See No Evil

by Morgan Hayes

  “So that’s what he told you, did he?” Devane went on. “Well, let me just say one thing, Ms. Falcioni. Don’t let Allister Quaid’s good looks fool you.”

  “I hardly think you need worry about me being taken in by anyone’s good looks, Detective.”

  “What I meant to say, Ms. Falcioni, is that given Mr. Quaid’s criminal record, I feel it’s my responsibility to warn you—”

  “Detective,” she interrupted, “as far as I’m concerned, I’m a lot safer with Allister than with anyone else right now. He’s done far more to protect me than the police have. So if there’s nothing else.” Stevie brushed past him and headed to the front door planning to open it for him to leave. She prayed she wouldn’t trip over anything on the way and shatter her image of complete control.

  Devane was right behind her as she grappled for the door.

  “Just remember one thing, Ms. Falcioni. It wasn’t the police who almost got you killed in that river yesterday.”

  “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean? You don’t honestly expect me to believe that Allister did that deliberately, do you?”

  “No. What I’m saying is Allister Quaid is a dangerous man. I don’t think you’re aware of what he’s capable of.”

  “And you are, right?”

  Devane had helped her and Paige out, Stevie remembered as she took a steadying breath. He’d made all the arrangements with the security company. He’d responded to her call the other night. She had no justification to feel such animosity, but she did. Was it simply because of his suspicions of Allister?

  “Listen, Detective—” she held up a hand as a gesture of apology “—I’m sorry, but I’ve had a really bad week. So maybe you should just concentrate on finding the man who killed Gary, and let me worry about the company I keep, all right? Good day, Detective.”

  ALLISTER HEARD the front door close, and moments later Stevie was up the stairs and entering the apartment.

  “I’m over here,” he called and then watched her feel her way through the living-room area to where he sat at the kitchen bar. She looked tired.

  “You all right?” he asked, touching her cheek with the back of his hand.

  She nodded, but it did little to reassure him. Only once had he seen her complexion so pale.

  “I think you should rest, Stevie. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “I’m all right.” She took his hand from her cheek and gave it a reassuring squeeze before she turned to a small writing desk in the corner of the room.

  As he watched her riffle through the papers there, Allister wondered exactly what Devane had told her downstairs. Had he said something to upset her, or worse, turn her against him?

  “These must be the ones,” she said at last, pulling a contact sheet from the pile and handing it to Allister. “The proofs from the jammed camera. Pictures taken in the warehouse.”

  “Looks like it,” he told her.

  There were only half-a-dozen shots on the page. In each frame, several long-legged models posed in various dramatic stances, and at the top of each shot was the steel walkway.

  Allister brought the sheet closer, studying each frame. And then he saw it. There was a man on the catwalk in the last frame. He appeared to be a big man, wearing a heavy fatigue-style coat that hung off broad shoulders.

  “Stevie, there’s a man in this last shot, up on the catwalk.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “Do you recognize him? Is he one of Gary’s staff?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Is he the man you saw in the car yesterday?”

  “It’s hard to tell.”

  Stevie turned to the desk again, tugged open the top drawer and after a moment of fumbling handed him a magnifying glass.

  “How about now?” she asked.

  Tilting the sheet to the light, Allister zeroed in on the figure on the catwalk. Even with the play of shadows, he didn’t need a blowup of the shot to recognize the man’s hardened features. That square jaw, the thin lips and those sunken eyes. He’d seen them before.

  “Yes, that’s our man, all right. That’s the guy who’s been following us.”

  PAIGE HAD TAKEN a cab to the studio later in the day, and after several hours in the darkroom, she’d come upstairs where the three of them had shared a pizza for dinner. Now, almost an hour later, Allister was becoming anxious.

  Stevie and Paige were lounging on the couch, sipping the remains of a bottle of chablis, while an opera Allister had forgotten the name of played on the stereo. With only half an ear, he listened to Stevie describe for them what was happening in each scene. Any other time, he would have been enthralled by Stevie’s animated description of these Italian lovers’ demise, but tonight, there were other things on his mind.

  Pulling back one of the blinds that covered the living-room window, Allister peered out into the still night. On the quiet snow-covered street, almost out of visual range from the studio, he saw the dark sedan. He’d noticed it parked there, behind a couple of other cars down the street, when he’d gone downstairs to pay the pizza-delivery boy. It hadn’t moved.

  Allister let the blind snap back into place. Stevie must have heard it, because she stopped her narration. “What is it, Allister?”

  “It’s nothing, Stevie. Go on.”

  He should have received the call hours ago. Now it was almost eight.

  From the warehouse earlier today, he’d called Danny James, his contact at the DMV downtown, and had given him the sedan’s plate number. Danny hadn’t been too keen about searching for the information, but his reluctance had come mostly from the fact that Allister had dragged him off his break.

  He would try his best, Danny had promised. Then he’d warned Allister that he’d probably not be able to do it until the end of the day, so Allister had given him Stevie’s number.

  At last the phone rang, and sure enough it was for Allister.

  “Danny?”

  “Oh, hey, Allister, listen man, I’m really sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. My kid got sick at school and my wife’s out of town, so I been running around all afternoon. You wouldn’t believe the day I had.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, well, kids, you know?”

  “Did you get that name for me?”

  “Oh, yeah. No problem. The car’s registered to a guy by the name of Vince Fenton.”

  Allister found a pen amongst the bills and other papers on the corner desk and jotted the name on an old envelope.

  “You didn’t happen to get an address, too, did you?”

  “Yup. Fifty-six Adelle Avenue. Apartment 2C. Hope that helps you out, man.”

  “More than you know. I owe you for this.”

  “Yeah, well, I like Jack Daniel’s. Talk to you later, man.”

  “Thanks, Danny.”

  Fenton. Vince Fenton. Allister ran the name through his mind a few times. It meant nothing to him. But if he was the man Stevie had photographed on the catwalk and the driver of the sedan parked outside right now, he quite likely was the man who had beaten the life out of Gary. The man who’d killed his best friend. Allister folded the envelope and shoved it into his back pocket.

  What was to stop him from going out there right now? Just walking straight across the street, dragging this Fenton son of a bitch from his damned car and beating the life out of him. After what he’d done to Gary-”Allister?”

  “Yeah?” He spun around, his turbulent thoughts fragmented by Stevie’s voice.

  “I asked if you were up to the final act of La Boheme.”

  “Uh, no, Stevie. I’ll have to pass tonight.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.” But judging by the look that Paige gave him then, Allister wasn’t doing a very good job at convincing either of them. “Listen, guys, I’ve got to go out for a bit. Couple of errands I have to run.”

  “What? This late?” Stevie aimed the remote and turned off the stereo. The silence was startling.

 
“I won’t be long, Stevie.”

  “What’s this about, Allister?”

  It took all of one second for Paige to recognize the challenging tone in her friend’s voice, and she was off the couch in a shot. “I’ll be in the darkroom if anyone needs me,” Paige said before giving Allister a you’re-on-your-own look and beading downstairs.

  “Stevie—”

  “This is about the coins, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. I just want to check on a few things, that’s all.”

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “Stevie, it’s nothing. Really.”

  “Allister.” She stood up abruptly, and when she did her knee struck the empty wine bottle. It toppled to the area rug and rolled away, rattling loudly across the hardwood flooring. She waited until it came to rest against one of the ceramic plant pots. “Please, don’t keep secrets from me, Allister. It’s about this guy, isn’t it? The man in the proofs.”

  He crossed the room toward her, wishing to hell that she wasn’t so damned intuitive. Why couldn’t she have just believed him when he’d said he had to run some errands?

  “Who was on the phone?” she demanded again.

  He didn’t answer, just took her shoulders in his hands and gazed down at her. Now he knew what was stopping him from going out there and dealing with Vince Fenton with his own bare hands. For the first time in what felt like forever, Allister had a reason to look forward to the future, a reason to tame the vengeance that seethed in him whenever he thought of the police or Bainbridge, and now Fenton. And that reason was Stevie.

  He lifted her chin with a finger, and tilted her face so he could brush a kiss across her lips. She tasted sweet.

  “Stevie, it’s nothing,” he said softly. “I just want to—”

  “For crying out loud, Allister. Don’t you dare patronize me.” She pulled away from him then with such force that for a moment he thought she might take a step back and crash into the coffee table. He was about to reach for her again when he realized the extent of her anger and decided he’d best stay clear.

  “If there’s something you know about Gary or the coins, I think I should be informed, Allister. This involves me, too.”

  “No, Stevie. It doesn’t involve you. You have nothing to do with Bainbridge, do you hear me?” Even the thought of it made Allister sick to his stomach.

  “So I’m right. That phone call—it was about Bainbridge, about the coins, wasn’t it?”

  “Stevie, I don’t want to argue about this.”

  “Then don’t. Just tell me and we won’t have to argue about anything. Who was on the phone?”

  He was close enough to reach out, take a hold of her and shake some sense into her. Couldn’t she see that he didn’t want to put her life in any more danger than he already had? That he was only doing this for her own good? His hands balled into fists at his sides and he turned from her.

  “Allister?”

  He let out a long breath. “That was Danny James, the person I’d mentioned before at the DMV.”

  “He got the name of the man who owns the car?”

  Allister nodded. “Yeah. Vince Fenton.”

  When he looked at Stevie again, her expression didn’t reveal any recognition of the name.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But this doesn’t involve you, Stevie, okay?” When he tried to brush past her to head for the stairs, she must have felt his closeness, because in a flash she’d grabbed his arm.

  “Allister, I’m already involved. I’m the one whose place has been broken into twice. I’m the one who found Gary dead. And I’m the one who saw his killer. Now whether you like it not, Allister, I am involved in this thing, and no matter how hard you try, there’s nothing you can do to uninvolve me at this point.”

  “I won’t put your life at risk, Stevie.”

  “Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

  Her words hit their intended mark and Allister flinched. Yes, he could have killed her with that stunt of his yesterday. He should never have taken the risk he had, not with Stevie in the Explorer. But this was different. This involved Vince Fenton, the man who might very well have murdered Gary.

  “Stevie, what I have to do—”

  “And what would that be? What is you have to do?”

  But he didn’t even know that himself yet. “That’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is that you stay here where it’s safe.” He pulled away from her and again headed to the stairs. He had to get out. If he stayed another moment, he knew there would be no winning this argument.

  “Allister!”

  He could hear her come through the apartment and down the stairs after him. He didn’t look back.

  “Paige.” He crossed the studio to the darkroom at the back. The door was open. “Paige.”

  Paige looked up from the light table. “Yeah?”

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Your car’s out back in the alley, right?”

  She nodded. “Why?”

  “I need to borrow it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure,” she said, getting her purse from one of the stainless-steel tables and rummaging through it. “One condition, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t want you driving it into some river, okay? I mean, I just finished paying off that damned junker.”

  Allister caught her wink and gave her a quick smile. In that same second, Stevie came around the corner.

  “Paige, don’t do it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t lend him your car.”

  Allister glared at her. “Stevie, listen to me—”

  “Paige, don’t lend him your car unless he agrees to take me along.”

  “Stevie—”

  “No, Allister. If you think you’re going to just leave me here like some invalid while you’re out—”

  “That’s not what—”

  “I can take care of myself, Allister. Just remember who it was that pulled you out of that river yesterday.”

  “Look, guys.” Paige stepped between them, her hands in the air. “Guys! I have no idea what this is about, but, Allister, I’m sorry, my loyalties lie with Stevie first.” She placed the keys in Stevie’s hand. “There’re the keys. The car’s out back. You two do what you have to. Now clear out. I’ve got work to finish here.”

  She bustled them out of the darkroom and started to close the door before she added with a smirk, “Oh, and, Allister? One more thing. Whatever you do, don’t let her drive, okay?”

  With no other choice, Allister guided Stevie out to Paige’s car, put her in the passenger seat and cleaned off the windshield as the engine warmed up. When they pulled out of the back alley, Allister drove slowly, but Stevie guessed it had nothing to do with his unfamiliarity with the Tercel.

  Allister was also silent, and he stayed that way for the next fifteen minutes. Stevie tried to imagine what he was planning. He’d wanted Paige’s car, instead of the Volvo, because it had been parked at the back, out of sight from the street. He’d driven slowly from the alley, and she guessed that he’d left the headlights off so as not to draw attention as they pulled onto the side street.

  It was obvious someone was watching the warehouse. She remembered the snap of the blind earlier and realized that Allister must have been keeping an eye on the street out front.

  Then there had been the phone call. As soon as Allister had found out the man’s name—Vince Fenton—he’d been anxious to go.

  Stevie suddenly knew where they were heading, what Allister intended to do. She reached across and placed her hand on his thigh then, surprised at the way her voice trembled. “You’re going to Vince Fenton’s place, aren’t you?”

  Allister’s silence was all the answer she needed.

  After another minute he stopped the car and turned off the ignition. Stevie heard him switch of
f the lights and release his seat belt. She didn’t remove her hand, and when he placed his own over it, he stroked it thoughtfully.

  “Fenton’s still back at the studio,” he said at last. “My guess is he’ll be there for another hour or so before he decides we’re going to stay put for the night.”

  “So you’re planning to break into his place?”

  “It’s the only way, Stevie. Unless I can find something to link Fenton to Bainbridge, we’ve got nothing.”

  “But even if you do find something, Allister, you’ll be committing a crime. Breaking and entering.”

  “Yeah, but at least we’ll have a bargaining chip when it comes to Bainbridge.” Allister undoubtedly recognized her uneasiness. “Stevie, don’t worry. I’m just going to go in and take a look around. I’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

  “I don’t like this,” she said, shaking her head. “You can’t just break into this guy’s place.”

  “It’s not as if I’ve got any other choice at this point.”

  “Have you forgotten who this man is? Have you forgotten what happened to Gary? He was murdered, Allister. Beaten to death. And quite likely by this same man.”

  “Unfortunately that’s the one thing we can’t prove.”

  “Allister! That’s not the point! He’s dangerous, and you know it. This is too risky. Way too risky.”

  “Stevie, I’m checking out his apartment. That’s all.”

  “It’s too dangerous. What if there’s someone else in his apartment? What if he comes back? What are you going to do then?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I don’t like this,” she said again, breaking the tense silence.

  “Neither do I.” He touched her cheek with one finger. “Neither do I.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

  “Stay here. Listen. If you hear anything—”

  She let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, right, I lose my sight and all of a sudden you think I’ve developed heightened hearing? Dammit, Allister, this isn’t right. Let’s just go home.”