Hunting Sweetie Rose

CHAPTER 19.

We stood in Sweetie’s kitchen.

“Tell me again, Elstrom. Beginning in the hall downstairs.” The man in charge, a lieutenant named Plinnit, was tall like me, and packing twenty pounds too many, also like me. He’d come with another detective and two uniforms seven minutes after I’d called. Rich people got fast service, even in crime.

“I didn’t figure she was home, because there was no guard off the lobby,” I said.

“She always had a guard?”

“Pretty much.” I nodded toward the living room. “Timothy Duggan worked full-time. He told me he hired others, to fill in for events and things.”

“Why does she have guards?” His eyes didn’t blink.

“She’s got a lot of money.” It was no time for candor.

“Bullshit.”

“You’d have to ask Ms. Fairbairn.”

“All right. Go on.”

“I was surprised when her elevator opened.”

“It was unlocked?”

“Yes.” Without thinking, my hand moved to my pants pocket, to finger the keys I’d found lying on the carpet. I dropped my hand. I didn’t need to be found with keys that weren’t mine.

“You entered the elevator and went up?”

“I expected someone would be upstairs in the foyer.”

“A guard?”

“A guard.”

“And when you got up here, there was no one?”

“No one.”

“Meaning no guard? No live guard?”

“Duggan was dead, facedown on the carpet. You know that.”

“Sweetie Fairbairn was here, though, right?”

“Trying to help Duggan. I think you ought to talk to her.”

Anger flashed across his face, but just as quickly, he made it go away. “All right, Elstrom. Can you tell me if you’ve been here before?”

“Three times. First for a party three nights ago.”

“Why?”

“She was thinking about hiring me.”

“Why?”

“You have to ask her.”

“You don’t have confidentiality protection, Elstrom. You’re not her lawyer. You’re not even a licensed investigator.”

“Ask her anyway, Lieutenant.”

Plinnit looked across the kitchen at the other detective. He was much bigger, at least three hundred pounds of solid Chicago beef, gray-eyed and gray-haired. The other man shrugged slightly. Plinnit turned back to me.

“You came into the living room,” he went on, “and saw the guard lying on the floor.”

“Duggan. Yes.”

“You also saw your client.”

“Trying to help Duggan, as I said.” I hoped it wasn’t a lie. I couldn’t really tell what she’d been doing, but I’d seen no weapon.

“Then you called us.”

“First I told Ms. Fairbairn to go to her room and lie down. She was obviously in shock. It was then that I called 911. I waited in the foyer.”

“You know shock? You’re a doctor, Elstrom?”

“She looked like she was in shock.”

“You know her bedroom?”

He was goading, prompting for any kind of a slip.

“No. I just figured it was down the hall. Look, she left the living room. I called 911, for an ambulance, for the police. Then I went to wait in the foyer.”

“By the elevator door?”

“Of course. It’s a small foyer.”

“The whole time?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean: Did you wait in the foyer the whole time after calling 911?”

“It took only a few minutes for you to get here.”

“You believe Ms. Fairbairn will back this up as well?”

“No, Lieutenant, she won’t. It was after she headed for her bedroom that I called, and then went to wait in the foyer.”

“Ah yes, her bedroom; that bedroom down the hall.”

The other detective left the kitchen. I heard him out in the hall, talking to someone. He came back a minute later. Plinnit raised his eyebrows. The other man shook his head.

“We’re having a problem getting Ms. Fairbairn to corroborate any part of your story, Elstrom.”

“She’s in shock. Get a doctor. Sedate her. In the morning, she’ll be able to have her lawyer tell you everything you need to know.”

Plinnit came to stand next to me. “We’ll escort Mr. Elstrom down to our office,” he said to the other detective.

Plinnit’s hand was strong on my shoulder. I tried to relax. It would not do to make any moves.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked as Plinnit steered me through the living room, past the live evidence technicians and the dead Timothy Duggan.

“Sweetie Fairbairn is not in this penthouse, Mr. Elstrom.”