the combination.
We pulled up to City Hall and both wearily climbed the outside steps, then up the grand staircase to our offices. I paused at the top. I looked down at myself and my blouse had come untucked beneath my suit coat, one boot had a rough scuff up the side, and my hair felt wind-blown. I looked at Roarke. He looked perfect. Not a hair out of place, not mussed, no smudges.
“Bastard,” I whispered.
“Heh, heh, heh,” he chuckled evilly.
“Shut up, Roarke,” I said with a grin, shaking my head.
We walked in and Val was already coming toward me with a bundle in her hands. “I brought you a change of clothes!”
I laughed in earnest as I wrapped an arm around her for a hug and said into her hair, “You always know.”
I released her and Roxy was
standing there, smirking and shaking her head. “Honestly. You two. Go on, get cleaned up, I’ll get you both some coffee.”
After I changed clothes and brushed out my hair, I felt like myself again. By that time, I heard Fio make his clamorous entrance even from inside the ladies’ room. I went to my desk and looked at it. It was like my room at home. It was the center point, the heart, with my papers, my black fan that I sometimes used even in winter, my favorite pens, and a few loved photographs. It wasn’t remarkable, but it was mine. I took a breath and a swig of hot coffee. I was ready.
I went to Fio’s office, where Roarke and the girls were already sitting, and I grabbed up my little chair I always brought into meetings. I had to lift my chair up over the head of the tiger skin rug, which brought a grin of delight to Fio.
“So! You’ve had a big day,” said Fio, piercing me and then Roarke with his glaring eyes.
“That’s definitely an understatement, sir,” said Roarke. Boy, was it.
After Roarke and I filled in everyone on what happened after the luncheon, we all sat silently for a minute, trying to digest it all.
Valerie recrossed her legs for probably the tenth time to keep from slipping forward in her chair and said, “So, that man that pulled you back from the curb? You say you felt like you’ve seen him before.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I don’t know him, but maybe I’ve seen him someplace. I don’t know.”
She added, “So you think he was following you? Or more like he was in the right place at the right time?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t get a feeling one way or the other. But he seemed very nonchalant, so I guess he just happened to be at the right place.”
She nodded slowly, her mind working.
Roxy crossed her legs again and said, “Roarke, what happened with Murk? The guy you were chasing.”
He chewed on the inside of his cheek a little, deep in thought. “Yeah, not nearly as eventful as Lane’s escapade. But I keep thinking about it. Murk wasn’t very fast, but he got across a busy street before me, so I was stalled for a minute. When I rounded a corner, he was leaning back from a car window that he’d been resting his arms on.”
The Pearl Dagger Page 23
