Her fiancée had made himself a martini and was drinking it when she arrived.
“What happened at the police station?” Tom asked, requiring Mandy to give a recitation of the specifics for the third time that day. He got the short version, since Mandy was tired of talking about it after visiting with Karen at lunch and then Jonathan Redfield after work.
Everyone was concerned. Everyone wanted to help.
But only Detective Kelly seemed to be formulating what to do.
“Are you satisfied so far?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know. I am unfamiliar with the protocol for being stalked by a lunatic ex-convict. I’m just assuming that the police know what they’re doing.”
Tom looked at her across the coffee table in her apartment. He was very average physically, average in height and weight, a tan person with brown hair and a medium skin tone, brown eyes and a slightly prominent nose. He was the Republican Congressman from the tenth District, a friend of Mandy’s family, a widower fifteen years Mandy’s senior. His two children were away at boarding school.
They had been engaged for a year.
“Don’t forget that the juvenile diabetes fundraiser is in two weeks,” Tom said suddenly. “I promised Bob Forman that we would go.”
Mandy nodded. She was trained to include Tom’s political commitments in her schedule.
“Let’s go inside,” Tom said, jerking his head toward the bedroom. He got up and took Mandy’s hand.
She rose and went with him.
* * * * *
Brendan Kelly worked on his desktop computer, accessing the P.D. data base, until darkness fell beyond his tiny office window and his fingers were stiff from typing. He had heard everyone leaving at the end of the morning shift and everyone arriving for the second shift. He sent out for a sandwich at three o'clock and had routine conversations with people stopping by his office and routine conversations with anyone who called him. The day had passed in relative quiet after his interview with Amanda Redfield and at six PM he finally sat back in his chair and rubbed the nape of his neck wearily.
He had the starting point of the investigation well in hand, but where it went from there was anybody's guess.
He closed his eyes and recalled Mandy sitting in the chair in his office, nervous and rattled but trying hard to handle herself well and hide her reaction to her situation. She had sat bolt upright with her hands in her lap, both expensively shod feet together on the floor, like a bright child in school. He understood very well what it was like to be frightened and fighting to conceal it, so he felt a kinship with her right away.
You never knew where life was going to take you, and this day had certainly tossed him a curve. From a dull case which took him to Boston for some humdrum background checks he had progressed to interviewing Amanda Redfield. That's what he liked about police work, you never knew what was coming up next.
The image of her lingered in his mind. He saw the abundant auburn hair, the pale, dewy skin sprinkled with light freckles and the killer legs flattered by sheer hose and slender high heels. Her rarefied, elusive scent still lingered in his office and he guessed that the cost of her wardrobe probably exceeded the GNP of a third world country. Just his luck. A case that could really help his career centered on the safety of this well groomed and heavily connected young lady. He knew the scenario could sink him if he botched it. But it could also help him a great deal if he played it right.
He would have to be meticulous. She was joined at the hip with Manning and Kelly knew that her well heeled daddy, Manning's pal, was watching the scenario play out with concerned attention.
Kelly examined the crust of his leftover sandwich and then tossed it into the trash.
He wished she weren't quite so attractive. It was going to affect how he dealt with her, no matter how fiercely he tried to control it.
He had also seen the enormous rock on the third finger of her left hand. She was engaged.
Out of your league, Brendan, he said to himself. And already taken.
He saved his work on the computer and got up to go home.
2
The next morning when Mandy arrived at Kelly's office he was waiting for her. He was wearing tan chinos with a brown checked shirt and his gold shield was clipped to his belt. He handed her a series of pages stapled together as she sat across from him.
"Look over the names and the short sketch of each perp that I attached, " Kelly said. "Try to recall them and think about which ones might be likely candidates."
Mandy had brought her notes and card files, her past court schedules, and her own laptop. She was an obsessive record keeper and had been the butt of many jokes as a result. She felt vindicated, however, when she could pinpoint the dates and times of all her hearings and trials. This helped enormously in refining the list of those who might have a grudge against her. They compared notes for three hours, narrowing down the possibilities. At the end of the session they had their first list of names and Mandy was both tired and hungry.
"That's a good start," Kelly said, as Mandy looked up from her notes and her stomach growled. Loudly.
Kelly grinned. Mandy stared back at him, transfixed as she saw his full smile for the first time.
"What?" he said, noticing her stare.
Her stomach growled again.
His grin expanded, displaying the large, slightly uneven white teeth with the incisors jutting a trifle out of line that she had noticed when she first met him.
"I think we'd better get you something to eat, Miss Redfield," he observed.
“Please call me Amanda.”
He picked up his desk phone and asked Pat Harris to add to the lunchtime order for the office. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and said to Mandy, "What will you have, Amanda?"
She looked blank.
"Pat puts in an order for us every day at Salon Verde," he said. "It's a burger joint, has a salad bar," he added hastily.
"Just in case I wanted foie gras?" Mandy said mildly. "I know Salon Verde, it's across from the court house. I’m familiar with the area. I'll have a grilled cheese sandwich and an order of Burt's potato sticks. And a bottle of clementine ade."
He didn't say "touché" but she could see him thinking just that. He gave the order to Pat, adding a hamburger for himself, and then asked Pat to send Frank Wancek down to his office.
Mandy wondered who Frank Wancek was but thought it would be rude to ask. Kelly saw her expression and said, "Frank is our Magic Man, our top researcher. I sent him the list we just made and I want to tell him what we need from it."
Mandy watched him operate with admiration. He could have talked to Frank over the phone but she had already noticed that Kelly got people to perform for him by interacting with them personally. He had learned a long time ago the impact of his physical presence and used it to his advantage.
Sharp guy, she thought. And then, watch it. He'll do the same thing to you.
His phone buzzed and he said, "Excuse me," to her as he answered it.
"Do you want me to step out?" Mandy asked, rising.
He shook his head, waving her back into her seat. She listened to him having a conversation with somebody about extraditing a criminal from Virginia to Pennsylvania. He had just hung up the phone when his door, which had been ajar, opened the rest of the way and a very young uniformed officer entered and grinned at Kelly.
"You rang?" he said.
"Franco, my boy," Kelly said. "I have an assignment for you."
"Yeah," Frank said. "I saw the first list already."
"I want you to comb through that roster of Nobel Laureates and come up with a handful, maybe the five or six most likely to terrorize an ADA who prosecuted them. You know, revenge seekers, grudge settlers, bozos with a history of going after the lawyers or cops they think put them in jail." He paused. “We’re looking for a stalker.”
Mandy watched Kelly silently.
"There's probably a strong sexual angle to it, too," Kelly added casually,
not looking at Mandy. "This is the young lady he's annoying," he added, gesturing to Mandy. "Amanda Redfield, meet Frank Wancek."
"How do you do, Miss?" Frank said, smiling at her.
Mandy nodded.
“I should warn you that this process may take a while,” Kelly said to Frank. “Miss Redfield has been in the DA’s office for almost four years and a lot of perps could have seen her. Any one of them could have developed a grudge against her, or a fantasy about her, or an imaginary relationship with her. The watchwords are patience and persistence. We have to consider everybody. When we come up empty with one group we’ll move on to the next. Okay?”
Mandy realized that he was making this speech for her benefit as well as Frank’s.
"Go to it, my son," Kelly said to the younger cop.
"You owe me five bucks, Brendan," Frank replied.
Kelly held up one finger. "Thou shalt not remind a superior office of his debts. Not if you want to get promoted and wind up in one of these palatial offices reserved for only the most successful of Metro's finest. Roasting in summer, freezing in winter, roach infested always, one of these hand carved desks awaits you ONLY if you return with the information I requested in," he glanced at his watch, "ninety minutes."
Mandy was trying not to laugh, amazed at Kelly's transformation. He had barely said two words to her that were unrelated to her case but here he was teasing this kid and revealing a personality he had obviously been hiding from her. Why? Did she seem like such a stick to him, a grind without a sense of humor? Or was he walking on eggshells because of Manning's involvement in the case? Either idea disturbed her.
"I'm on it," Frank said. "You can just give me a pack of your Luckies and we'll call it even."
"Never," Kelly replied piously. "I won't contribute to the delinquency of a minor. How old are you again?"
"Forty," Frank said, and went out through the door.
"He's actually twenty-three," Kelly said to Mandy.
"He looks twelve," she replied.
"Don't let the chubby cheeks fool you. That kid is a computer whiz, like one of those people who can tell you whether or not it rained on March 10, 1945, but can't look you in the eye or tie their shoes. What do you call them?"
"Autistic."
"Right. Except Frank's not...weird...he's just a baby who got his first computer at three and has never gone offline since."
Pat Harris pushed in the door Frank had left open and said, "Salon Verde special." She handed Kelly a large brown bag and added, "Enjoy."
A heavenly smell was emanating from the package. Mandy eyed it with interest.
"Do you mind eating in here?" Kelly asked her, as Pat left.
"In this palatial office? With the roaches? No, of course not."
His lips twitched but he didn't answer. He came out from behind his desk and rummaged through the bag, coming up with the Styrofoam box containing her sandwich and handing it to her.
"Watch out for the cholesterol in that cheese, counselor," he said, unwrapping his hamburger.
"Watch out for the lung cancer in the Luckies, Detective," Mandy replied sunnily, meeting his direct blue gaze.
So he was willing to joke with her now, Mandy noted. He was relaxing.
Things were looking up.
And his first name was Brendan.
* * * * *
That weekend Mandy went with Tom to a restaurant they frequented to pay a political debt to its owner. Sal Cannettone had made a hefty donation to Tom’s campaign fund. He liked to see Tom having dinner at his place, making the locals aware that Pirro’s was the dining choice of their Congressman and his lovely fiancée. Mandy was certainly not in the mood for an evening out but went along from a sense of obligation to Tom’s career. She would just be sitting home anyway waiting for the next shoe to drop, so a distraction was welcome.
Tom picked her up and they made the short drive to a commuter town halfway to Philadelphia. Tom stopped the car under the awning at the entrance to the restaurant. The valet ran over to take the wheel as Tom walked around and helped Mandy out of the passenger door. The car glided away from them as Mandy and Tom walked past the trees, decorated with tiny lights, which flanked the main doors.
"Congressman Henderson," the maitre d' said pleasantly as they entered the hushed, carpeted interior. "And Ms. Redfield."
Mandy smiled back mechanically. The hostess bustled over and greeted them effusively, chatting amiably as she led them to their regular table in a secluded corner. Mandy followed Tom around a banquette and a standing plant which blocked her view. She walked past the grand piano, silent now as the pianist was taking a break, and right into Brendan Kelly. He was waiting at the entrance to a back patio filled with glass tables which opened for dining in warm weather.
They stared at one another in surprise.
Kelly was wearing a dark pinstriped suit with a cream shirt which contrasted with his tanned skin. His eyes looked pool blue in the restaurant’s low lighting.
"Detective Kelly," Mandy said, recovering. "How nice to see you. This is my fiancé, Congressman Tom Henderson. Tom, this is Detective Brendan Kelly."
The two men shook hands. "Always a pleasure to see one of our boys in blue," Tom said, slipping easily into politician mode.
"Detective Kelly has been working with me on the ... my problem," Mandy said lamely, looking around for their table, anxious to get Tom away from Kelly.
A small, dark woman in a little black dress appeared and hesitated behind Kelly, sizing up the situation and staying back from them. Kelly looked over his shoulder at her and she raised her brows.
That woman is a cop, Mandy thought. She recalled seeing her at the police station wearing a detective's shield. Were they at Pirro's because Mandy was there or were they working another case? Then the obvious dawned on her.
Kelly was on a date.
Mandy tried not to stare but she darted glances at Kelly's companion, noting the neat, voluptuous figure in the fitted sheath and the smooth fall of her dark brown hair. She was an eye catching brunette in her thirties wearing vivid lipstick and carrying a small envelope purse.
Mandy tried to recall the name she had seen on the woman's badge. Grant? Grody? Grady. Janet Grady.
"Your table is ready, sir," announced a waitress who arrived to shepherd Kelly and his companion onto the patio.
Kelly smiled and shrugged. "Good to meet you," he said to Tom. He glanced at Mandy once and then followed the waitress though the glass doors, the woman in black at his side.
"Well, that was painless," Tom said to Mandy as they sat at their table. "I usually have to spend more time stroking the egos of the local constabulary when I get trapped with one of them."
Mandy picked up the menu and stared at it ostentatiously, hoping that he would drop the subject.
Of course he didn't. "That guy is a detective?" he said to Mandy. "He looks awfully young."
"Promotion is based on merit, not age," she said flatly. "And performance in the military helps a lot. He got a Purple Heart in Iraq before he joined the police force."
"Bravo. I'm sure his little girlfriend there is very impressed."
"She's not his girlfriend. They're both detectives."
"She could still be his girlfriend. How do you know about his background?"
"I was given some information about him after he was assigned to my case. I think his boss, Lieutenant Manning, wants my father to know that I'm in good hands."
"And are you?"
"So far," she said lightly. "The veal scaloppini special sounds good," she added, trying to redirect his attention.
"He looks like an escapee from a war movie," Tom observed, snapping his fingers for the wine steward to come to their table. “Hair’s too long for the army, though.”
"Marines," Mandy corrected, wondering what Kelly’s relationship with Janet Grady was.
"Oh, then he's a Blue Marine," Tom observed.
"What's that?"
"A cop who used to be a Marine. Th
e two careers go well together. Same skill set, I guess."
"I see."
"Well, I hope he can afford this place on a cop's salary," Tom said jovially.
Mandy looked toward the patio as Tom engaged the steward in conversation. She wondered where Kelly and his friend were sitting and then forced herself to think about something else.
* * * * *
It was ten o'clock by the time they finished dining, and Mandy went to the ladies room while Tom summoned the car. She was walking back toward the entrance when she saw Kelly at the bar, turning away from the counter with a drink in his hand.
"Hello again," she said to him.
"Hi," he said. His tie was off, sticking out of his jacket pocket, and his collar was unbuttoned.
This was not a man who liked to dress up, even though he wore the fancy clothes to perfection.
They gazed at one another as an awkward silence grew between them.
"You look...beautiful," he finally said, as if he had tried to come up with something more original and failed.
"Thank you."
The silence lengthened.
"Do you come here often?" she finally said desperately, dissolving into laughter as she heard herself reciting a tired cliché also. This was going well.
He grinned. "Never."
"Well, did you enjoy it?" she asked lamely, and his smile widened.
"Not much. Green spaghetti is a new one on me."
Amanda's Blue Marine Page 3