Milo...Crime Scene

      By Pattie Lawler

 

           

            Simon stood on the slick curb, poised to duck under the yellow and black police line and make his presence known to the officer in charge when he heard his name. Turning, he recognized the grinning countenance of a fellow officer as the man trotted toward him. Simon noted the dark suit—not a uniform—under the gaping trench coat and made the mental change in the sergeant’s status.

            “Ruelle!”

            “Detective Jameson,” Simon replied, slipping under the tape and moving to intercept him. Always a handsome man, Jameson appeared to have aged considerably since their last meeting. The dark of night made the flashing red and blue squad-car lights seem unnaturally bright as they accentuated the creases in the detective’s face. Simon stripped off a glove and extended his hand. “I see congratulations are in order.”

            “Once upon a time I would have thanked you,” Jameson said, shaking and releasing Simon’s hand. “The reality, however, leaves me questioning my sanity.”

            “And people said I’d be sorry I left,” Simon said with a deep chuckle as he replaced his glove.

            “No. I think you had the right idea.”

            Simon gestured toward the circle of officers. “Well, maybe I can help you on this case.”

            Jameson frowned, studying Simon’s face. “You know the vic?”

            Simon nodded. “Cameron Phillips. Do you need a positive ID?”

            Jameson stepped back, making room. “Sure. Then you can tell me how you know him.”

            Nothing was said as they penetrated the ring of activity. The warmth, stench and electric energy revived memories that Simon noted and dismissed. His decision to shelter the shell-shocked Milo Scarlet, nine years ago, had been the wisest move of his life. As he knelt beside the draped body, Simon renewed his conviction that he didn’t miss this.

            Not at all.

            Lifting the thin sheet revealed exactly what he expected to find. Like Milo, Cameron Phillips wore clothing that announced his identity to those in the know. Cameron had been at the penthouse two evenings ago, sharing a recent acquisition with Milo, draped in his signature leather and wool coat.  

The hole in his forehead eliminated the question of the cause of death.

“It’s Cameron Phillips.”

“His wallet was under him. Open and empty of cash.”

Dropping the sheet, Simon rose. “Mr. Phillips wasn’t the type to carry cash.”

Jameson nodded as they stepped away, and the forensic officers rushed in. “So how do you know him?”

“He’s an associate of my employer, Milo Scarlet. Night before last he had an appointment for a consultation. He’d recently purchased an antique document and wanted Mr. Scarlet’s opinion.”

“Do you know what the outcome was?”

Simon nodded. “The document was judged to be genuine.”

“Are you talking old like a treasure map?”

“I didn’t see it, but Mr. Scarlet’s an authority on medieval manuscripts.”

“Did Phillips indicate what his plans were?”

Simon shrugged. “I was present long enough to show Mr. Phillips into the library before going to my office. By the time I returned to the penthouse, around midnight, Mr. Phillips had left. The next day, I heard Mr. Scarlet discussing the document with his fiancée, which is how I learned it was genuine. That’s all I know.”

“And how did you recognize Phillips?”

“His coat. Mr. Phillips buys from Eddy Lam, exclusively. Lam is way above my means, but I’d know his work anywhere.”

Jameson twisted as if to catch a glimpse of the item. “Expensive?”

“That’s a ten thousand dollar coat.”

The detective whistled, but Simon barely noticed as his BlackBerry vibrated. He nodded to Jameson and moved aside as he pulled the phone from his pocket and checked the ID in the flashing lights.

“Ms. Wendel.”

“Simon, please call me Albany. I’m sorry, I know you’re off today, and I wouldn’t be bothering you—”

“Actually, I was on my way home. What can I do for you?”

“Would you mind stopping by the house?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll let Harry know you’re coming. And thank you.”

He disconnected and rejoined Jameson. “Duty calls.” He pulled his wallet out and slipped his card from within, holding it out to the detective. “Call if you need me.”

<0>

Made up as a man and wearing a tux, Albany met Simon at the stage door. He nodded in greeting, taking in her agitated manners with a quick glance. She forced herself to smile but said nothing as she lead him to her dressing room and pushed the door open by way of an invitation.   “I’m on in a few minutes, but I wanted you to see this before I get rid of them.”

She didn’t need to tell him what to look at. On her dressing table was a stunning display of pale lavender, long-stem roses. There’s had to be three dozen of them.

“His name is Peter Reynolds. We dated for a very scary three months. The restraining order is still in effect: I called and checked.” Crossing to the table, she picked up the card and held it out to him. “He only ever sent me sterling silver roses so I didn’t need to look, but when I finally did…I’m sorry, but I called you right away.”

Simon read the brief message: I wonder how much your fiancé knows. It was computer printed on the card, unsigned, and simply addressed to Albany. He noted the florist’s name as he pushed the card into his jacket pocket.

“While I didn’t think it was going to be congratulations, I didn’t expect this.” She dropped into the seat before her dressing table. In her struggle to remain calm, her hands fluttered around her face, but always she managed to restrain herself from touching her makeup.  Nevertheless, he could see that beneath the thick paint, she was pale and when she spoke again, her voice was strained.

“Thank God Milo had a meeting tonight. Normally, I wouldn’t have said anything, I’m used to handling my own problems, but,” she looked up, her eyes bright. “But Peter isn’t above blackmail. He tried it on me, and I told him I didn’t care, but now…with Milo.” She looked away with a tiny moan.

Simon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ll tell Milo everything and let me handle Reynolds.”

She nodded and he watched as she dusted her makeup, drank a bottle of water, and rallied enough to smile and thank him before slipping away. Simon waited a minute to be sure she was gone and picked up the vase.

 

Harry nodded toward the flowers as Simon drew near. “Dumpster?”

“This way?”

“Around to the left.” He pointed as he leaned on the door, holding it open.

“Did you see who delivered them?”

“The florist dropped them, but I knew who they were from. They’re a hard color to come by, I understand.”

“Well, you won’t be seeing them again.”

As the door silently closed behind him, Simon reached for his BlackBerry. It was late enough that Milo would mostly likely be free.

“It’s your day off,” was his boss’ greeting.

“Working for you means I’m on twenty-four/seven.”

Milo laughed. “What’s up?”

“If you were thinking of coming to the opera house, I think it would be a good idea.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll let Ms. Wendel fill you in, but I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you.”

“More than usual?”

Simon snorted as he disconnected and heaved the vase into the dumpster. To the sound of breaking glass, he dialed a former fellow officer, located a coffee shop on the opposite side of the street, and started walking.

 

A single knock was sufficient for Harry to let him back in.

“Mr. Scarlet’s on his way,” Simon said, offering one of the two coffees he held.

Harry accepted the cup. “Thanks. Probably for the best.” They stood in silence, drinking, before he began again. “Reynolds was a real piece of shit.”

“Oh?”

Harry nodded and took another drink. “When he first came to the house, he was with some of the donors. Big money!” He puffed his chest out to emphasize how big. “It only took two shows before we knew he was after Albany.” His chin pointed toward the dumpster beyond the wall. “Started sending her those roses. Impressed us all. Good looking, rich, and sweet on our Widdle Wendel. For a while, they seemed the perfect couple. A very short while.”

“Ms. Wendel said they dated for three months.”

“Seemed longer, but not so long, ya know what I mean?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Next thing you know, the police are at the door with a restraining order. Tell me he’s not to come within five hundred feet of her. If he does, I’m to call.” He lowered his voice. “They told me he punched her. In the gut. Like in a bar brawl! Landed her in the hospital. Coulda ended her career!”

“Any idea what set him off?”

Harry nodded, drinking. “He’s completely insane. A total sadist. We learned later that he’s into that rough shit. Has a club in Brooklyn, just off Flatbush. All hush hush, password sorta place. Millionaires only. Then, come to find out, he’s piss poor! All fluff and no substance.”

“What was he after?”

He shrugged. “Respectability? Who knows.”

“I guess Ms. Wendel’s unannounced engagement is no secret.”

“Not after that trick with the rose petals!” Harry laughed, shaking his head at the memory. “If anyone had any doubts, that cleared things up. The only thing left to learn is the date, ya know?”

Simon nodded and allowed the silence to return for another minute. “When was the last time you heard or saw Reynolds?”

Harry leaned against the wall, his eyes rising to consult a mental calendar. “God, it’s gotta be three maybe four years ago. To my knowledge, she hasn’t dated since. But ya know what?” He lowered his head and met Simon’s eyes. “Seeing those roses today made it like it was only yesterday. I can’t imagine what poor Albany thought when she saw them.”

“Luckily, she thought to call me.”

“She said the restraining order’s still good.”

Simon nodded and stepped back as a knock was heard. Harry pushed on the door, allowing Milo to come in.

 

Returning to Albany’s dressing room, Simon gave Milo as much information as he had. Years of experience informed him that rage would be Milo’s initial reaction, though his face would be a mask of relaxed calm. Sparing Albany that second of agony was worth what felt like a betrayal of trust.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t tell you,” he concluded. “But I did tell her to tell you herself. It might make her feel better to lay her cards on the table. Or you might be a hero and save her the task.”

Past his fury, Milo studied his friend. “Why didn’t we see the restraining order in her dossier?”

“I called Spenser at the 43^rd to ask about that. I have a feeling the paperwork got shuffled into the wrong file. Whatever the reason, Ms. Wendel probably inadvertently renewed the order today when she called, and they caught their mistake.”

Milo nodded. “So...what are you doing?”

One side of Simon’s mouth lifted. “Why do you think I’m doing anything?”

A mirroring smile rose on Milo’s face. “Oh, I don’t know. A hunch?”

“I placed a few calls. Harry said there’s a skin club. We’ll start there.”

            “Good. And her bodyguard?”

“I made Jason an offer; I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

They turned as Albany burst into the room and with a gasp, threw herself into Milo’s arms.

 

Closing the door on them, Simon hid a secret smile.  

He liked Albany, a lot. She was good for Milo, and Fanny was so taken with her that the strains of opera could occasionally be heard from her room. Albany had slipped into their lives, hand in glove. It seemed natural that he should be protecting her.

The position of guard was originally his creation, born of the moment, but he and Milo had grown into their roles. Grown to the point where Simon loved his work as much as his employer. The thought of bringing another bodyguard into their expanding circle was a challenge he looked forward to.

Nodding his farewell to Harry, he went in search of the waiting limo.

 

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