See No Evil

by Morgan Hayes

  When Allister looked at Stevie, he could see that the unfamiliar surroundings made her nervous. Her mouth was a tight line, and she clutched the velvet-covered partition rope as though it was the only thing holding her up. He reached for her free hand, and she seemed to welcome the contact. The tension in her face eased slightly, and her fingers returned his gentle squeeze.

  “You don’t see Fenton, do you?” she asked, her voice an anxious whisper.

  Allister turned to scan the crowded bank. Vince Fenton could have been anywhere. He wasn’t in the long lineup waiting for available tellers, but beyond this string of impatient customers, even more people waited for the banking machines at the front. Any one of them could be Fenton, Allister thought. Or he could be just outside, lost in the bustle of people on the sidewalk, bundled against the cold, practically unrecognizable.

  “No, I don’t think so, Stevie,” he told her, turning back to her. “I didn’t see his car either. I think we’re all right.”

  “Mr. Quaid?” The short corpulent man who hurried up to them now gave them an apologetic smile and extended one meaty hand. “I’m Mr. Cavanaugh, the assistant manager,” he panted, as Allister accepted his handshake. “I understand you’re here about a safe-deposit box.”

  “That’s right.”

  “From our records, I see that you have signing authority on Mr. Palmer’s business accounts. And since the box is registered under the company’s name, all I need from you, Mr. Quaid, is a couple of signatures.” He nodded for them to follow him to the offices at the back. “After that, the box is all yours.”

  FOR THE SECOND TIME, the woman in the lineup behind him at the bank machine cleared her throat sharply. Vince Fenton wanted to turn and give her a nasty glare or, better yet, tell her what she could do with the bank card she tapped annoyingly against the edge of her wallet in a display of dwindling patience.

  But he didn’t dare turn around. With the collar of his coat pulled up tight around his chin and a black toque covering his head, he was sure Quaid hadn’t spotted him.

  After the break-in last night, Vince had guessed Quaid was on to him. No doubt when Quaid had tried to play chicken the other afternoon, he’d done so with the intention of getting the plate numbers off the Plymouth. With that, Quaid could have found out his name and address. Vince had to keep a lower profile.

  The second he’d stepped into his apartment last night and kicked off his boots, he’d had a feeling that something was up. It wasn’t until he’d spotted the shimmering puddles of melted snow on the windowsill that he’d known for sure. Then he’d seen the missing screen and heard someone on the fire escape.

  By the time he’d struggled into his boots again and raced downstairs to the front door of the apartment building, he’d caught only the tail end of the compact heading down Adelle. But he was sure it had been Quaid. Unless Bainbridge was having him followed now, a possibility Vince wasn’t ruling out.

  The woman behind him coughed again, and he punched a few keys on the number pad to keep up appearances.

  In the reflection in the Plexiglas side panel of the money machine, Vince could see most of the bank behind him. And by standing just a little to the right, he had a clear view of Quaid and the Falcioni woman at the far end. They were talking to a suit, whom they then followed to the back.

  When finally Vince turned around, he watched Quaid drop his hand to the small of the woman’s back and guide her toward the vault. So this was where Palmer had stashed the coins. At last he was getting somewhere.

  “Are you finished, sir?” The woman with the tapping card frowned at him, and Vince glared back.

  “Relax, will ya, sweetheart?” he said, and shoved his card into his coat pocket.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “THERE YOU GO, Mr. Quaid,” Mr. Cavanaugh said. “Number 501.”

  Stevie heard the metal box glide out of its slot.

  “There are some rooms off to the left there if you’d like privacy. And one of our staff will help you out when you’re done. Once again, I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Palmer. Very unfortunate.”

  “Thank you.”

  There were the departing clicks of the assistant manager’s shoes on the floor of the vault before Allister lead Stevie to their left.

  He hadn’t let go of her hand, and it was only once they’d stopped and she’d heard the door of the small room close behind them that he placed her hand on the corner of the table. She listened as he set down the safe-deposit box and released the catch on the lid.

  The room was like a tomb, its silence pounding in her ears as she waited for Allister to open the box. When he did, she reached for him, needing contact, and found the edge of his open jacket. She grasped the soft leather and took a step closer.

  “What is it, Allister? What’s there?”

  She heard him slide something out of the box—the scrape of cardboard against metal.

  “It’s a shipping box,” he said.

  Stevie waited, listening to him peel back the flap. Then there was the crinkle of paper and more rustling. And finally, silence.

  “Allister.” She tugged at his coat, but he didn’t respond. “Come on. What is it?”

  She placed her hand on his arm and followed its length to where his wrist rested on the corner of a small box. With outstretched fingers, Stevie reached past his hand. Her fingertips fluttered across the crushed velvet lining, and then, her breath catching, she felt the smooth curves that protruded from each slot in the padded casing. As she touched the embossed surface of each coin, Stevie tried to envision the ancient markings and the timeworn impressions.

  So this was what Bainbridge was after, she thought. This was what Gary had been killed for—a box of coins.

  “What do we do?” she asked, finding Allister’s hand again and clasping it in hers.

  “I’m not sure yet.” He closed the box and she knew he was putting it back.

  “Can’t we take this to the police now? Just get it over with?”

  “No, Stevie.”

  “Allister, if we give this to the authorities, it’ll be out of our hands once and for all. We can be done with this.”

  “We can’t, Stevie. We need something on Bainbridge first.”

  “But why?” Exasperation sharpened her tone. These were the coins that had gotten Gary killed, and now that they’d found them, she wanted nothing to do with them. “Allister, what does it matter if you get anything on Bainbridge? Why does this have to be about revenge?”

  “It’s not about revenge, Stevie.” She almost didn’t recognize his voice then; it was so cold and intense, cutting through the small room with an unfamiliar hostility. “It’s not,” he repeated as though trying to convince himself. “It’s about finding evidence against Bainbridge so that there won’t be any question as to who was behind the burglary in the first place. Devane already suspects I’m somehow involved. If we go to the police now, I have no way of proving I’m not. Besides which, I can’t know for sure if Devane or anyone else on the Danby force is in with Bainbridge. So until I’ve got hard evidence…”

  He turned to her, taking her by the shoulders, and she knew he was searching her face for the understanding he seemed to need.

  “So what now?” she asked when she could take his silence no longer.

  “Now we have exactly what Bainbridge wants,” he said finally. “Now we’ve got the upper hand.”

  VINCE WATCHED the bank’s entrance from behind the wheel of Stan Swanson’s Skylark. He drummed his fingers against the door panel and cursed Stan for being too cheap to install a tape deck. He’d borrowed the car from his friend this morning, figuring that Quaid would be on the lookout for the Plymouth. But still, Vince had been careful to hang well back when he’d tailed the Volvo through traffic earlier.

  When at last Quaid and the photographer came out of the bank, Vince sat up and followed them with his gaze. They weren’t carrying anything. He’d hoped they’d come out with a package; he’d hoped they’d found the coins. The
y’d either come up empty-handed, or Quaid figured the coins were safer in the bank. Either way, there was no sense jumping them. Not if they didn’t have the coins.

  No, he’d have to talk to Bainbridge first, he thought as he started the car. He’d have to find out how his boss wanted to handle this before he made a move. But something told him he’d be moving soon. Very soon.

  FROM THE SECOND they’d left the bank to the moment they pulled up at the studio, Stevie knew there had been only one thing on Allister’s mind. Or one person—Edward Bainbridge. For the duration of the drive, she’d given Allister his space, letting the silence grow between them until she thought she could take no more. And when Allister finally turned off the car, Stevie was grateful to be home.

  She should have known Paige would be there, working as usual. She could hear the radio playing some big-band tune in the darkroom.

  “We’re home, Paige,” Stevie called as she shrugged off her coat.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” came the muffled reply.

  “I know it’s a bit late for it, but do you want some lunch?” Stevie asked Allister.

  He lingered by the door. Stevie was pretty sure she hadn’t even heard him take off his coat.

  “Allister?”

  “Listen, Stevie, if Paige is going to be here for a while, I really should get back to the warehouse for a couple of hours. There’s a lot of paperwork that’s falling behind and—”

  “Allister.” She moved to where she’d heard his voice and reached out for him, finding his arm and taking hold of it. “Allister, you’re not…you won’t do anything about Bainbridge, will you?”

  “No, Stevie. No.” As reassuring as he tried to sound, she found little comfort in it. “No, I’m just going to the warehouse. I’d take you with me, except that you look tired. Honest, Stevie, I won’t be more than a couple of hours.”

  “Allister, promise me…”

  “I promise,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss just as they heard the darkroom door open.

  “So you guys finally decided to come home, huh?”

  Paige crossed the studio toward them, and when Stevie turned she could still taste Allister’s kiss on her lips.

  “Well, it’s about time. Another ten minutes and I was going to call out the state troopers,” Paige joked, but the relief in her voice made it obvious she’d been worried.

  “Sorry, we should have left a note,” Stevie said.

  “Paige, are you going to be here for a while?” Allister asked. “I have to take care of some business at the warehouse.”

  “No problem. I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks, Paige. Stevie—” his voice lowered and he pulled her close “—I promise—it’s only work. I’ll be back before you know it.” He caressed her cheek briefly and then was gone.

  She stood at the door even after he’d left, even after she’d heard the Volvo start up and back out the drive. And she prayed Allister had told her the truth.

  “Hey.” Paige moved beside her then, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Looks serious. You want to talk about it?”

  Stevie let out the breath it seemed she’d been holding for the past half hour and allowed Paige to lead her to the darkroom.

  “I’m just worried, Paige,” she admitted, pulling herself up onto one of the stools.

  “About what?”

  “Allister. I’m worried he’s going to do something.”

  “You mean, something about Bainbridge?”

  Stevie turned toward her friend’s voice. “You know about that?”

  “Allister told me last night. After seeing how upset you were when you got home, I made him tell me everything. So, you want to bring me up-to-date? Or do I have to milk Allister again for the details?”

  Stevie shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. She should have expected that Paige wouldn’t have let anything slip by her. From the moment Stevie had woken up in that hospital room a week and a half ago, Paige had been there for her, had been looking out for her.

  As Paige put away bottles of chemicals, Stevie filled her in on the key and the safe-deposit box. And then she told her about the coins.

  “I’m just worried that Allister will let his anger drive him, you know, Paige? That he might do something rash.” When Paige joined her at the table, she said, “He was so quiet in the car all the way home. I know he’s just seething about this Bainbridge guy.”

  She remembered the fierce bitterness she’d heard in Allister’s voice at the bank earlier. It had frightened her then, and it frightened her still.

  “I’m so afraid he might do something that…that’ll land him back in prison.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, Stevie. I think at this point, Allister has one very strong reason for not wanting to jeopardize his freedom.”

  “What do you mean?” But Stevie hadn’t really needed to ask that question; the tone in Paige’s voice had said it all.

  “What exactly did you and Allister talk about last night?”

  “It wasn’t so much what he told me as what I saw.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Allister loves you, Stevie. I see the way he looks at you, the way he’s always got to be right beside you. And when he talks about you, he gets this kind of light in his eyes. He cares a lot for you, honey. Trust me, I don’t think you have to worry about him jeopardizing that for some slime named Bainbridge.”

  Stevie ran a hand through her hair, wondering if it was just her or if the furnace was running high again.

  “What?” Paige said. “You’re not going to tell me you don’t feel the same about him, are you? I saw how upset you were at the hospital the other day. And I’ve seen the way your face flushes whenever he gets close to you.”

  “This is moving way too fast,” Stevie admitted, even though she recognized the truth in what Paige was telling her. “I don’t know, Paige. When you think about it, really, this is all about Gary. I mean, his death—it was such a shock. I miss him, and Allister misses him. And we’re this kind of link for each other, you know?”

  “Right, and the next thing you’ll be trying to tell me is that you’re only with Allister because of everything you’re going through and you need someone to comfort you.”

  “Well, maybe that is part of it.”

  “Rationalize all you want, honey, but there’s more behind your feelings for Allister than comfort, and you know it. You just won’t admit it yet.”

  Paige left the table and began rummaging through one of the corner cabinets. She was finished saying what she had to say on the topic, Stevie realized. She’d handed out her nugget of advice for the afternoon.

  “So, how about rolling some film?” Paige asked.

  Stevie smiled as Paige dragged out the equipment and the canisters of film. “Sure, why not.”

  She heard Paige turn off the lights, and for at least ten minutes they rolled film in a dark and comfortable silence.

  “He really gets a light in his eyes?” she asked Paige at last.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So are you going to tell me what the rest of him looks like?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that would be like telling a kid where his parents hid all the Christmas presents. I’m not going to be the one to ruin your surprise. You’ll just have to wait to see him when you see him.”

  NEEDING TO DO WORK at the warehouse hadn’t been a total lie. There was a pile of forms and letters awaiting signatures. And phone calls to return. But what Allister had really needed was to get away. He’d needed time to think, to figure out what he was going to do about Bainbridge. And as long as he was near Stevie, he couldn’t keep a clear head. Every time he looked at her, every time he touched her, doubts crept in—he’d start wondering if he should just go to the police with the coins, if he should take the leap of faith Stevie seemed to want him to.

  No, he’d needed this time to think, to clear his head. And his heart.
Now, finally, he had a pretty good idea of what he had to do. And he knew he would have to do it on his own.

  Closing the door to Gary’s office, Allister paused on the catwalk. Below in the main loading area, a few drivers were just closing up and clearing out for the day. The building was practically empty.

  Like the first time Gary had brought him here, Allister thought. It had been the afternoon of his release, eight months ago. After they’d gone for the beer Gary had been promising him for four years, he’d brought Allister back here to show him what he’d done with the business.

  Gary had been proud of the shipping company and of the reputation he’d developed. And he’d seemed happy, or so Allister had thought. Gary hadn’t let on that there was anything wrong with his marriage, that Barb was unhappy and wanted to leave him and Danby.

  Allister leaned his elbows against the railing and surveyed the warehouse that Gary had poured the last few years of his life into. It didn’t make sense. Ten days since Gary’s murder, and Allister still couldn’t figure out why his friend had dismissed his warnings. Gary had seen what Bainbridge was capable of, and yet he’d ignored Allister and-Allister stood bolt upright.

  That was it! His heart raced and his stomach lurched at the realization. That was exactly why Gary had gotten involved with Bainbridge. He’d seen firsthand what Bainbridge had done to Allister. He’d witnessed the ruin of Allister’s life: the collapsed business, the broken engagement, the crumbled reputation, those lost years.

  Gary had gone after Bainbridge for Allister.

  There was no way to prove it of course. But it made sense. Allister, of all people, knew the way Gary thought—always looking for adventure, always game for a challenge. No doubt, with his marriage on the rocks, Gary saw nothing to lose in taking on a man like Bainbridge, bringing him to justice, clearing his best friend’s name. The one thing Gary hadn’t counted on was Vince Fenton. How was he to know that his plan could turn so deadly? Even Allister hadn’t guessed that Bainbridge would resort to murder.