Beverly Connor - Dead Past

Diane was wondering if the woman ever took a breath. She started to tell her she had to go in. Frank grasped her arm and started moving her toward the staircase.

“Of course, some guests think they can smoke, and I have to tell them they can’t. I don’t like to, but I do… like that policeman who came to see you today, he was smoking and I told him he had to stop or go someplace else. I’m sorry, but I can’t have…”

Diane put a hand on her arm. “Who came to see me today?”

“A policeman. I didn’t think they were allowed to smoke on duty… ”

“Did he give a name?” asked Diane.

“No. He just said he wanted to see you. He waited for a while; then he left when I told him he couldn’t smoke. I don’t know why he didn’t go to the museum; everyone knows that’s where you are in the day… ”

“Can you describe the policeman?”

Interspersed with more monologue about how smoke permeates the draperies, carpets, and upholstery, and how the policeman smelled of cigarette smoke, the description she gave Diane of a middle-aged police officer in uniform fit Archie Donahue perfectly, down to his bloodhound face.

“Thank you. I believe I know who it was. I need to go up to my apartment now and give him a call to find out what he wanted.”

Archie, she thought. He came to see me. Why? Diane started up the stairs. Frank followed.

“It’s just awful the things that go on,” said her landlady. “I just don’t know what the world is coming to. That business with the explosion and the fire and all those poor students, and now that councilman’s gone missing… Of course he wasn’t no good no way.”

Diane stopped on the staircase and turned back to look at her landlady-the kindly elderly lady who wore her gray hair in a bun, dressed in running clothes, and who made sure that no one smoked in her building. She was smiling up at them.

“What councilman?” said Diane.

“That moron Adler. He’s gone missing. It was on the news. I hope he’s gone far from here.” She turned around and went back into her apartment.

Diane and Frank exchanged glances and walked the rest of the way to her apartment. Inside, Frank told Diane to get comfortable on the couch and he would heat her some soup. Warm soup sounded good. Soup was about all she felt like eating. She curled up on the couch, pulled a zebra throw that Star had given her for Christmas over her lap, and reached for the phone. She dialed Garnett’s cell.

Several rings went by and she thought it was going to roll over to voice mail when Garnett picked up.

“I know you’re busy, but my landlady just told me a policeman was here to see me. From her description, there’s little doubt it was Archie Donahue,” she said.

“Archie was there? When?”

“This morning. He must have known I was in the hospital last night and thought I would come straight home, but I went from the hospital to the museum.”

“I could have told him that,” commented Garnett. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sore in the back of the head.”

“I’m sorry not to have sent a detective over to interview you at the hospital, but… we’re stretched a little thin here-ironic for Councilman Adler at the moment, considering his cutbacks in the department’s budget.”

“The landlady told me the news about Adler. You think Archie is connected with his disappearance?”

“I don’t know, but if you see anything of Archie, call me,” said Garnett.

“I will. My landlady said you arrested Shawn Keith. Is that true?”

“We took him in for questioning and he became a regular magpie. Couldn’t shut him up if we wanted to. Obviously eager to get everything off his chest. He was helping the Stanton kid steal from the university library’s rare book room. Did find out something interesting. That night, when the kid tried to jack your car, he was having an argument with Keith. Keith thought he was high-didn’t realize he was hurt. Keith was trying to get himself and his mother out of the blast area and he saw you behind him. He told the kid you had found out he was stealing from the museum and you were going to turn him in. That’s why Blake came to your car. I don’t like to think about what he might have done if you had driven off with him in the car.”

“That wouldn’t have happened. I know better than to go to a second location with someone holding a gun,” said Diane.

When she got off the phone, Frank came from the kitchen with chicken noodle soup and crackers.

“Your landlady’s a talker, isn’t she?” said Frank.

“She is. She doesn’t even stop for periods. But she is observant. The policeman she described had to be Archie Donahue. I wonder why he came to see me.”

“Forget about that whole business for a while. Eat your soup before it gets cold,” said Frank.

“Did you fix yourself something?” she said.

“I did. I’m heating leftover pizza,” he said, disappearing back into the kitchen.

The hot soup felt good going down. There is something about chicken noodle soup that is soothing-good comfort food. It made her relax.

Diane was surprised to hear what a rat Dr. Keith was. No wonder he was feeling so guilty when he approached her the other day. He should have been feeling guilty. The little pissant Blake Stanton could have had it in his mind to shoot her.

Frank came out with his pizza and Coke-the foundation of the food pyramid as far as he was concerned-and as they ate, she told him about Dr. Keith and his connection to Blake Stanton.

“Keith, your neighbor? The one who feeds the ducks?” said Frank.

“That’s the one. You never know how people really are. Unless you told me, I’d have never guessed you know how to play the accordion.”

“I know, and who would ever guess that you enjoy hanging over bottomless pits on the end of a rope?” said Frank.

They talked about Star and her grades. So far, she was making good enough grades to earn her trip to Paris.

“She’s even doing pretty well in math,” said Frank. He was very proud, since that was his best subject.

Star’s good grades were a relief. Diane finished eating and put her empty soup bowl on the coffee table.

“I need to call Ruby Torkel,” she said.

“Why don’t you lie down and rest a few minutes? You just got out of the hospital and if I remember correctly, the doctor told you to rest.”

“I’m resting now.” She pointed to the throw across her lap as if that was clear indication she was in rest mode. “I’m just going to make a few phone calls.”

She was interrupted by Frank’s cell. He fished in his inside pocket and looked at the display.

“Work,” he said as he answered it.

“Duncan here,” he said.

“Now?” he asked

“OK.” He flipped the phone closed.

“It’s the Rosewood case I mentioned. I have to take care of some stuff. I suppose it would be demeaning of me to ask if you’ll be OK by yourself?”

“Yes, it would. I’m a law enforcement professional. Plus, I have connections with influential people,” she said smiling, and put a finger through a belt loop on his trousers.

He leaned down and kissed her on the ear, which produced an instant shiver in her.

“I’ll be back when I can. I expect to find you here resting under your zebra blanket.”

Frank took another swallow of Coke and left, telling Diane again that she’d better be good and take a nap.

As soon as he was out the door, she called the hotel where Juliet and her grandmother were staying. The number was busy. She lay back and closed her eyes for a few moments. Her head throbbed, but the pain seemed to be coming more from the cut than from her concussion. She decided not to take anything for it. She hadn’t even filled the prescription the doctor gave her. After a few minutes she opened her eyes and tried the number again. Still busy.