| Subject: Empty Reflections Part Eight |
Author:
Karen
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Date Posted: 18:29:53 09/22/08 Mon
In reply to:
Karen
's message, "Empty Reflections-Prologue" on 14:52:42 08/05/08 Tue
A/N: Im sorry I’ve had some real problems with my internet for almost a week. Its been very unreliable frequently freezing up in the middle of things. It seems to be working for the moment so Im going to post this and hope for the best.
Empty Reflections
Part Eight
Chesapeake Grand Hotel
Baltimore, MD
Main lobby
August 2004
Saturday 0845
Harm sat on a richly upholstered bench in the lavish hotel lobby studying his cover. His elbows rested on his knees as he twirled the brim through his long fingers. He looked up as McGee approached from the front desk.
“Did you get your room?” He stood.
“They had my reservation just like Gibbs said, uh…Harm,” McGee smiled self-consciously. This was going to be a bit complicated. Rabb’s difficulty with Gibbs, notwithstanding, the Navy Captain was a paradox. His overall aura was overwhelming, yet he was warm and friendly in personal conversation. Tim couldn’t sort out just how to react to him.
Harm smiled at the stumble. If he kept correcting the young agent, it would make things more uncomfortable than just letting him find his stride. He looked at his watch.
“Fifteen minutes before Lt. Hancock gets here. I don’t want any more coffee. How about you?
“No, I’m good. I guess we wait. About those autopsy reports and police files from the other investigations, Harm. Are they all just copies or do you have anything official?”
“No, nothing official. I guess up to now you could say it was just curiosity that caused Ben to investigate. But his sources weren’t ‘official’ official if you get my meaning?”
“Yes, I see. But if we’re going to look for that connection it would be better to have the certified copies of those reports through the proper channels, wouldn’t it?” Tim quickly picked up on what Harm wasn’t saying directly.
“Absolutely. However, I have to go through several levels of bureaucracy to request them…” Harm cocked an eyebrow at the young investigator.
“…but I can get them directly,” he supplied with a conspiratorial smile.
“Well we shouldn’t be hampered by following false leads when time is of the essence,” Harm suggested.
“I’ll get right on it, as soon as we finish the interview with Mr. Morgan.”
Harm smiled his thanks, then glanced around the majestic marble lobby. Watching as a man entered through the antique revolving door, he nodded almost imperceptibly. “What do you think?”
“Could be,” McGee looked at Harm rather than stare at the approaching stranger.
The small compact man in a well-tailored three-piece suit, with tightly curled iron-grey hair and skin the depth of French roast coffee strode purposefully toward them. He was three steps away when he spoke, “Rabb, McGee…Lt John Hancock.” He addressed them but did not offer his hand. Instead, he came to rest with his hands on his hips. His suit jacket was pushed back to reveal his badge and the edge of a holstered firearm.
McGee looked slightly startled. “How…?”
“How did I know the only Navy Captain in the lobby with the only federal agent as his sidekick were the people I was told to meet? It’s called detective work ‘special agent’,” the police officer responded with prickly sarcasm.
Harm gave the man a tight smile. He was not going to get into anything if he could help it, but the lieutenant was carrying a chip on his shoulder a mile wide.
“You aren’t…”
“…one of the people you talked to last night?” he interrupted again. “Very good, Captain. You are showing possibilities,” he continued harshly. “No I’m not one of the conspiracy groupies who believe this is all some heinous TV plot. It goes something like this, your boss called someone who called my boss and presto, suddenly I’m called back from the first weekend alone with my wife since we started having children twenty-four years ago.” The man’s speech was perfect, tight, and clipped, with an unusual and unpleasant emphasis on his words, but it was obviously the result of aggravation rather than accent. He’d been informed by one of his detectives of this Navy Captain’s resemblance to the actor. He wasn’t about to let it interfere or impress him.
Harm had heard enough, “Well, ‘Lieutenant’, if this is inconvenient for you, I’m certain I could call ‘my’ CO back and arrange to have you removed from the case. There must be other competent detectives on the Baltimore police force that would be equally capable of handling a murder investigation without the personal inconvenience. I’m certain there must be at least one who doesn’t have plans for the weekend. Or if you prefer, Special Agent McGee and I can handle it alone. I’ve done it before.” Harm looked the man squarely in the eye and had to give him credit, he didn’t flinch
“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” he replied levelly, “but perhaps you could share with me just why you’re so certain this is a murder. She may have simply fallen off the roof.”
“Care to hazard a guess as to how she got up there, Hancock? The roof of this hotel houses two penthouse apartments. The one directly above where she landed is occupied by Michael Morgan and his entourage.” Harm addressed the man by name this time. He had to work with him and they had a job to do, a pissing contest wasn’t going to accomplish anything.
“Maybe it was a lark,” Hancock suggested with a wave of his hand, but his tone had mellowed slightly too. He realized he should have checked the hotel’s layout before he arrived. It was a rookie mistake. He’d received this call just as he was preparing his boat for launch, and his annoyance had made him careless.
“Do you have the autopsy report?” Harm asked.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Hancock pulled out two sheets of paper, abbreviated versions of the more detailed report. He handed one to each man.
Harm glanced over it quickly letting his eyes settle back on one line.
“There it is, McGee. Line sixteen. Barbiturates and alcohol.”
“I see it,” McGee confirmed.
“What does that prove? It’s not uncommon for people to party with drugs on the weekend and overdo it,” Hancock scoffed.
“She wouldn’t have taken them voluntarily. She had too much to lose. If she had tested positive for the drug in her system and it wasn’t an approved prescription she would have lost her assignment and very possibly her commission,” Harm nailed the detective with a hard look.
“Where did she work?”
“Naval Intelligence.”
“Does her death have anything to do with her job?” The detective’s natural curiosity temporarily overcame his attitude.
“Hard to tell at this point, but there isn’t anything to indicate a connection. She was just a trainee, recruited fresh out of college. She’d only been at ONI eight months, but if she preformed her duties well she had a good career ahead of her. Her record indicates a bright, ambitious young officer completely aware of the opportunities afforded her with this assignment. Being young she may have thought a bit of partying wasn’t a serious infraction, but it’s highly doubtful she would have knowingly indulged in drugs.”
“So this is all supposition and inference on your part,” the lieutenant commented derisively.
“It’s a pretty solid inference, but there’s also the fact that exactly the same thing has happened four other times,” Harm offered.
“Ah yes, now we get down to the ‘conspiracy theory’. The big bad production company that for whatever reason harbors a dark criminal. Some indispensable ‘talent’ who gets his kicks by killing innocent people.”
“It isn’t a conspiracy theory, the facts are there,” Harm answered somewhat heatedly. “And no one said anything about anyone harboring criminals. It’s just as possible that whoever is responsible is not connected with the production, but a follower of some sort. Someone who is trying to make either trouble or headlines. Perhaps it’s a disgruntled former employee. It’s even possible there could be more than one person.
“What? Copycat crimes? Agatha Christie?” The police officer was even more incredulous at that suggestion. “Come on, Captain, this is all just a bit fanciful don’t you think?”
“Quite frankly at this point I don’t know what to think, but I certainly don’t intend to have my investigation hampered by someone who won’t look at everything.” Harm didn’t raise his voice, but his intensity was that of an officer addressing a disobedient subordinate. “The facts are that five people have died. Five people who had some sort of brief but intense interaction with Michael Morgan. Five people who had attended a significant party where this man and members of the film company were present, and five people who had barbiturates and alcohol in their system in sufficient amounts to render them unconscious or incapable of defending themselves, if not enough to cause death. I have some questions and I want them answered. You can come along or I’ll go alone.”
The lobby had gone quiet as people strained to hear their conversation. The staff was aware by now that the Navy Captain was investigating the tragic death of a guest. Others were simply curious about the passionate interchange. Fortunately, although the lobby was lined with marble, with gilt columns supporting a twenty-foot ceiling, the walls were covered with large heavy paintings, and the floors with heavy hand woven carpets. The furniture was overstuffed and thickly upholstered. It was all designed to muffle sound, and preserve the quiet elegance. Their voices didn’t carry more than a few feet.
“I don’t think it would be a very good idea for you to try to approach those people without a police presence, Captain. You wouldn’t want to find yourself under arrest if they complained that you were harassing them.” It sounded very much like a threat, though it was delivered in the mildest tones. “But don’t count on me to support your harebrained wild goose chase. As far as I’m concerned we have a single death, and tragic though it may be there is no indication it’s more than an accident. If you insist on questioning these people, I’ll go with you…for your own protection of course.”
“Of course,” Harm responded with a knowing smirk.
“But keep you questions pertinent. This isn’t a fishing expedition,” the detective snagged him with a baleful glare.
“Why don’t we just go talk to them and see where their answers take us?” he responded tensely.
“Lead the way,” the police lieutenant waved his hand generally toward the elevators. “Do you have the room number?”
“2502,” Harm answered through his clenched jaw. It was taking all his legendary self-control not to get royally pissed at this knot head and his superior mind-set.
He could probably get the man reassigned, but it would take time. They didn’t have time. If these people were innocent, that fact had to be established quickly so they wouldn’t be unduly delayed. Following a false lead that inflammatory would cause too much diversion from the real killer, and lead to unpleasant publicity for the Navy. And if one or more of them were guilty, the evidence had to be sufficient to keep that plane grounded until the truth could be sorted out. He knew there were more officers working this investigation than just the three of them. Others had been busy checking the usual avenues, questioning the staff, looking for other possible suspects, but so far, their search had been fruitless.
If anyone but Ben had brought this information regarding multiple murders to his attention, Harm might have been skeptical as well. But Ben wasn’t a reactionary, and first hand experience with Mac’s visions gave both of them every reason to believe her. They didn’t have her complete story yet, but from what he’d witnessed last night, it was obvious this was not an accident. And wouldn’t it be fun explaining that to the cynical Baltimore police detective.
They rode in silence to the twenty-fifth floor. It was ten stories higher than the older section at the front of the hotel. A doorman on duty in the penthouse reception area checked their credentials then called the suite before allowing them access to a short passage that led to Morgan’s front door.
“Oh, by the way,” the police officer turned back to the doorman. “Did anyone come up here other than the residents…say… around eleven last night?”
“Don’t know, sir,” the man answered guardedly. He had difficulty keeping his eyes off Harm. Another guard had told him about the actor’s twin. With an evident struggle, he brought his attention back to the policeman. “I wasn’t on duty then, but the man I relieved didn’t report any strangers. You’d have to ask him though, he comes on shift at ten.”
“And you?”
“Me, sir?”
“When do you come on shift?”
“Oh, I see. At six, sir…that is, 6:00 am.”
“So this lobby is guarded twenty-four hours a day?”
“Yes, sir, twenty four/seven whenever we have guests in residence. It’s a service that comes with all five of the executive suites.”
“Five suites?”
“Yes sir, two on this floor and three on the next floor down. They aren’t quite as big as the ones up here. A guard has to be with the hotel at least two years to be assigned the Master executive suites,” he explained proudly. The line of questioning puzzled him though, because he knew the night guard had been interviewed by a detective earlier.
“Thank you,” Hancock told the man and turned a spiteful eye at Harm. As far as he was concerned, he had made his case. The rest was just formality.
“One more thing,” Harm paused. “Is there any other way up here?”
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, wrinkling his brow. “There’s the service elevator. On this level, it goes into a small hallway behind the suite’s kitchen. The staff needs a special key for it, but I’m sure the guests can’t use it.”
“Hmmm,” Harm’s response suggested ‘we’ll see’, he cocked an eyebrow at the disgruntled detective.
They turned towards the access door and the guard buzzed the lock. Stepping through brought them into a wide vestibule, approximately ten feet square, that faced ornate double doors leading into the suite. As hey stood in silence, Lieutenant Hancock knocked only once before the door was pulled open. Paul Stanley stared mutely at Hancock who had only a few inches on the personal assistant.
“We’re sorry to bother you, Mr. Stanley, but you see there’s been a terrible accident. I’m sure my office called this morning. We would like to talk to Mr. Morgan and see if he remembers anything about the unfortunate young lady who died. I understand she attended your party last night?” Hancock’s demeanor was unctuous in the extreme, designed precisely to rankle the Navy Captain. However, there was a professional undertone in his voice that suggested he wouldn’t be interested in a negative response.
Stanley’s only reply was a gasp as his eyes locked with Harm’s. His hand went to his mouth and the word “Michael” came out in a distinctly feminine voice. Harm was taken aback, the response was an utter surprise. What if Mac’s speculation about the personal assistant turned out to be correct?
“Michael,” he called again, louder and in a deeper tone. But in response to the surprise, he backed away. It was all the invitation Harm needed. He pressed his advantage, stepping into the suite.
“Here now, what’s this all about?” Morgan came into the lavish living room from a hallway at the side. He stopped abruptly when he came face to face with his doppelganger. He’d heard reports of course, but the actual encounter still gave him a moment’s pause. Since this Navy Captain wasn’t reacting, the actor drew on his natural talent and long training to remain indifferent as well.
“A young lady died last night. She fell from somewhere in the vicinity of your terrace.” Harm gestured toward the wide veranda outside the wall of windows. “We wanted to find out if you recognize her, or remember anything about her from the party. Did she come up here with anyone?” Harm handed the actor a photograph and watched his face closely as he shared the picture with his assistant. Something in the way they stood together looking at the photo was almost protective on the part of the tall actor.
“I don’t know anything about her, she certainly never set foot in this suite,” he answered abruptly, handing the photo back to the Naval officer.
“You danced with her,” Paul Stanly let slip in the same instant.
“I don’t remember,” he stubbornly maintained.
“Sir, we have witnesses who say she danced very closely with you several times. She wouldn’t be easy to forget, she was very beautiful,” McGee prompted.
“Perhaps she was. However, I’ve danced with many women. I meet quite a lot of beautiful women in my line of work, and I certainly can’t be expected to remember every one of them. Unfortunately, these parties are designed specifically for that purpose, to get cozy with our public you see. Every once in a while they want to be too friendly. When they actually become a nuisance, security removes them. I’d wager she wasn’t completely out of line, and I found her entirely forgettable.” His delivery was textbook stuff upper lip British, but there was an undertone that belied his words. He was acting but he was good. Damn good.
Harm had noticed something flicker over Stanley’s face while Morgan was speaking, as if the words somehow were painful. It was not as though Morgan was lying exactly, more that he was minimizing his reaction to his contact with the young ensign, perhaps shielding someone. Whatever the relationship was between him and Stanley he felt protective. His eyes kept slipping sideways possibly looking for reassurance.
Harm’s immediate thought was that perhaps Morgan wasn’t guilty, perhaps a jealous lover, Stanley for instance, was the likely suspect. That would make more sense. If he was having an affair with the man, or if the man was actually a woman, it would certainly explain why their relationship was secret and why he’d want to keep it that way. It would also account for his defensive stance.
“Can you think of anyone who might have had a reason to harm this young woman?” Hancock asked ready to shut down the interview.
“Perhaps Gretchen, she does have that nasty temper, Michael,” Paul Stanley offered. But the look in his eye was more sly than believing.
“That’s outrageous,” Michael looked at his companion more astonished than angry. “Why in the world would she care about any of those people?” It was a dangerous slip that that allowed a personal connection to all five of the victims.
“She’s very jealous,” Stanley persisted.
“She has nothing to be jealous about,” he replied, his tone somewhat softer now, more conciliatory. Harm watched the interchange closely. For a brief second the conversation was embarrassingly intimate between the two people. And the words appeared to have more than one meaning.
“So you’re saying there was nothing in the presence of these people to make your costar, and reputed lover, jealous?” Harm prodded.
“Rabb, I warned you about fishing,” Hancock cautioned.
“I’ll answer that,” Morgan insisted. “Gretchen Deerslayer had nothing whatsoever to be jealous about in any of my actions. Does that satisfy you, Captain?”
“Then there’s no one among your companions or co-workers that you can think of who might have any reason for wishing these people dead,” Hancock stated more than asked, obviously anxious to conclude the interview and put the serial murder theory to rest.
“Not a clue, Inspector,” Morgan addressed him as a subordinate. “Perhaps some radical fan, or a disgruntled former employee.” He waved his hand dramatically to include any large, imaginary group of people.
“Are you suggesting there’s a former employee who’s so unhappy they would follow you all over the world to commit these murders?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Captain. This is your investigation. I’m merely pointing out possibilities, since you asked. After all, they were a varied lot. It wasn’t as though there was much in the way of similarities between the five people was there?”
“Except for the fact that they all came into very close, very personal contact with you in a publicly embarrassing way shortly before they turned up dead,” Harm accused.
“Captain! That will do,” Hancock warned.
But Morgan’s face paled briefly, and Stanley looked like he would lose his breakfast. He turned away for a moment. “Captain, I haven’t any idea what you are talking about. We’ve had nothing to do with any murders, this one or otherwise. Furthermore, no one has ever suggested to me that any of the deaths were murder. It appears to be simply a series of badly coincidental accidents to me.”
“And to me, sir,” Hancock interjected.
“One more thing. Were any other members of your household or staff present at the party?” Harm pressed. His appearance still had both Morgan and Stanley slightly unsettled, although Morgan was handling it better.
“Only my…” Morgan stopped suddenly.
“My daughter and her governess,” Stanley blurted covering Morgan’s words. The voice became more male, the bearing less intimidated, the protectiveness transferred to him. “Daphne was there for a short while with her governess.”
“We’d like to speak to Daphne if we may,” Harm came as close as he dared to demanding the interview. “The governess too, if she’s available.
“Michael?” There it was again the nearly feminine quaver in Paul Stanley’s voice.
“No, I absolutely refuse. Unless you have a warrant or cause to arrest us, you may leave. Paul’s daughter is only a child and the governess has no interest other than to watch over her. We won’t answer another question without our solicitors. We were advised not to talk to you, and now I see why. I understand the American police are inclined to behave without manners, but I would have expected better of you, Captain.”
“I am an attorney, and a Naval investigator. I have a crime to solve. In order to do that, I have to ask questions.” Harm wasn’t buying the man’s act, and now he was certain it was an act. He knew something, the question was what did he know and about whom.
“Just exactly what is your connection to this mishap, Captain? And furthermore why are you involved in the death of this woman at all?” Morgan’s momentum had reached the height of British scorn.
“She wasn’t a civilian, she was a Naval officer. That’s why I’m investigating,” Harm replied matching the actors demeanor.
“Oh…” Morgan was taken off guard by that revelation. “Oh, I see,” he recovered slightly. “Yes, well, I’m sorry to hear that, but how could I have known?”
“Would it have changed any of your actions last night or your answers this morning?” Harm pressed his advantage.
“No, of course not,” the actor replied disdainfully. “How could it?”
“I don’t know, you tell me,” Harm taunted.
“We’re sorry to have bothered you, sir,” Lt. Hancock interjected apologetically. He was ending this now. “I hope you will give us the opportunity to seek your assistance again when your attorneys have arrived.”
“I’m not at all certain we will still be here, Leftennant.” The actor’s British accent came out full force. “I expect, you see, that we will be boarding our aero-plane this evening for our return home.”
“You know, I’d sure appreciate it if you could stay just a bit longer. You understand. We want to avoid the need to ground your plane. That would be so uncomfortable for everyone. It’s always better when we get along nicely, don’t you think?” Apparently, Hancock had acquired a few suspicions of his own that prompted him to make this ‘request’.
“I’ll talk to my producer. It’s up to the company if they want us to stay. After all it’s their responsibility.” It was the closest he was willing to come to discussing anything so crass as expenses. After all, the well bred simply didn’t consider monetary concerns a fit topic of conversation with the lower class.
“Fine,” Hancock responded. “Then we’ll talk again tomorrow shall we?” It wasn’t a question; it was as close as the police lieutenant could come to giving an order.
The Baltimore police officer turned towards Rabb and McGee, herding them out the door of the suite. They walked past the security guard and rang for the elevator. Both Rabb and Hancock were stiff with anger.
“What the hell was that all about, Rabb?” he demanded hotly when the elevator door closed. “You can’t possibly expect to interview a child in a murder investigation.”
“I didn’t expect any such thing.”
“Then why ask it.”
“I wanted to see who they were protecting.”
“What are you talking about, Captain? They answered our questions. Obviously, to them this was one of those functions where they simply operated on autopilot. As Morgan said, he danced with a lot of people last night.”
“Perhaps he didn’t remember her,” Harm allowed, though he didn’t believe it. “However, Paul Stanley certainly remembered. And I think something about this is bothering you as well. You didn’t become a lieutenant in the Baltimore police department without learning to read people.”
“That’s absurd,” the detective protested. However, it was a weak protest.
“Is it? Deep inside, all your instincts are telling you something is wrong with the answers they gave or you wouldn’t have ordered them to stay in town.”
They had reached the ground floor and Hancock was anxious to leave their presence. He glared at Harm, not about to admit that his instincts were beginning to respond to this case. Then he studied the officer for a full half minute before he replied harshly.
“It was only standard procedure. If you need any more help, call my office. I’ve left orders for you to receive copies of all the interviews and reports. I expect you’ll return the favor, Captain. Meanwhile, I’ll be on my boat in the middle of the Chesapeake with my wife.” With that, he headed across the lobby and out the door.
End of eight
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