M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“Yeah I do. Oh, by the way, while I was coming down here today it looked like something big had just happened by the Rainier Tower.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, they had the whole street blocked off—police cars, Medic I, fire trucks and the whole nine yards. What was that all about?” Andrew queried.

Jim shrugged, “I don’t know, possibly a heart attack or fire drill with Medic I there. How should I know?” he responded irritably.

Andrew interjected, tongue in cheek, “Well, ‘Holmes,’ you are a detective aren’t you? C’mon.”

Jim eyed him warily, knowing he was baiting him. “I don’t handle traffic,” Jim replied enunciating each word deliberately. “I am a homicide detective, remember? But just to satisfy your insatiable curiosity, I’ll find out,” he said as he picked up the phone.

Andrew was poised in the doorway to leave as he heard Jim’s query and turned when he heard him whistle and say, “Wow, really? Bad way to go! Yeah, thanks for the info.” Swiveling in his chair, Jim turned to Andrew and said, “It’s pretty grim—a couple of window washers fell off the Rainier Tower, thirty stories,” he added somberly.

Shaking his head, Andrew murmured, “I hope they didn’t have families.”

“Me, too”

“If you need me I’ll be at KGM later today.” Andrew said in a subdued tone. “Call and let me know when you pick up those guys.”

“I will” replied Jim, equally subdued.

Andrew left and hurried back to the Times. There he grabbed his notes and a necktie off a hook and drove quickly to the Washington Athletic Club.

Jim Savalza sat at his desk pondering his conversation with Andrew and remembering the phone call to Father Ben. “I smell a rat—I think I will make a little visit to the WAC and see what’s on the menu.”

He drove past the Rainier Tower noting a large cordoned off area. “Poor devils,” he thought. “Wonder how it happened.”

At the club Jim carefully surveyed the lobby and then surreptitiously scanned the dining room. He spotted Andrew as he rose from a table to greet a dignified looking man that he gauged to be about forty. He watched as they exchanged amenities and reminded himself that Father Ben had not yet arrived. He retreated to the reception area and waited until he saw Ben enter the dining room. Going to the desk he inquired, “Who besides the priest is Mr. Kincaid’s guest?”

The desk clerk drew himself up and responded in a haughty tone, “I’m sorry, out of respect for our members and their guests’ privacy, I cannot give out that in for…” He didn’t finish his statement; Detective Salvalza’s badge got in the way.

The flustered clerk offered apologetically, “His name is Evan Scott; why do you ask, is he wanted for something?”

“Calm down, I thought he looked like someone else,” Jim said casually. “Thanks. Oh, by the way, where does Mr. Scott call home?”

“McLean, Virginia, Detective,” answered the clerk.

“That’s very interesting… all this way just to have lunch with Andrew Kincaid. Hmmn.”

The door of the manager’s office was open and upon hearing the word ‘detective,’ he emerged to join the clerk at the desk. “Do we have a problem here?” he asked.

“No,” Jim said, “Just a case of mistaken identity.”

“Oh, I am relieved,” said the manager. For a moment I thought it might have something to do with the envelope.”

“Envelope?” Jim looked puzzled.

“The one the other detective picked up.”

“Oh, yes, that envelope. When did he do that?” Jim decided to explore a little more.

“On Monday, I think it was,” looking at the clerk for help, “I don’t remember his name exactly.”

“He was a big guy. Something like Massey…,” the clerk offered. “There are so many people in and out, you know.”

Jim interrupted the explanations, “You don’t mean Maxwell, do you?”

“That’s it,” said the manager.

“Well,” drawled Jim, “It seems as though Detective Maxwell has everything under control so I guess I’ll just run along. You have a nice day.” He looked again in the dining room noting the three men deep in conversation. He overheard the desk clerk comment, “Pleasant guy for a cop.”

The manager responded something inaudible.

Jim thought, “This has been a fruitful lunch hour and I haven’t even had lunch.”

Friday 11:00 AM

As soon as Detective Maxwell got the word about the accident at the Rainier Tower he headed for the Captain’s office. “Captain, I know several of the people over at Atlas Window Cleaning and I think I can probably put this case to bed fairly quickly. Peterson and I can go over and talk to a few of the crew. They might open up to me, you know,” he paused, “talk to someone they know, a little quicker.”

Captain Martin looked at him sharply. Maxwell volunteering—wonders never cease. The Captain was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He pushed his glasses back on his nose and peered at Monte. “Okay, go ahead, take the lead on this, Monte, and take Peterson with you.”

“Thanks, Captain, we’ll wrap it up in no time.” He was grinning as he started to leave the command office.

“Okay Maxwell, you have the assignment,” Captain Martin sighed and then added, “But, Monte, if Leonard Phillips is there, don’t get crosswise with Labor and Industries.”

Monte paused briefly, the smile faded, and he nodded without turning around. If the Captain had seen his face he would have known the last instruction was not what Monte wanted to hear. Captain Martin continued, “By the way what are you doing now, Monte?”

Monte’s shoulders tightened, “Nothing, Captain. I mean nothing I can’t put aside for awhile. You want Ed and me to get over to the Rainier Tower right away?”

“Yes, but let the Coroner do his thing; the Blues are there getting preliminary information.”

Monte cleared his throat. “Okay, we’ll go right now.”

After the Captain’s remark regarding Len Phillips and L & I, Monte’s mood was sour. He had been eager to get to the accident at the Rainier Tower and he didn’t want anything to interfere with his mission. Back at his desk, grabbing what he needed for the investigation, he snapped at Ed Peterson, “C’mon we’ve got to look into that accident at the Rainier Tower.”

“Yeah?” queried Ed. He was ready to get out on the street. “How’d you convince the ‘old man’ to give us the assignment?”

“Sometimes, Ed, it just pays to know how to talk to people,” Monte bragged, irritably.

The bodies were being removed by the time they arrived at the accident scene. The first person Monte saw behind the yellow tape, and talking with a security guard from the building was Leonard Phillips from the Department of Labor and Industries. Monte swore when he saw Phillips and his ulcer immediately started acting up. Of all the people from L & I he had hoped not to encounter was Phillips. With a forced smile Monte forged ahead. “Well, if it isn’t Len Phillips,” he greeted the man in his most cordial voice.

“Detective Maxwell… so we’ll be working together again I see,” Phillips responded soberly. His professionalism dictated a polite smile and handshake, but his dislike of Maxwell was clear. “I don’t believe I know you,” he said to Ed Peterson who gave Phillips a warm handshake, saying, “I’m Monte’s partner, Ed Peterson.”

Len relaxed slightly and said to himself “At least Peterson seems reasonable enough; might as well make the best of the situation.”

His alert system kicked in however as Monte announced, “I’m in charge of the investigation for the Department,” in ‘the issue isn’t debatable’ voice.