The Concrete Ceiling

by Peter Rowlands

  Now Dee turned to me. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mike? Why is Ellie telling us these things?”

  I started to move towards the door. Ellie edged into the room, keeping her back to the wall, and her brother followed suit.

  Pausing, I said to Dee as calmly as I could, “Ellie’s right – I was at Rob’s house in London, but I certainly didn’t kill him. The police know that. But they don’t know what really happened, and I’m trying to find out.”

  “Oh, you’re trying to do that, are you?” Dee’s voice was rising in volume, and there was a heavy irony to it. “Who do you think you are – some kind of self-appointed avenging angel?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I think you have a nerve, coming here, telling me lies and trying to pick my brains when my former husband is barely cold in the ground. What kind of a person are you? I suppose you’re planning on putting all this in your next book?”

  “I haven’t told you any lies. I did pay Rob’s company to promote my book.”

  “You just happened to miss out the part about being arrested for his murder.”

  Ellie interrupted, “Shall I call the police?” She pulled out her phone.

  Dee glanced quickly between Ellie and me. “Don’t worry, Mr Stanhope is leaving now, isn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “And you’ll never come bothering us again?”

  “I hear you. And I’m truly sorry for any upset I’ve caused.”

  She said nothing, and I strode out into the hallway, brushing past the maid on my way to the front door. I could hear Tim following me. I unlocked the car, started the engine and drove until I was two or three blocks from the house, then I pulled into the kerb and sat there waiting for my heart to slow back to its normal pace.

  Presumably after Openshaw’s death his daughter must have been despatched back to California to live with her mother. It hadn’t occurred to me that she would be here, but I should have thought of it. I was lucky to have had the session with Dee before she turned up.

  I wondered if they really would call the police. It was hard to see what law I could be considered to have broken, but the police could make my life very unpleasant while they unravelled what was going on. I had to hope it wouldn’t come to that.

  * * *

  I glanced at my watch. Three in the afternoon. Now what? So far today I’d been brushed off by The Spine, then practically thrown out into the street by Dee Broderick and her family. Did I have the stomach for any more?

  All my instincts told me to drive straight back to Ashley’s apartment and keep my head down for the rest of the day, yet I couldn’t ignore the knowledge that I had another lead: Toni Harper, the woman Dee had mentioned. She’d worked at Lammies, the company that handled The Spine’s data processing. I felt that once I’d talked to her, I would probably know all there was to know about Rob Openshaw’s dispute with The Spine and his sudden departure for London.

  I looked at the scrap of paper I’d been given by Annie at The Spine, which now also contained the details I’d jotted down for Toni Harper. It wouldn’t hurt me to call her number, though with my heart racing at its present rate I couldn’t be sure of holding a sensible conversation with her.

  It now occurred to me that the address I’d written down was in Compton, the very place I’d just come from to talk to Dee. I decided I would drive back there and make up my mind what to do when I arrived. If I’d had enough of Rob Openshaw by then, I could just head back up to Pasadena.

  In thickening traffic it took me far longer to return to Compton than it had to leave it, but by four o’clock I’d pulled in at the side of a quiet suburban street. In the late afternoon sunshine the single-storey houses looked relatively prosperous; some were plain, some were stucco-sided and others seemed to be built in full hacienda style. But I wasn’t familiar enough with American suburbs to be able to distinguish between upmarket and downmarket. The fences fronting the properties were well maintained, but some of the front lawns looked parched and neglected.

  I looked at the phone number on the scrap of paper in my hand. What kind of reception would I get from the unknown Toni Harper? Presumably I couldn’t hope for Dee’s welcoming manner for a second time. A little hesitantly I punched out the numbers and waited.

  No answer, and no voicemail. The number simply rang out. I disconnected, switched on the car engine and consulted the satnav. Remarkably, Toni’s address was only a few blocks away from where I was sitting. Five minutes later I was parked diagonally opposite her house.

  It was another single-storey property, like all those in the neighbourhood, but this street seemed more run-down that the one where I’d parked earlier. Fewer of the houses had fences, and more seemed to have miscellaneous clutter on their front lawns. I locked my car, walked over to Toni’s house and approached the front door. The lawn was empty but featureless. I pressed the bell push, and immediately a dog somewhere inside the property gave a heavy, guttural bark.

  No one appeared at the door. I strolled back to my car, sat down in it and turned on the air conditioning. Should I wait and see if I could doorstep Toni on her return from work? Even in Britain, this might alarm her and backfire on me. How would it be treated in America? Perhaps I would soon find out.

  Chapter 46

  I had a long wait. It was approaching six o’clock when a car slowed at Toni’s house and turned into the small driveway. Immediately I was out of my car and walking across the road. I had to take care not to alarm her. Timing was all.

  I reached the fence fronting her property as she was walking over to the door and taking her keys out of a bag. I judged that if I stayed well away from the gateway and waited until she’d inserted the key in the lock, she would know she could retreat indoors if she wanted to.

  At the critical moment I called out, “Hi, Toni. Do you have a moment?”

  She jerked round in surprise. I smiled as warmly as I could and said, “It is Toni, is it?”

  Relaxing fractionally, she said, “Who’s asking?”

  “Mike Stanhope. I’m a writer, over here from England. Dee Broderick suggested I speak to you. I’m trying to find out about Rob Openshaw.”

  She was elegantly dressed in a loose-fitting cream linen suit, and her thick blonde hair was drawn back in a short ponytail, exposing a wide face and a slightly prominent chin. It was an attractive look, though currently she was frowning at me.

  “Dee sent you? About Rob?”

  “You probably know he died recently, and I’m sorry for that. I’m trying to figure out what happened to him. She thought you could help.”

  “Why? What’s it to you?”

  I hesitated, trying to judge which way the conversation was likely to go. I decided to take a chance. “I live in London, near Rob, and I was in touch with him not long before his death. I’m trying to find out what really happened to him.”

  “Well there’s nothing I can tell you. I don’t have anything to say about Rob. I don’t know why Dee told you to come here.” She turned to the door and started to push it open, then turned back to me. “Leave me alone.”

  “Please!” Now I had a sense that she was hiding something. “I won’t quote you on anything. I’m just trying to understand what was going on.”

  “You won’t quote me? What are you – a journalist?”

  “I’m a novelist. A self-published novelist. I was planning to use Rob’s Magic Bookseller service to promote my book.”

  “Huh! You made a bad choice then.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Look, I have nothing to say, and it won’t help anyone if you start interfering. Please go.” She pushed the door fully open.

  There was something incongruous about her furtive manner. It didn’t gel with Dee’s representation of her as an innocent bystander. She seemed to have something to hide. While I still had the chance, I decided to make a wild guess. I said, “I don’t know how you and Rob worked the scam, but if you could explain it to me, I would know it had nothing to do with
his death, and I wouldn’t need to say any more about it.”

  She snapped her head back round towards me. “Who the hell are you? What is this?”

  I sensed that my question had hit its mark. I said, “I told you – I’m a writer. I paid Rob’s company to promote my book, and I’ve got into something I don’t understand. You can fill in some of the gaps for me.”

  “This is crap! Leave me alone.”

  “I don’t want to get you into trouble – truly. I’m just asking you to talk to me.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’m not threatening you. I’m just asking you to help me.”

  “Why should I believe that?”

  I felt the best response was to let her come to her own judgement. I knew I didn’t do inscrutable very well, so I tried shrugging.

  She said, “You’re not pulling some blackmail stunt here?”

  “Absolutely not. I don’t want anything from you – just information.”

  She seemed to debate with herself for a moment, then glanced nervously up and down the street. “Look, if I talk to you, will you promise not to repeat what you hear?”

  This was difficult. Conceivably this woman might give me information that would help the police track down Rob Openshaw’s murderer. Should I promise not to pass it on? Unfortunately, that might be the only way I would get it. Reluctantly I said, “I promise.”

  “OK.” She paused to think, then glanced up and down again. “I can’t talk here. Go to the end of this road, take a right and then a left, then two blocks down you’ll find a diner. I’ll meet you there.”

  * * *

  I drove to the diner. I was very unclear about the rules on parking in American streets, but there was an empty stretch of road about half a block back, and I could see nothing to indicate that I shouldn’t park there. I pulled in, then crossed the road and walked over to the diner.

  I drank a whole cup of coffee. No sign of Toni. I asked for a refill and drank that. Still nothing. Had she merely been fobbing me off with her promise of meeting me? It hadn’t seemed like it, but I had no way of judging. I glanced at the menu. Did I want to have my evening meal here? Not really. I watched the entrance in vain.

  Another half-hour passed. It was now more or less dark outside – and still no Toni. Clearly she wasn’t coming. I picked up my phone and called her number, but as before there was no reply. This was a rout.

  I asked for my check, paid, and made my way back to my car. I was concerned to realise it was parked on its own in a stretch of the street where the lighting was dim. Still, this was a main road. What harm could come to me here?

  I soon found out. I made it safely to the car and started the engine, but as I was sliding the gear selector into drive there was a massive thump from behind. The car lurched several feet forward, and my head was slammed back into the headrest. What the hell?

  I was still recovering and trying to look round to see what had hit me when the driver’s door was snatched open and a hooded man grabbed me by the shoulders. He unhitched the safety belt in a single deft manoeuvre and dragged me out on to the street. I was thrust to the ground and kicked roughly two or three times. It all happened so quickly that I couldn’t begin to defend myself.

  I heard an engine revving, and out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed a scruffy-looking pickup truck behind my car. It pulled back, still revving. The man beside me stepped away. I suddenly had a horrifying premonition that I was about to be run over – a re-run of something that had nearly happened to me a couple of years before. Would I never learn?

  I tried to move, but my shoulder hurt like hell and all the strength seemed to have been kicked from my body. What was the matter with me? Was I going to lie here and watch as I was crushed to death by that pickup?

  I started to roll myself into an upright position, but I seemed to be moving in slow motion. Then suddenly the air was pierced by a different sound: a woman screaming. At first I couldn’t piece together what was happening. Had she been injured as part of the onslaught? Gradually I realised she was remonstrating with my attackers.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Paul? What makes you think this is the way to solve anything? Have you taken leave or your senses?”

  A man’s voice muttered something incoherent in reply, then the woman said, “Leave him! Do you hear me? Leave him! I’ll take care of this. Just go!”

  There was more angry muttering and cursing, then a car door slammed. The pickup’s engine revved, and after a moment it roared away.

  I looked up towards my saviour, but her face was in deep shadow. I said, “Thanks for your help.”

  She stared down at me without speaking, then said, “I told you this was a bad idea.” She turned on her heel and disappeared from sight. A moment later another engine started and I heard a car pulling away.

  * * *

  I rose unsteadily to my feet. The whole incident had lasted barely a minute or two, yet in that time I’d come close to death. I was still trembling from head to foot.

  I leaned against the side of the car, checking for broken ribs and other damage. I seemed to be intact. As I recovered I glanced up and down the street. I felt that someone should have been rushing to my aid, but there were no pedestrians in sight. Hadn’t that woman just said she would “take care of this”? Whatever that meant, evidently it didn’t include hanging around to help me. Occasional cars swished past, but none of the drivers paid me any attention.

  Eventually I prised myself away from the car and went round the back to inspect the damage. The trunk of the car had caved in as a result of the shunt. The vehicle was clearly undriveable.

  I leaned against the driver’s door again in the rapidly cooling evening air, listening to the quiet of the street and the hum of the city around me. What was I supposed to do now? I ought to report the incident to the police, but I could foresee all kinds of complication as I tried to explain who I was, why I was driving Ashley’s car, and why I was here in Compton in the first place. But what the hell was I to do? How was I supposed to get the car towed, and how would I get back to Pasadena? I felt like an innocent abroad.

  Then I remembered Ashley’s friend Filipe. She’d said he was primed to help me. Maybe it was time to put that to the test. Sliding back down into the driver’s seat, I dialled his number.

  It was well over an hour and a half before he pulled in behind me. I climbed out to greet him – a Brazilian in his late twenties with a deadpan expression and an unflappable manner. He said, “Hi Mike. Seems like you’re dead set on making your mark on Los Angeles.”

  I gave him a chagrined look. “I’m really sorry to have troubled you like this.”

  He riffled through my insurance documents, then started making calls. After another long wait a tow truck arrived and picked up Ashley’s car. Finally we were heading back north towards Pasadena in Filipe’s Honda.

  Chapter 47

  Ashley seemed unconcerned about the car when I phoned her later that evening. “It belongs to the company,” she said philosophically. “I’m sure they’ll lend me another until it’s repaired.” She was more worried for me. “You never know when to leave well alone, Mike. Why couldn’t you just be a tourist like anyone else?”

  “I wanted to get out from under the threat of that murder charge.”

  “And has this helped you?”

  “Not much.”

  I was expecting some ironic riposte, but she merely said, “I suppose at least you made an effort.”

  She was worried that I hadn’t called the police after the incident. “I think it might be the law here that you have to do that.”

  “I hope I haven’t got you into trouble.”

  “I’m thinking of you as well. What if those people who hit the car try it again?”

  “This happened right over on the other side of LA. They wouldn’t know where to find me.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “If I had called the police, I would have had so much explaining t
o do that I might have missed my flight back to Britain.”

  “I suppose so.”

  I asked her how the convention was going. “You’d feel at home here,” she said. “It’s just like all those logistics shows in England.”

  “I wish I’d come with you.”

  “Try to enjoy your last day in LA. Do something safe!”

  * * *

  I sat drinking my coffee in Ashley’s sunny lounge next morning, wondering what “something safe” might be. I had no car now, but there were buses on the street below, or I could call a cab. Maybe I should go and explore downtown Pasadena.

  Then my phone bleeped and a woman’s voice said hesitantly, “This is Toni Harper. I got your number from Dee Broderick.”

  Recovering from my surprise, I said, “It’s good to hear from you.”

  “I guess I kind of owe you an apology.”

  I wondered exactly what she was apologising for. I said, “I’m glad you’re even speaking to me. You must know by now that I’m not Dee’s favourite person.”

  She made a dismissive sound. “I know what that daughter of hers told her about you and Rob. I wouldn’t take account of anything that little b-i-t-c-h says. I’m surprised her mother isn’t wise to her by now. She probably picked your name out of the phone book.”

  Cautiously I said, “No, I really was there when Rob was found.”

  “But you didn’t kill him, right? You wouldn’t be poking your nose around here if you did.”

  “Of course not. What does Dee say now?”

  “I guess she’s keeping an open mind.”

  “Huh.”

  There was a silence. Finally I broke it by saying, “Was that you last night, after my car was hit?”

  She said nothing to this, then, “Listen, did you mean it when you said you wouldn’t repeat anything I told you?”

  Now I was interested. I said, “Of course.”