Partners In Crime (38 page)

Anne Marie whispered frantically to her
daughter and Sheila looked up at T.S. with pleading eyes. "Please,
Mr. Hubbert," she asked, "it's something Mrs. Quincy said. Mom's
been so on edge. You can't imagine. Please let me handle it. The
doctor gave her some tranquilizers earlier this week. I'll make her
take one. It'll be okay, I promise. I'll take care of it. Just
leave us alone."

"Where have you been?" he insisted. "I've
been trying to find you all day. I must talk to you immediately."
Was she avoiding him?

Her face took on a new desperation. "I know
you do. I have to talk to you, too. Alone. Please. Can't you wait
for me in your office? I'll be up as soon as I can."

He saw no other option. He had no idea what
could be going on. "All right," he told her as sternly as he could
manage in his worry. "I'll wait for you upstairs."

Sheila was already guiding her mother gently
toward the nearest ladies' room. T.S. had not even gotten halfway
up the aisle of the Main Floor when Effie Abacrombie appeared at
his elbow. She had left her operator post at the reception desk in
such haste that a pair of headphones still dangled about her neck,
the disconnected wires crossing her ample chest like a gun
belt.

"Have you ever seen anything like it, sir?
What a battle that was. A regular sortie. I'd have to call it a
draw. Both sides fought with courage. They were worthy opponents.
But it's a very good thing that no clients were present this late
in the day."

"A very good thing," T.S. agreed. He felt
about a hundred years old. His orderly life had dissolved into
insanity. He would not have been surprised to hear Effie yell,
"Once more into the breach!" before leaping into the potted
palms.

"I really must go upstairs now, Effie," he
told her. "I haven't got the energy to talk."

"I thought you'd like to know, sir," she
whispered urgently. He could sense departing employees around them,
slowing in their movements, leaning forward to hear. He grasped her
elbow firmly and guided her down the hall toward the elevators and
into a private alcove.

"Let me know what, Effie? Just give it to me
straight. What is it I should hear?"

"What it was that started the skirmish, sir.
I heard the whole thing. I was just leaving the ladies' room."

Whatever it was, he doubted he wanted to
know. But what choice did he have anymore? There was nothing left
in this entire mystery that would make him happy now. "What was
said?" he asked the head operator.

"Quincy called her crazy," Effie informed
him importantly. "She was leaving right behind Anne Marie, and Anne
Marie stopped to straighten her pantyhose. Quincy bumped into her
and didn't even say excuse me. She just said, 'Wake up, why don't
you, Anne Marie? You're right in the middle of the doorway. You're
just as crazy as she was.'"

"Just as crazy as she was?" T.S. repeated.
"Who's 'she'?"

"I don't know," Effie admitted with a shrug.
"I just overheard that one part. But believe me, that was enough.
Anne Marie flew at her like a cat in heat and started scratching at
her face. The next thing you know Quincy is scratching and punching
back. Just like those lady mud wrestlers on television. The two of
them rolled and kicked each other down the hall and tumbled into
the Partners' Room with half the firm hot on their trail. I only
followed to help prevent injuries."

"Yes, I know," T.S. murmured weakly. "I saw
that much."

"Could you believe it when she ripped
Quincy's hair right off of her head? Thirty-two years I've known
her and never suspected it was a wig."

"You never know," he agreed wearily.

"If you ask me, Quincy's half right, you
know," the receptionist offered.

"How's that?" He forced himself to turn and
punch the elevator button. He'd get the next car and escape to the
peace and quiet of his office.

“
This entire place has gone
crazy. Just completely crazy.''

Auntie Lil realized how stupid they had been
halfway through the subway ride toward Sterling & Sterling.
They should have guessed the truth. Cheswick's missing personal
correspondence files, plucked so easily from their spot. Someone
had known where to look. Boswell's weakness for blondes and his
readiness to go for a sail with someone he knew and trusted.
Someone knowing right where to look to find a hiding Stanley
Sinclair. Anne Marie insisting that Robert Cheswick had been the
same before his death, when others had argued he was under
pressure. Her silly lie about Cheswick sending the flowers to his
wife, when all along they had been going to Patricia Kelly. Anne
Marie had been protecting someone near and dear to her and the
strain had been showing. Protecting someone near and dear to them
all. It would break Theodore's heart to find out it was Sheila.

Auntie Lil had called T.S. immediately after
leaving the church, but no one had answered the phone, not even the
department receptionist. It worried her. Sheila had been missing
for the entire day. There was no telling where she had been or what
she was up to.

T.S. hovered anxiously near his desk, filled
with foreboding. Effie Abacrombie was absolutely right. The world
was going mad around them.

Calm down, he told himself. Face the truth
squarely. What was the worst that could happen? The worst was that
Sheila was Patricia Kelly's daughter and the murderer, he supposed.
But if it was Sheila, then she would soon be in his office and
could not be putting Auntie Lil's or Edgar Hale's life in danger.
Only his own. It was hardly a reassuring thought. Perhaps it was
unwise to be alone with anyone until he knew which end was up.

He need not have worried. Sheila arrived
with her mother in tow. Anne Marie's eyes were red from weeping but
she appeared much calmer than before. He wondered how many
tranquilizers she'd been munching. He ushered them inside solemnly,
unable to meet Sheila's eyes.

Both sat almost primly in their chairs,
facing T.S. with grim expressions. Even if their physical
appearances were worlds apart, their mannerisms were not. Sheila
looked more guilty than her mother, perhaps, but both of them
fidgeted nervously with their hands carefully folded in their laps,
as if waiting to be asked to dance.

"What is this all about, Mr. Hubbert?"
Sheila asked anxiously. "My mother has insisted she be present. I'm
not being fired, am I?"

"Fired?" He laughed perhaps too loudly.
"Fired? Of course not." What put these ideas in people's heads?
Then he remembered. He did.

"It's very embarrassing," T.S. began.

"Then perhaps you had better just spit it
out," Sheila piped up. Her voice was unnaturally loud and she cast
anxious glances at her mother, as if Anne Marie might jump up and
flee from the room. But Anne Marie sat in a near trance, her eyes
fixed on some unknown point.

At least Sheila had not lost her spunk, he
thought. This gave him courage. "I must ask you some questions," he
started slowly. "I know it's most disturbing and you'll think I
don't trust you, but..." He stared down at his hands, then looked
her in the eye. "It appears you may have lied to me and I need to
know why."

Her reaction was immediate. She flushed a
deep scarlet and looked away.

"You must tell me the absolute truth now,"
he warned her.

"Fire away," she mumbled. "I'll certainly
try."

"Is there anyone who can vouch for your
whereabouts the night that Robert Cheswick died? Or the Sunday
afternoon John Boswell drowned? What about the day that Stanley
Sinclair was shot? An alibi for just one of those times would help.
I know that Brian was out of town, I've talked to him on the phone.
Was anyone with you?"

"Yes," Sheila said after a short pause, her
face flushed a deep scarlet.

"Who?"

"Sergeant William Perry. Of the Third
Precinct." She recited his name flatly, as if name, rank and serial
number were all he'd drag out of her.

"Oh, sweet Joseph," her mother murmured,
turning to stare at her daughter. "That's your father's precinct.
Oh, my god." Her eyes opened wide.

"Please, Anne Marie," T.S. pleaded. "Let me
handle this. Better she be unfaithful than accused of murder.''
Anne Marie looked unconvinced, but she shut her mouth at the
mention of murder.

"Murder?" Sheila turned to stare at him.
"You think I did this?" She waved her hands around as if the bodies
were lying about the room. "I thought that you trusted me," she
pleaded. "You know I would never..."

"I'm only asking you the questions the
police will ask you." Tears welled in her eyes, but he steeled
himself to go on. "You were friends with this Sergeant Perry?" he
asked delicately.

"I am friends with this Sergeant Perry."

''Another cop? What good is that going to
do?'' her mother suddenly shouted. Anne Marie stood, ripped sleeve
still dangling, her calm abruptly vanishing. "You know what they're
like! You've seen it your entire life. How could you?"

"He's not like Dad or Brian," Sheila shouted
back. She started to rise, then stopped and stared defiantly at her
mother. Sheila's voice softened and she reached a hand out and
tugged at Anne Marie's torn-away sleeve. The last threads ripped
and the sleeve came off in Sheila's hand.

The three of them stared at it for a second
until Anne Marie snatched it angrily away from her daughter.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Sheila pleaded. "I'll help
you fix it. Just sit down and calm down. You're right, okay? You're
absolutely right."

Sheila leaned forward in her chair and
appealed to T.S. in quiet tones. "Do I have to go on with this in
front of her? It might be better if she could leave."

"I'm not leaving," Anne Marie announced.
"Just try to move me."

T.S. eyed her and spoke firmly. "Sheila is
right, Anne Marie. I think it's best that you give us a few moments
alone. Why don't you wait outside in the reception area? I'm sure
it will only take a moment or two."

Anne Marie stood sullenly and moved to the
door, stumbling slightly where the two rugs joined. Sheila watched
her go anxiously, her eyes narrowed in concern.

T.S. sighed as the older woman disappeared
from view. "Very well. Let's go on. How did you find out the
information I requested on Boswell's death when Brian was out of
town?"

"My friend," she said simply. "You sounded
like you needed it and Bill was happy to do something for me." She
shot the empty doorway a worried glance. "Please, Mr. Hubbert. I
need to ask you some things." She picked up her pocketbook and
began to twist the leather handles together.

"Me first," he insisted gently. "And then it
will be your turn. So last night, you stayed with this Sergeant
Perry?"

"Yes. And we slept in this
morning." She stopped and had the good grace to blush. Her color,
in fact, had been excellent all week and now T.S. knew the reason
why. Ah, love, he reflected. Or,
perhaps
love. He prayed with all his
might that it was love that had produced such a flush.

"I didn't lie about my personal day,'' she
added anxiously. "I went to see a lawyer this morning. She says
that because Brian hit me, I'll have no problem getting a quick
divorce."

"He hit you?" T.S. repeated blankly. Why,
that son-of- a-bitch. If ever he ran into Brian O'Reilly again,
T.S. would waste no time on pleasantries.

Herbert Wong was the first to arrive at
Sterling & Sterling, having found tailing Auntie Lil an easy
task. She moved so slowly with her bad ankle that he'd had to
continually hang back to avoid being spotted. And the crowded
subway made it a snap to blend in. Besides, it didn't take a genius
to figure out where they were going. He nodded at Albert, who was
guarding the lobby, signed his name in the log and disappeared up
the narrow stairway that curved into the marble wall of the lobby
and led up and around to the Main Floor. He had gotten little more
than halfway up the stairs, however, when he suddenly stopped and
crept slowly back down until he hovered on a step that barely
turned the comer and gave him limited visibility of the lobby.

"Okay, Albert," Frank was saying to the
elevator man on duty. "Off you go. Have a good evening."

"I'll go as fast as I can," Albert replied
jovially. "I don't mind saying that this place is starting to make
me nervous." He retrieved his coat from beneath the sign-in podium
and cheerfully donned it. "Are you sure Timothy will be here
soon?"

"Sure," Frank said. "He called in. Just a
few minutes late. No bother—you go on." Albert headed for the
outside door, passing Auntie Lil on the way in. He tipped his hat
and melted into the sparse sidewalk crowd.

Frank's attention was caught by the elderly
woman now hobbling in the front door. "Why, Miss Hubbert," he cried
solicitously. "Let me help you. Here." He quickly brought a chair
forward and helped Auntie Lil sit. "Have you hurt yourself?"

 
"It's nothing,
Frank," she said, massaging her ankle. "Just a bit sore from
walking on it." She had to get to T.S. and Edgar Hale
quickly.

"Meeting Mr. Hubbert tonight, ma'am?" he
asked.

"Oh, yes." The ankle was swelling slightly
but she'd endured worse.

"I wonder if he might be able to spare me a
moment before you leave," the guard asked her politely. "That
lieutenant is giving me a hard time again."

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to. Why don't
you come up with me now?"

"I'm waiting for the regular night guard. He
should be here any second. I'll be up in a minute." He moved to the
sign-in book. "Here, let me sign you in. It is Hubbert, isn't it? I
was right about that?"