Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (19 page)

Mindy lowers her eyes. “It’s so dumb, I hate to even
put it into words.”

“Try me.”

“Seems that in the late twenties and early thirties
Kingsley-Smythe’s father and Michael Templeton were sympathetic to
the German plight. Though the stock market crash didn’t seem to
affect either the Kingsley-Smythes or the Templetons, both families
had relatives in Munich who were devastated by the European
depression.”

She pushes a paper toward me. “Look at this.”

I scan a copy of an article from the
Greenwich
Time
dated July 1930, which reported that both Melchior
Kingsley-Smythe and Michael Templeton were returning from a
three-month stay in Munich.

She waits until I finish reading and says, “Maybe
we’ve been barking up the wrong tree. Maybe this Sigrid is
Kingsley-Smythe’s distant cousin.”

“But there’s no mention of Melchior Kingsley-Smythe
returning with a child. Aren’t you pushing the envelope just a
bit?” Mindy flushes. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. But
the name ‘Sigrid Hale’ bothers me. How about you?”

“I’m bothered only because I don’t know who she
is.”

“No, no. I’m not talking about the woman. It’s the
name. Doesn’t ‘Sigrid Hale’ sound a lot like ‘Sieg Heil’?”

“I still don’t get your drift.”

“Do you know what ‘Sieg Heil’ means?” “Something to
do with Hitler?”

She nods. “It means ‘Hail Victory.’ Don’t you
remember the old black-and-white films when the Nazis would greet
one another by sticking their right arm in the air, clicking their
heels and shouting ‘Sieg Heil’?”

Mindy waits for my response. When I shrug she says,
“Don’t you see some kind of connection?”

“I suppose.”

“I know it’s a thready correlation but I have that
funny feeling I always get when I’m on to something. But at this
point, I sure don’t want to make a fool out of myself.”

“In front of Greene?”

She lowers her head so that her heavy black mane
covers her face. Out of the depths comes a barely audible,
“Yes.”

The door flies open and Greene says, “We’ve got some
action. Want to come along?”

————

The four of us are crowded into the van in the
schoolyard, where the men in earphones are hunched over their
audio-visual control unit.

One turns, a wide grin on his face. “Not only do we
have sound, but a full frontal of the woman.” He pushes a button
and the surveillance tape stutters forward.

We look into the face of Sigrid Hale and give a
collective moan.

Then Greene says, “Big deal. Funny lookin’ dark
glasses and a turban. It could be anybody.”

“Hey. We didn’t dress her. We just got her on
camera.”

I inch my way past Greene to the console. “What
about the sound?”

“Danes, as usual, comes in loud and clear. Nothing
from Hale.”

“What about tonight? Can’t you use Mindy and me?
Wouldn’t getting in and out of the townhouse go faster if there
were four of us?”

The detective shakes his head. “This surveillance
doesn’t warrant four people.”

“But, Greene, if I’m the one going in, I want to see
what’s there.”

Greene’s face is stone and his response is firm. “I
understand why you want to go. But, not tonight.”

MINDY GRABS MY ARM. “We shouldn’t be doing
this.”

Both of us are dressed in black: jeans, heavy
sweaters, down parkas and running shoes.

We’ve just arrived at the back door of the sealed-up
basement level of Cliff ’s townhouse. It’s almost ten but the glow
from the city lights reflecting on low-hanging clouds gives us
ample light. The bad news is I’m acutely aware of the damp cold
creeping beneath my turtleneck.

Mindy gives an expletive deleted under her
breath.

I turn. “Afraid we’ll get into trouble?”

“Easy for you to say,” she hisses. “You’re not a
cop. You’re an ‘independent agent,’ whatever that dumb title means.
Greene can’t do much to you, but my career—my future is on the line
here. If I’m caught going against his orders, he can get me demoted
easy as swatting a fly.”

I want to make some smart remark about how Greene
has no intention of firing her since the two of them have been
trading cloying looks across the conference table for a couple of
days, but now is not the time.

“Don’t make such a big deal out of it. You thought
it sounded like a great idea over dinner.”

“Don’t rub it in,” she sniffs. “Lost my big fat
mind, that’s what.”

“Don’t worry. Greene and Platón won’t see us. We’re
out of sight under this overhang and they’re too busy creeping
around inside to notice anything.”

I shine my flashlight on the back door. The glass
panes are covered on the inside with paneling of some sort. I reach
for the doorknob—there is none. Only the hole where it should
go.

“The doorknob is missing.”

“Surprise, surprise. Didn’t you hear a word Jaime
said after his surveillance?”

I ignore her. “Looks like they’ve done some kind of
cheap paneling job.”

Mindy tugs at my sleeve. “Okay. We’ve scoped the
place. I’m freezing. Let’s make tracks.”

I shake her hand away. “Relax. I’m telling you,
Greene and Platón don’t have a clue we’re here. I just want to
check out one more thing.”

I move to the window next to the door, use my light
long enough to see that it’s paneled and move to the window next to
it—same treatment.

Mindy’s hovering so close to my left shoulder, I can
feel her nonstop quake. “What did you see?”

“The bedroom window is paneled as well.” “How do you
know it’s a bedroom?”

“I saw the place once. It was a dump then, but it
looks like Cliff might have had it remodeled. As best as I can
recall, the front door opens into the living area. To the right
were some stairs to the kitchen above but those were sealed before
Angela bought the place. There used to be a pre-fab kitchen unit
built into the wall and just past that was the back door where
we’re standing. To our right there’s a bedroom just big enough to
hold a twin bed and a dresser. Off that, there’s a midget-sized
bath.”

I move to the final window. This has to be the bath
since the opening is several feet higher than the other windows and
isn’t as large. No luck here. Frosted glass.

When I turn to say as much to Mindy, I realize I’m
alone. Detective Cha has abandoned me.

I’m about to follow when there are heavy footsteps
on the porch above and I hear Jaime say, “I thought I saw a light
down there.”

A beam cuts through the dark, and I flatten myself
into the corner beneath the metal circular stairs.

His foot hits the first step just as Greene’s
warning saves me. “Careful, man, those steps are metal and slick as
hell. You don’t want to bust your keester.”

“You are right. Only a fool would come this
way.”

Their footsteps fade into the house and then down
the front steps. My guess is they figure they don’t have to be very
careful since Cliff and Sigrid Hale are out in Jersey.

I wait for a few minutes, then go back to the
frosted window. With a little urging it inches up, enough for me to
take a peek inside.

My flashlight beam floods the bath. It’s bigger than
I remember and it’s squeaky clean: shiny white tiles, new pre-fab
shower, and state-of-the-art Kohler toilet and sink. The bad news
is the door to the bedroom is closed.

I struggle to shut the window, turn off the light,
then stop dead when I hear footsteps crunch on the gravel path at
the side of the townhouse. I manage to make the shadowed corner
beneath the stair when a man rounds the corner and heads in my
direction.

He stops at the bathroom window and shines his
flashlight on the frosted glass. It’s then that he turns slowly in
my direction. It’s Bill.

We both let out our breaths at the same moment and
he moves to take me in his arms. All is forgiven—at least for the
moment. To feel his mouth on mine is sheer heaven.

He can barely get his words out between his heavy
breathing. “What in hell are you doing here?”

Unfortunately, I’m having the same problem with my
air intake and pant, “I might ask you the same thing.”

“I was in the area and dropped by the trailer.
Surveillance told me Greene and Platón were over here, but they
never mentioned you.”

“That’s because no one knows I’m here.”

He studies me a few seconds then says, “I won’t
tell, if you don’t.” Before I can get out some wise retort, Bill
draws me back into his embrace.

Gasping, I step away, embarrassed that I can’t seem
to control my feelings for him in spite of my suspicions. “We
better save this for another time.”

Bill gives a low laugh. “All business, aren’t
you?”

I ignore the dig. “What are you looking for?”

He goes back to the bathroom window. “Our other
operative assigned to The Castle made a sweep of all the rooms and
reported them clean. We think they might have moved the drug
distribution to this site.”

His mention of The Castle brings back the
conversation I had with the detective only the day before.
“Speaking of The Castle, I told Greene what you said about Larry
Templeton and his Foo Dog mask.”

When Bill doesn’t say anything, I add, “We also have
tapes of Cliff talking with Templeton about Sigrid Hale. I mean we
have Cliff ’s end of the conversation, so it’s obvious they’re
connected.” “Makes sense. Our surveillance reports a laundry truck
with the name Dee’s Linen Service has been delivering large bundles
wrapped with brown paper ever since Danes moved in. That’s a hell
of a lot of linen.”

I sidle past him and point to the window. “Before
you got here I was able to raise the sash far enough to see in.
It’s a brand-new bath.”

Bill shoves his flashlight at me. “Hold the beam on
the window, maybe I can open it all the way.”

With little effort on his part, the window squeaks
upward. Bill sticks his head through the opening. “You can still
smell the paint. Too bad the window is so small.”

“I might be able to wiggle through if you help
me.”

“Not a good idea. We don’t have a clue what’s on the
other side of that closed door.”

I briefly describe the layout as I remember it.
“Would that space be big enough to handle cutting and
distribution?”

“I’d have to see it.” “Then let’s do it.”

Bill shakes his head. “Much too risky. The window is
too small for me to get through. Maybe you could get in there, but
if something were to happen, I couldn’t cover you.”

He shines the flashlight on his watch. “Besides,
it’s almost eleven.”

“That still gives us more than a good hour. What are
we waiting for? All you have to do is lift me high enough so I can
slide in feetfirst.”

“I can see that, but it won’t be so easy getting you
out.”

“Don’t worry about that. We have to move now. This
might be our only chance.”

I’m already untying my shoelaces. “I’ll slip out of
these, that way I won’t track up the area.”

As I predicted, getting in is easy. But once I hit
the floor, I turn toward the window and realize that the sill is
now a good six inches higher.

Bill notices the discrepancy from his side. “I told
you getting out wouldn’t be that easy. Maybe there’s a box or
something you can stand on.”

“No good. They’ll know someone’s been in here. Let’s
worry about that later.”

He hands me my flashlight. “Don’t take too
long.”

I turn the handle to the door. When it swings open,
I freeze. There’s no drug-cutting going on in this place. Dee’s
Linen Service has been making legitimate deliveries.

The walls, including the windows and doors, as well
as the ceiling, are upholstered with pleated white sheets.

Gone is the partition that separated the small
living area from the bedroom. At the center of the wall at the far
end of the room is a king-sized bed. To its right, against the
back-window wall is an ornately carved armoire. To the left of the
bed is an empty space that gives the room a lopsided
appearance.

The old pre-fab kitchen unit has been replaced with
a brand-new model. To the right of that is a door. I open it to see
stairs and realize the only visible entry to this room is from the
kitchen above.

Several feet in front of the kitchen unit is a
sitting area made up of a round-skirted table with two ice-cream
parlor chairs. To one side is a chaise longue covered in the same
fabric and next to that is another small table bearing a single
lamp.

I walk to the bed. Though there are no signs of the
ropes or leather thongs that were once attached, I know. The
wrought iron headboard is Caro’s.

Images of Angela’s brutalized roommate and the
hapless Sheri Browne flash. I shake off a shudder, but others
quickly follow as it dawns that this setup really might be for
me.

With my heart in overdrive I lurch into the bathroom
to hear Bill’s reassuring, “You okay?” “Get me out of here.”

There’s no other way to extricate me from the
bathroom than by pulling me backward over the window ledge.

Once I’m out, I turn and throw my arms around him.
“Hey there,” he says, “everything’s going to be all right.”

“No, I don’t think it will be.” I bury my head
against his shoulder.

“Okay, just what did you see in there?”

“The bed—the bed is Carolina’s. I’m dead-sure about
that because I saw both Caro and Sheri Browne strapped to that
wrought iron headboard. Oh, God, I need a drink.”

————

I finish my martini and turn to Bill. “I think I’ll
have another.”

“Here, take mine.” Bill shoves his drink next to my
empty glass, waves at the bartender and leans close. “So, you saw a
bed—a bed you recognize?”

I take a sip from his glass, but I can’t get the
next sentence out on first try. After a second slug that dances
down my gullet to warm my stomach, I say, “I think that room is
being prepared for me.”