False Witness (John Steel series Book 3) Read online

  She looked round at her surroundings and smiled. “Thank you for the kind offer, Captain, but I must be getting back.”

  Brant gave an insincere smile and shook her limp hand. “Oh I understand perfectly, Agent Lloyd, until next time.”

  She moved quickly across the floor towards the elevator whilst answering a call on her cell phone that had just rung in her jacket pocket. Brant watched her press the button several times before disappearing down the stairwell next to the elevator wall.

  He felt the same wariness that Tooms did. Was she to be trusted? And how much information would she give up? The elevator doors slid open and McCall stepped out onto the floor, with Steel close behind. Their expressions suggested that something was not right.

  “So what did the doc find on your vic?” Brant asked, walking slowly halfway out of his office to meet them.

  Steel gave an easy look and rocked a flat open palm. “Uhm, not so much ON, as IN, really.”

  Brant looked at McCall in confusion as she abruptly sat down in her chair.

  “Someone had put a scorpion in his mouth and then sewed it shut,” Sam told her boss.

  Brant stood up straight after nearly dropping the coffee cup that was still in his hand. “They did what? Why in God’s name would they do that?”

  McCall pointed to Steel with her pen as he took the seat next to her desk. “Steel reckons it was some sort of sign, you know? ‘You lousy snitch’ type of sign.”

  Steel looked thoughtful for a brief moment before looking back at them. Sam picked up on his moment of inattention.

  “What, Steel?” she asked. “Just what are you thinking?”

  Steel sat back in the chair and looked up at the evidence board. “Why would anyone want him dead? After all he didn’t seem to know anybody, or have any enemies.”

  Sam McCall bounced the pen off her chin as she tried to come up with something—anything.

  Steel felt the cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and opened up the view screen and read the text that he had just received. His face betrayed no emotion, apart from taking on an apparently purposeful look.

  The British detective stood up and headed to the back room that he had commandeered as his own office and slammed the door. Brant and McCall looked at each other, puzzled by the sudden change in his behaviour.

  “What’s up with Wonder Boy? And why the hell has he gone into the storage room?” Brant’s gaze headed back to the door in between the recreation room and the corridor to the holding cells.

  McCall looked at the captain. She was just as confused as he was.

  “Maybe it’s this other case he’s been working on?” she suggested. Then she saw the questioning look on her boss’s face.

  “What the hell other case?” Brant demanded. “This is the only one you guys have had recently.”

  McCall realised her mistake and headed off after Steel.

  “Maybe I was mistaken, sorry,” she called back.

  Brant could see she was covering for him and hoped that she knew what she was doing.

  Sam backed into the old storage room and shut the door slowly, checking to make sure the captain wasn’t behind her.

  “You know the captain’s real pissed—” Her words faded as she looked round at the transformed room.

  Oak panelling covered the lower half of the walls. The upper part had burgundy velvet wallpaper. There was heavy oak furniture and thick leather chesterfield armchairs sat before a grand looking ‘partners’ writing desk. This had a green leather-topped inlay and carved side panels. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the extravagance.

  “Oh my God, how did you do this? When did you?”

  Steel turned in his red leather captain’s chair and smiled at her appreciation. “I had it done in the holidays, no one was really around, and I picked up the slack while the boys worked their magic.” He looked round and breathed in the musky scent of old wood and leather.

  McCall walked up to a sixty-inch smart-board that looked as though it was part of the wall, and touched it.

  The screen immediately came on, a colourful picture view as though it was a window showing the New York skyline. Along the left-hand side different files sat ready to be opened. Her eyes caught a glimpse of one of them that simply said missing.

  “So how many channels do you get on this thing?” McCall asked, impressed by the toy.

  “Sorry, I only get porn, hardly your taste I would think.” His joke made her smile.

  “Oh, I don’t know, you’d be surprised by my taste, Mr Steel.”

  Steel raised an eyebrow over the top of his sunglasses, charmed by the friendly flirtation.

  “Does the captain know about this?” she asked.

  John Steel gave a quick smile. “It took a large contributionto the pension fund, but it was worth it.”

  McCall looked around before backing onto one of the armchairs and easing into it. The leather creaked with age as she settled herself comfortably.

  “It’s lucky you got a couple of bucks then.” McCall watched Steel cross the room to a large wall unit that had several books and other homely items on it. He picked up a decanter of pure crystal and poured two glasses of clear liquid into two matching crystal glasses.

  “You know we’re on duty, right?” McCall said, looking at him, shocked he would even consider drinking.

  “Don’t worry, it’s water.” He smiled as he handed her the glass. “It’s not what’s in the crystal glass, it’s the fact you’re drinking from it that makes the difference.”

  Sam took a sip and silently smiled to herself. She had to agree, but she wasn’t about to tell him so.

  “I take it you told Brant about my little side quest?” John Steel said.

  McCall looked at him awkwardly. He just looked contented and sat in the chair next to hers.

  “So what is this case you’re on?” she asked.

  Steel just sat back and enjoyed the feel of the leather against his back. “It is not important. Besides I have hit a... dead end, shall we say.”

  McCall nodded, hoping that didn’t mean what she thought it meant.

  “So our vic,” he began. “What do we know about him apart from the fact that he hated going outside his flat?”

  McCall took out her notebook from her jacket pocket and flicked through the pages. “Well, he was fifty-seven years old, divorced and lived alone. Apart from that we have nothing until records comes back to us.” She put her notebook away and took another sip of water, watching the rainbow collect on her hand as the shimmering light from the lamp reflected on the cut-glass surface.

  “But according to his daughter he was a gym teacher until ten years ago. So what happened ten years ago?”

  Sam McCall stood up and placed the glass down on the leather part of his desk.

  “I guess we have to ask the ex-wife.”

  Steel nodded, having had the same thought. McCall shook her keys at him as she turned to leave.

  “I take it you’re driving then?” Steel yelled after her as she opened the door.

  “You get a car and you can drive,” she yelled back, causing him to smile wickedly.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I have a car,” he mumbled under his breath.

  TEN

  It was around half one by the time McCall had pulled up on the same street as Marie Heller’s building. As she got out of her faded blue 1966 Mustang, Samantha McCall felt the warmth of the sun on her skin; a cool breeze found its way down the long street and brushed past her and slightly lifted her shoulder-length brown hair.

  The whole street had the stench of money, the apartments here were full of lawyers, doctors and anyone with a large enough bank account.

  “Nice neighbourhood,” Steel noted, looking up at the aging architecture as he closed the car door.

  “Yeah, even the muggers say please and thank you round here,” she quipped.

  The British detective grinned in response as they headed towards a large building just down from where they ha
d parked.

  Carlson’s ex had remarried into money and got as far away from her old life as she possibly could. They stopped and looked up at the towering monument to a greater lifestyle.

  “I’m quite surprised you didn’t move here,” she remarked to the man beside her, who was so clearly used to the finer things in life.

  John Steel looked around at the large lobby with its Victorian furnishings that blended with the modern flooring and the long marble-topped front desk.

  “Nah, too stuffy for me. Besides it’s miles away from the park.”

  She smiled to herself, as she knew these people were either rich through their own efforts, or had inherited money. Steel had to be loaded, she thought: after his parents had been murdered he had inherited his father’s title, and was now Lord Steel.

  They headed for a tall thin man in his late fifties that McCall figured was either the manager or his second in command.

  The man turned towards them as they approached. “Good afternoon, sir, madam, how may I help you?”

  McCall lifted a large A4-sized leather organizer that had her shield pinned to its back. “Detectives McCall and Steel to see Mrs Heller.”

  The man smiled politely and lifted a handset from its cradle, and McCall watched as he pressed a series of numbers and waited.

  She figured that someone must have answered as the desk clerk, who had black greased-back hair, cradled the handset and turned away from them to make his conversation appear to be less suspicious. Steel watched and shook his head.

  “Yeah, saying that wouldn’t draw attention, would it?” he muttered. McCall elbowed him in the ribs and tried not to smile.

  “She will see you now,” said Greasy-hair. “Take the elevator up to the tenth floor. She is in room ten-eighteen.” The man looked ill at ease and Steel could not help but think he was hiding something and that whatever it was had nothing to do with Mrs Heller. He shook off the feeling and followed McCall to the gold-coloured elevator doors.

  “Did something seem wrong about that to you?” she asked as they stepped inside one of the elevator cars that was about to leave.

  “Yeah, but I think it has nothing to do with what we’re interested in finding out. It’s either a vice or a robbery problem... ooh, or the guy is a nark.” Steel said this loudly so that everyone around could hear.

  “You’re such an ass!” McCall said, glaring forwards with a stern look. The doors opened after their short journey and she stepped out of it, forgetting the spat with her unconventional colleague.

  Room ten-eighteen was about a minute’s walk from the elevator on the left-hand side of the corridor. McCall pressed on the brass doorbell that sat squarely between the doorframe and a watercolour of a waterfall.

  They didn’t have to wait long before a short woman in a black and white maid’s uniform answered the door.

  “Hi,” Sam began. “I am Detective McCall and this is Detective Steel. We are here to see Mrs Heller.”

  The maid nodded and opened the door to let them through, saying, “Please, will you follow me?”

  John Steel could tell by her accent and her looks that she was probably from Kosovo or some other Balkan region: he had spent enough time there when he was with the Army in the nineties to recognise people from that part of the world.

  The apartment was large and modern with antique pictures and the odd piece of furniture here and there. The young woman led them down a long hallway to the sitting room, where a woman sat on a long white couch.

  “Mrs Heller, the detectives are here, shall I prepare some tea?” the maid asked.

  The woman smiled and nodded.

  McCall and Steel approached the blonde-haired woman, who Steel estimated to be in her late fifties. Cosmetics and good living had clearly knocked a few years off her actual age, as she appeared to be a good decade younger. The woman rose to greet them.

  “Hello, ma’am,” Sam began. “I am Detective McCall and this is Detective Steel. We are here because of your ex-husband, Andrew Carlson.” McCall saw the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of Mrs Heller’s eyes. Using a handkerchief that she kept in the sleeve of her blouse, the older woman dabbed the tears away before they began to flow down her pale cheeks.

  “Please, sit,” Marie Heller insisted, pointing to two armchairs that sat the other side of a glass coffee table.

  McCall and Steel thanked her and sat down. As they did so, McCall took out her small recorder and placed it on top of a pile of magazines arranged in a fanned display.

  Steel looked at the pile and calculated that none of them had ever been read by this family—they were mostly about home decoration and interior design.

  A couple of women’s magazines as well as some travel brochures were amongst several other dull looking titles, most likely used to spark off conversations for when the Hellers’ friends came round.

  Marie Heller turned out to be softly spoken, and her voice held a hint of arrogance, and Sam detected airs and graces in her tones.

  McCall gave a special smile she reserved for those who were newly bereaved. The maid walked in with a silver tray laden with a large china jug and several cups and saucers. A silver milk jug and sugar bowl sat neatly on one side of it.

  The maid then filled all three cups and passed them round, starting with McCall. McCall smiled her thanks and took out her notebook.

  “I presume your daughter has explained a great deal?” McCall surmised, watching as Marie took up the cup and saucer. She nodded to confirm McCall’s suspicion.

  “Yes, poor girl. The doctor has given her something to help her sleep for a few days, because she’s in such a state of shock.Strange.” Marie looked curiously disinterested, making Steel’s brow furrow with suspicion.

  “What’s strange?” McCall asked the question for him.

  “She wanted to go back to work. She didn’t want to let anyone down.”

  Sam could sense an odd tone in her voice, even though she tried to hide it.

  “Mrs Heller, can you think of any reason why someone would do this to him?”

  Marie looked at her cup and the dark liquid it contained. “Detective, my hus—, that is my ex-husband never left the house—not ever. I don’t know of anyone who would want to kill a man whose only company is a case of cheap beer in the refrigerator.”

  Steel regarded the brightly lit apartment, thoughts cascading through his mind.

  “If he didn’t work, where was the money coming from for bills and living expenses?” Sam asked her.

  Marie took a small sip of coffee and placed the china cup on its saucer. “After the divorce we sold the house and we split it. He gets welfare benefits for being medically impaired. He can’t go outside so the state pays him to stay at home.”

  McCall looked over at Steel then back at Marie. The female detective got just as far as opening her mouth to ask a question, when Steel shot in with one of his own:

  “Tell me, Mrs Heller, what happened ten years ago?” Steel’s abrupt interruption was designed to elicit some kind of reaction.

  Marie’s face dropped and she stood up, beads of sweat starting to collect around her forehead. “Well, Detective, I think we are all done, thank you for calling.”

  She made a hand signal to someone who was standing behind the two detectives. Steel looked around, half expecting to see the tiny maid but instead he caught sight of a huge man with a shaven head and, apparently, no neck.

  “Thank you for your time, ma’am,” McCall said, picking up the recorder and placing it in her jacket pocket. She gave a businesslike smile as she turned to leave.

  The British detective sized up the man as he rose from his chair. Sure he was large but he was too large. Steel knew that he could have the man on the floor and unconscious in around a minute—maybe even in a couple of seconds.

  “If we have any more questions we will let you know.” McCall turned back to face the now shaken Marie Heller who, after gathering herself together, straightened up and smiled like a cat
.

  “If you wish to speak to me again, Detective, it will have to be through my lawyers,” she told them.

  The large man extended a hand to usher them out. Steel stopped at the entrance to the sitting room, and then turned to face Marie Heller.

  “It must have shaken him up pretty badly when you dumped him for a rich guy,” he said, almost conversationally.

  Marie Heller scowled, almost baring her teeth. “He left me alone with a child and no support! But I see no reason to justify my actions to you, Detective. It was his fault not mine. It was all their—” She stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly realising what she had just admitted.

  “Please leave and never come back unless you have a warrant, which I doubt you will get,” Marie Heller told them curtly. She turned and looked out of the large picture window at the panoramic view of Manhattan.

  As the two detectives entered the hallway, the door was slammed behind them as if it was meant as some sort of warning.

  “Did you get that last speech?” Steel asked as McCall took out the recorder from her pocket and switched it off.

  “How do you know I didn’t switch it off before?”

  Steel tilted his head forwards as if to look down his glasses at her. “Because you knew I wouldn’t leave without getting a reaction from her.”

  McCall grinned as she pressed the elevator call button. “Oh, I think you hit a nerve alright, question is, what the hell happened ten years ago?”

  John Steel shrugged at the question. He had a head full of theories and none of them made sense.

  “Okay, so what now?” McCall asked, looking back at the closed door to the Hellers’ apartment.

  “Can I get a coffee, I never got to even start drinking mine,” Steel joked.

  McCall shook her head in disbelief as the doors to the elevator slid open.

  “Unbelievable,” she said, walking into the mirrored booth. As the doors started to slide shut she thought she saw the face of the maid peer round the Heller apartment’s doorway, a frightened look on her face. As they closed completely, McCall knew something was wrong.

  There was a lot more to know, but Mrs. Heller wasn’t about to tell them anything.