Scripting a Murder

[chanaud]

OOC: A closed thread...

“How long ago was this photo taken?” Detective John Bailey turned the hard covered book over and noted the title was fairly a new one. He knew that only because there was an exact copy to the one in his hand sitting atop the nightstand by his wife’s side who happened to be a loyal fan.

“Just a year ago, last month,” the deputy replied gruffly.

Detective Bailey released a whistle and whispered to no one in particular.“Jesus what the hell happened to him?”

The smiling face in the photo resembled nothing like the man sitting in the next room with his head hung low, hair gray and unkempt. The famous face on the cover was youthful, the eyes danced with the camera with just a few touches of grays above the ears giving him what most women and men had labeled him as handsome and distinguished.

“Do you believe his testimony?” Detective John asked.

“I made some phone calls before I came up with this picture. There ain’t no “Ellen Jamesson with the description he’d given.”

“Did you check the Times? He claimed she was wearing a press pass when they first met?”

“The Times, the Voice, the Tribune..and even the local college papers. The only Ellen Jamesson I can find is an 86 year old lady who writes a Dear Abby article for the Duluth Weekly. Don’t tell me you believe him?” The young rookie detective asked incredulously.

“Well… his story doesn’t sound believable. In fact… it sounds as if he’s reading from one of his stories. But…” His voice trailed off as he stared into the one way mirror and observed the powerless author staring at his hands trembling uncontrollably.

“But there’s something about him. Something in his eyes… I can’t quite shake off.”

The rookie couldn’t believe his ears. How can anyone, even his mentor, the veteran John Bailey believe what was just told to them. The author is guilty. His fingertips were all over the crime scene. The victim’s blood was found under his fingernails.

“Well he’s a famous author, writes about a serial murderer, a sick fuck doing despicable acts with his victims.…”

The veteran detective knew of the character. His wife is absolutely fascinated with Lance Bennett’s novels and insists on reading aloud at times when he’s watching the news.

“Tell you what.. let’s get his story again. Just to see if there are any contradictions.”

“Guess I better call the missus and tell her I’m working late.” The young detective muttered loudly. John Bailey nodded slowly. He should too, but his mind was elsewhere.

“Lance Bennett… what will your fans say about you now..”

 

[darrenfate]

Lightning flashed. Followed by rain in sheets. Perfect Lance thought.

You look lost Mr. Bennett. What are you thinking?

The weather outside. Reminds me of "It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents “ that is the opening line in a story by Paul Clifford written in 1830. It is the first known use of the phrase “It was a dark and stormy night”. I looked it up last week. I guess I was actually thinking of Ellen. At her insistence we exclusively drank Goslings dark rum and ginger beer – an odd concoction called a “Dark and Stormy”. Like the night tonight.

The Detective just stared.

Sorry, you did ask. Did you find her? Lance asked, changing the subject.

Mr. Bennett – the Times never heard of an Ellen Jamesson. From what we can tell, she doesn’t work for any news agency. Not in the DMV either. Care to change your story?

Lance staggered back as if from a blow to the face.

That’s not possible. Perhaps you misspelled her name …

No sir. There has been no mistake.

Let’s go over everything again, shall we. I think we need to go to the station first.

Lance’s mind reeled. Numbly he acquiesced. He thought about calling for his lawyer, but he knew he was innocent. Better to give his full statement now and get the police on the right track. He took one last look at the body, and shivered. The killer was one sick bastard, killing by arsenic poisoning and chopping off the victim’s hands. He’d never forget the dead woman’s face.

Detective Bailey drove in silence, then sat across from him in the interview room, motioning for Lance to start.

Ok. From the top. About six weeks ago, I got a call from a woman named Ellen Jamesson. She said she was investigating two killings that had a similar MO to the killer in my book “Murder on the 60th Floor”. The plot is a junior legal associate in a huge firm had tried to sleep her way to a partnership and then when turned down, exacted her revenge on all the partners that she had slept with. The tricky part, she waited a full ten years before exacting her revenge. You know, a play off that old expression “Revenge is best served cold”. My fictional cops had one helluva time tracking her down as one by one the senior partners turned up dead. Seems she wanted to kill off everyone that had groped then fucked her, hence the severed hands.

Why didn’t you report this connection to the police?

Well, Ellen said that we didn’t have much, and she really wanted to break the kind of big story that could make her famous. I liked her, and since we had no real evidence I went along. She was convinced we had a copycat killer. I told you about the two cases at our first interview.

Where were you on the nights of these murders? October 3rd 2004 and August 20th 2004?

Lance consulted his Blackberry. I was alone at home both nights.

Convenient, no alibi for you. Continue.

Lance shuddered. He hadn’t ever checked his own whereabouts for those days. In his hectic 7 day a week book promotion schedule that fall it was odd indeed. He only had had a few days off in six months. Lance felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Something was wrong here. No way that those two dates should correspond to an empty schedule. He wasn’t going to tell Bailey this, at least right now.

Well, Ellen and I met a lot after that. Three or four times a week. I gave her my own notes and background information. We became close.

Close? How close?

Lovers ....
More like sex starved rabbits Lance thought. He left this part out too.

Let’s go back to these meetings. Restaurants?

Sometimes, at first just Starbucks.

Did she ever pay?

Not often … and never any charges. She was funny about that. Always paid cash. Said it was the way her grandmother that lived through the Depression had taught her. Use cash when you are lucky enough to have it, she said.

Untraceable money trail then. Where does she live?

I don’t know exactly. She said that she had a brownstone over on 5th near Central Park. I never went there though. We always came back to my place.

Do you know any God Damned thing about her Bennett? Let’s focus on tonight now, shall we? Why did you go to Mrs. Lester’s home?

Ellen called. Said that this Mrs. Lester had known one of the victims, and had remembered something that could be useful to us. Ellen told me to meet her there. The apartment door was ajar. I called. No answer. I heard a loud radio in the bedroom. I went to the bedroom door to knock. As I touched the door it fell open, and Mrs. Lester fell in my arms. She was clearly dead, blood was everywhere.

I called 911. You know the rest.

Lance went through his story again three more times, and each time he told it he became more and more convinced that Ellen had set him up. But why? Why? Damn her!

Finally, the detective pushed away from the table. We’re done here for now. You are not under arrest, at least for now. Come back in at 11 am tomorrow morning, and I’ll have a police artist sit down with you and sketch out what Ellen Jamesson looks like. Don’t leave town.

Lance left. It was close to 3:00 am. The taxi dropped him off at his loft.

He desparately wanted to wash the blood off him. His shower felt good. Hot – to the point of scalding.

His phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number. Naked and dripping wet, he answered.

Hello?

Miss me lover?

Ellen!

 

[chanaud]

“Hey, you did miss me!” Ellen chuckled lazily into the phone. Her voice was low and raspy, she sounded extremely tired.

“Where are you? Where were you?” Lance exclaimed.

“Jesus… it’s been a night. I’ve just returned home from the hospital.”

“What happened, are you ok?” His night was soon forgotten. Like always, Ellen was on stage, and she had the spotlight.

“Now I am,” Ellen answered. “I was on way over to meet you, but I got mugged on West 57th and 8th . Some young kid pushed me down from behind, and held me at gunpoint.”

“Jesus!” Was all Lance could mutter. “Are you hurt?”

“Not too badly. Just my pride. I can’t believe I didn’t hear or feel him behind me,” Ellen admitted.

Lance nodded. In the short amount of time he’s known her, he knew she doesn’t like anyone to get the best of her, even a criminal.

“My knees are bandaged. The doctor ordered me off them for awhile,” she continued, her voice low and sultry. “I suppose we’re going to find another position while I suck you.”

Lance felt himself harden. Just the mere thought of her lips wrapped around his cock made him like that. “We definitely will,” he answered. Then the guilt hit him. He really shouldn’t be thinking about sex right now. Not after what happened to her. Or to him. But she always had this power over him. And she knew it.

“Thank goodness you’re alright. Did he take anything beside your pride?”

“Just my bracelet. You know.. the one my grandmother gave me.”

Though they were talking on the phone, Lance nodded. He knew of the bracelet. It would shine into his eyes, blinding him during the peak moments of her orgasm. He didn’t know it was from her grandmother.

“Enough about me. That’s not the reason why I called. Did you meet the Lesters?”

“We have to talk.” He said, dropping his voice to a bare audible whisper.
“Oh… that good, huh?”

“Not here. On the phone. Let’s meet. Your place.”

There was a long pause. Lance can actually see Ellen’s mind thinking things through. Lance had expected an excuse to avoid him from coming over. But he wasn’t going to have it this time. He has to find out who Ellen really is.

“Ok. I suppose it’s time you saw my place.” She finally responded with much resignation.

Now that was an answer he wasn’t expecting!

After recording her address, he called a cab immediately. There weren’t too many people milling around. Just the early morning shift on their way to work. It was the time Lance liked the city the most. But tonight his mind was elsewhere. He sat blindly trying to sort out all the information that was thrown at him in a single night. Why did she agree to him coming over after avoiding it for a year? Or was she avoiding it for a year? Was he ever curious before? It was all too confusing. All he knew was he had to find out who the real Ellen Jamesson was.

“I need to make a stop,” Lance ordered to the driver. “Mercy Hosptital.”
Lance knew exactly who to see at Mercy. There was an orderly who allowed him access to any records for a crisp fifty dollar bill.

Tucked away in an unoccupied office, Lance leafed through Ellen Jamesson’s file. The hospital had a copy of the police report in the file. Polaroids of her bruises and knees were clipped in the file. The one on her back where the gun was pointed at made Lance’s stomach turn.

All information was exactly how Ellen had described it. Maybe the detectives screwed up. Maybe they were just looking for a suspect and he was the obvious choice. Maybe….

Then something caught him to be odd. There wasn’t any insurance information. She paid by a check. How odd is that? And who has that kind of money in their checking account to be able to pay an emergency bill at once, especially on a reporter’s salary.

Ellen must have been waiting at the door. She opened the door immediately and gave him a tight hug. She smelled clean, her skin was warm and dewy. Her auburn hair was dripping wet. When she finally led him into the house, he noticed the cane.

“God, it’s so good to see you,” She hugged him tightly again. “I almost fell asleep waiting for you. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the kitchen while I change.”

 

[darrenfate]

Lance stood in the kitchen as she left, quietly opening the cabinet doors looking to see what he could see. Not anything abnormal here. He stopped when he came to the liquor.

“Dark and Stormy Ellen?” he asked

“Sounds perfect” she replied. “The liquor and glasses are in the …”

“Got em!” he answered cutting her off. Hefting two of the crystal glasses, he let out a low whistle. Real Waterford they were. Ellen had expensive tastes. Expertly he made the drinks up. It was one of the signs of his misspent youth, having spent considerable time on the other side of the bar. Twenty years later, he hadn’t lost his touch.

He heard a blow drier start up. Ellen’s hair had been wet, she obviously wasn’t long out of the shower. Involuntarily he shuddered. Taking a long hot shower had been the highlight of their first night together. She came twice before they even got to the bed. They had known instantly that they had something special together sexually. Nothing that had happened since disproved that notion.

As he walked towards her bedroom, Lance saw her purse on the table. Putting the drinks down, he seized the opportunity. Inside were all the usual items, credit cards and the like. Oddly, there was no drivers license. Tucked in a hidden fold was an interesting item, a library card. Not, however, from New York or even Jersey. This one was issued from Dade County Florida. As in Miami. Ellen had never mentioned living in Florida. Before Lance could think too much he realized that his time had almost run out. Ellen was sure to be finished soon and he didn’t want to get caught.

Lance quickly put everything back just as it was, and entered her bedroom.

There she was, in a soft cotton robe facing a huge full length mirror. The sash on the robe was loose, and her reflection revealed her perfect breasts. Lance stood quietly, and simply admired. He drank in every curve, from her graceful necklines, down across her breasts, to the breathtaking widening of her hips. He could practically see the wetness in her pussy, Ellen was always wet for him. Lance began to harden as his cock remembered plunging inside her again and again and again.

Ellen spotted him then, and started to turn.

“Please finish. I’m enjoying the view.” Lance said. Ellen smirked but kept facing the mirror. Just the way he wanted her.

“The Lesters. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Mrs. Lester was found murdered tonight. Brad Lester is missing. Worse, I’m the one that found her, and the cops also suspect me. She was dead when I arrived. “

“Oh Lance!” He could see her eyes widen in surprise and shock. She spun around.

“Are you all right?” Lance pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly. He felt her warm breasts against his chest.

“Now I’m better. Better than Mrs. Lester, that’s for sure. It was a long night at the police station. You are my only alibi and it seems the paper didn’t vouch for your employment. Made me look like a fool or a liar, maybe both. “

“I have a story to tell you Lance. I think its almost time.”

“Go ahead then. Start with who you really are!”

“I said almost time dear. We’ve both had a rough night. Are the Lesters all you are thinking about? Or do you want more from me?” she asked as she turned back to the mirror, slightly swaying her ass as she did so.

“MMMmmm I always want it all, Ellen”.

“Let me help your, er, imagination then.” She said, as she shrugged off the robe. It collapsed in a heap at her feet.

Now the view was downright spectacular. She stood facing away from him, and he could see her ass as well as her breasts in the mirror’s reflection. Ellen so loved to let him take her from behind, almost every love making session included her on her hands and knees. Lance shivered.

“Ellen, you always seem to know exactly what I want.“

“Men are so easy!” she teased.

“Oh, so its just me is it? We’ll see.” Lance took a long slug from his drink, as Ellen snapped off the blow drier. He slipped a glass into her hand.

“Stay facing the mirror, Ellen.” Lance commanded.

He slipped behind her, and cupped her breasts, slowly kneading her soft nipples and feeling them turn hard in his fingers.

“Drink up! I see that you have a bad bruise back here.” Lance started kissing down Ellen’s backbone, inching lower and lower until he was kissing around the bruise. He could smell her sex getting stronger and stronger the wetter she got. Gently, he spread her cheeks and pushed her slightly forward. He started kissing her ass, circling tighter and tighter around her exposed clit.

“Is there something you want from me Ellen? Because there is something I want to do to you.” Lance kept kissing, always kissing. Relentlessly kissing.

Without warning, still holding her cheeks apart with his strong hands, Lance plunged his full face down on her pussy.

Ellen screamed, her first primal scream of pleasure this night.

The time to talk was over.

 

[chanaud]

“Fuck!” Ellen cried out in ecstasy as her hands gripped the cold hard wall.
It has been like that ever since they first met. The sexual intensity between has been electrifying. Lance seemed to know exactly what her needs are without Ellen having to say anything. And for that, Lance was rewarded, handsomely by her unabashed lust.

His face dove in. His tongue followed up and down her slit, pausing a brief moment at her quivering hole, gathering copious amount of her wetness. Ellen pushed back forcefully almost knocking him backwards. Lance gripped her ass firmly, spread her cheeks and sucked her clit until Ellen shook violently.

Wordlessly, Lance stood up and held the back of her neck against the cold wall. Unceremoniously, he plunged in until his cock was fully buried. Ellen screamed. Lance was holding her exactly as the robber had, pinning her against her will. But this time she wasn’t afraid. The act was unthreating. Still flashes of Lance’s face replaced by the robber’s was etched in Ellen’s mind as they both came violently.

They fell in bed together, holding each other closely. Lance’s hand stroked her soft auburn hair gently. Ellen felt safe.

“Tell me about your evening.” Ellen whispered.

Slowly and methodically, Lance replayed the events. She didn’t say a word. She allowed him to digest it and sort out the details. It was how he worked. It was the writer in him.

After he finished, Lance wondered if she fell asleep. Her breath was shallow and her body was still.

“Let’s take notes tomorrow morning, ok?” She finally whispered sleepily.
Lance couldn’t sleep though. His mind played the events repeatedly, looking for inconsistencies. There were too many unanswered questions. Ellen being one of them.

The next morning, Lance woke up to an empty room. The sun was streaming brightly into the bedroom. He walked into the bathroom and performed his morning ritual. When he finished, he walked throughout the townhouse. It was a designer’s showcase. Antiques and priceless artifacts were strewn throughout the spacious rooms. As successful as he was, even Lance knew he couldn’t afford a place like this.

Finally he found Ellen in the kitchen, preparing a hearty breakfast. Dressed in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, sans makeup and shoes, she looked like a million bucks. Lance wondered why he hadn’t noticed before. He’s usually observant. How did this little fact escape him?

“Hungry?” She asked, while accepting a kiss from him.

“Very! For food, too!” Lance answered. Ellen pointed to the coffee pot. Lance nodded and helped himself. “Coffee with cream, right?” He asked even though he knew the answer. When he sat down at the counter, Lance watched Ellen breeze around the kitchen comfortably. A few minutes later, she slid on the barstool next to him with two heaping plates of eggs, bacon, potatoes and toast.

The moment Lance took a bite, his cell rang. It was an unrecognizable number.

“Damn.” He muttered with his mouthful. “Yes? Uh huh… it’s me. What??? When??? Right now? Sure! I’ll be there in a few.”

“What’s wrong, daring?” Ellen asked, concerned.

“The police are at my place. I guess I’ve been robbed.”

 

[darrenfate]

"I have to go, doll. I’ll handle it. You don't have to come" Lance said.

"Now you know that isn't true. I love to cum over and over and over …! ”

“You know, I like you more and more. Twisting everything that I say into sex. Don’t ever change babe! C’mere!”

Lance embraced Ellen, and they had a long sensual French kiss. He could feel her body intertwine with his, her hard nipples pressed against his chest through that soft T shirt. His hands drifted down to cup her ass cheeks. He began to get hard again. For a moment, he got completely lost in her sensuality. Sadly, he tore away.

“You have the warmest kiss, do you know that? He said.

“I have a warm pussy that needs to be filled too” she purred. “So hurry back and if you have been a good boy, I may let you fill me anywhere you would like. ”

Lance shuddered. Ellen had introduced him to anal sex, and she knew that he now craved her ass. All she had to do was mention it and he was driven wild.

“I’ll be back very soon, and I promise to be good, or is it for me to be bad that you want when I return? Either way, I’ll want it all!” Lance grinned, and left with another quick kiss.

As he pulled up to the apartment, two uniforms were on the porch. Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze across his doorway. He went to go in, but they blocked his path.

Detective Bailey came out just then, holding an old cup of Starbucks coffee tightly in his hand. Lance could see that the coffee had been in there awhile, the waterline had that telltale dark coffee ring showing it was hours old. Bailey’s face was tired, heavy lines etched in his face. He had had a long night. Two CSI type guys left, wordlessly getting into their van and speeding off.

“Seems like a lot of firepower for a robbery. Thanks, I appreciate it Bailey. What was taken?” Lance began to enter but was stopped by Bailey’s voice.

“Not so fast. I have a few questions first.” Bailey pulled out a battered notebook, and started making notes. He looked up and continued. “Where have you been since 10PM last night?”

Lance didn’t like the tone. Bailey’s voice was flat. Accusatory. “I’ve been with Ellen. At her place. “

“Now we are getting somewhere! This is the same mysterious Ellen from before right? Lance nodded. “What’s her address?”

Lance gave it, twice to be sure.

Bailey made more notes, then pulled out his phone turned his back and made a quick call. “I have to inform you Bennett that you are a person of interest in these cases.” Bailey then read him his Miranda rights. “Do you want a lawyer?”

“I have nothing to hide. I’ll talk to you. Did you say cases, as in plural? Are you accusing me of robbing my own apartment?”

“Robbery is the least of the crimes here. Another body was found, dead in your bedroom.”

“Oh my God”

“You can help us with the ID. When we go inside, don’t touch anything.”

Bailey led the way. In the main room, all the drawers had been pulled out, contents rifled through and dumped. His original Warhol lithograph was slashed, it hung askew on the wall. Surveying the damage, Lance knew that someone had been very pissed off.

The nude body lay facing away from him, her neck hideously twisted at an unnatural angle. Her hands were bound behind her, tied with the sash from his bathrobe. He saw the wedding band, and he knew.

Walking around to the front, he saw her face. The eyes were thankfully shut, the blue green colors forever extinguished.

“Cammie”, he said quietly.

“As in Cammie Lawrence, your ex wife?”

“Yes”

“That’s what I thought. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Three years ago. She is living upstate, in Albany. Dating again, trying to get her life back together. She has no key. Strange that she would wear that wedding ring still. We have been divorced for five years.”

Lance looked over at the wall of photographs above his desk. Some of these had been mutilated. Lance leaned forward. The ones of both of them were the only ones that had been touched. His likeness remained, hers were torn away. The killer had taken them. Lance’s reverie was interrupted by Bailey’s angry voice.

“You’re kidding me Bennett! You mean to tell me that your ex wife shows up naked and dead in your apartment, and that all you can tell me is that you haven’t seen her in three years, she can’t get in via a key, and the locks are intact. Who else has keys? “

“Only Ellen, I had them changed three weeks ago. I came home and the door was ajar and it spooked me.”

“Ellen, of course. Who else could it be? Bailey said sarcastically.

Bailey’s phone rang. He turned away again, muttering a few terse words. Then he hung up.

“More trouble for you Bennett. Detective Johns just went to that address you gave me. No one home. Can’t go in without a warrant. Ran the address through DMV and got the name of John Bandy. Ever hear of him?”

“No, name sounds familiar though.”

“He’s is the Times practically every week. Number two at Sothebys.”

Lance reeled. “And his wife’s name is …”

“A Margaret Ann, not Ellen. Primary address on Long Island. Called there. The servants tell us they are in the south of France at Cannes. No contact number. But they’ll be back. In February. Oh, and one more thing. Nobody there ever heard of an Ellen Jamesson. ”

“None of this makes any sense …”

“We’re heading downtown. Better get that lawyer after all Bennett.”

“A call, please?”

“Just one. Say hi to your lawyer for me.“

He dialed the number he had to call. He got Ellen’s voicemail.

“Ellen. Lance. Meet me downtown, the 23rd precinct police station. It’s at 162 East 102nd Street. There’s been another murder.

Worse, I’m being framed!”

 

[chanaud]

The phone vibrated in Ellen’s front jeans pocket as she descended down the dark recesses of the underground subway for the “E” line destination to 38th Street. Lance's name flashing on the screen made her smile wistfully. There was barely a bar left and she was underground. She had forgotten to charge her phone last night. There was no way she was going to get a connection. So she just allowed her voicemail to pick it up. When her phone vibrated again, reminding her of a voicemail, Ellen almost shuddered with orgasm. It reminded her of last night and their violent lovemaking.

Last night’s robbery was troubling. Why didn’t the masked robber demand any money nor have her empty all her pockets. Her Burberry PDA was in her hands. Why didn’t he take that, too? Surely it would have been worth something on the streets?

While these troubling questions swarmed through her thoughts, she arrived at her destination. A tall glass building marked 60 Wall Street loomed over her and the whole financial district. Fresh faced and still clad in jeans and casual t-shirt, she stood out amidst of dark suits with serious faces. Without hesitation, she walked in.

Meanwhile…

A camera flashed silently from across the street. Thank goodness for technology. These small digital cameras are a lot easier to carry and still had the same zoom capabilities to the oversized heavy Nikon with the mile long lens.

“Click, click”

“Oh yeah….look at that ass wiggle. Veerrrry nice.”

“Click, click”

Hmmm… what could possibly be in that building? Why is the big boss so interested in what seemed like an innocent broad. Wonder if he’s banging her, the lean dark shadow wondered as he pulled out a notebook and took note of the address.

 

[darrenfate]

The ride in the back seat of the police cruiser was an unpleasant one, there is something about being locked in without the ability to open the door yourself that unnerved Lance. Thankfully, no handcuffs were deemed necessary as he was still "a person of interest" and not a full blown suspect. The coming interrogation was going to be no picnic. Lance felt that the detective was already pissed off.

As he was checked in, Lance heard a familiar voice behind him.

"You look like hell - but your luck just got better. "

Bernard Dowd was standing there grinning at him, his $2,000 black Armani suit immaculate as always.

"Bernie! How ..."

“You think that Putnam publishing is going to let one of its prize authors show up on the police blotter like a common criminal? You are big money to us, Lance. I have some friends on the force, and got a tip you were being detained. “

Bailey butt in - “ Now that you two have said hello, I think we have some business with your client, Dowd.”

“He has nothing to say. No statement at all.“

“Is that right? Bennett you agree?”

“Yes” … Lance said numbly

“Is my client under arrest? “

“No. but …”

“Then we are out of here. Call me to set a time for us to come back in Detective. Here’s my card. “

“Bennett, if you leave now you’ll regret it.“ Bailey said angrily.

“Is that a threat, Detective” Dowd asked.

“Of course not. I was simply …”

“Call me later Detective. My client will be made available with a proper appointment. “

Dowd led Lance out the door, where a black limo that had been circling the block drove up. They got in the back.

“My office please driver.” Bernie settled in and looked across at Lance. That worked once, but not again. The next time we’ll have to give them what they want. “

“You must feel awful. Cammie was a great lady. Linda and I remember the times we got together with you two. Especially the theatre, she loved the theatre. ”

“How did you hear about Cammie so fast?”

““We all have our connections. Detective Johns and I play squash at the NYC athletic club. Small world, isn’t it?”

Lance sat staring out the window, looking at everything seeing nothing. Ellen had done another disappearing act. Damn her! Yet he knew he didn’t mean that. The drive was quickly over, and they slowed in front of the Citibank building. Bernie’s firm had 5 floors.

“There!” Lance exclaimed. A woman was rounding the corner heading onto Pine. Her auburn hair and curves were unmistakable.

“What?”

“Ellen! I’ll meet you in your office Bernie!” Lance bolted from the car just as it slowed.

He rounded the corner onto Pine, and saw her enter 60 wall street, with its famous cut pyramid atop the 55 floors. She was too far for him to call – but wait. Who was that man, taking photos and stalking her? A private detective, most likely. An audacious plan came to mind. Instantly Lance executed it. He walked up to the man and said …

“Pardon me. I couldn’t help but notice you taking pictures and writing in your book – are you a detective? “

“Get lost!”

“You don’t understand, my wife if cheating on me. At least I think so. I need to know for sure. Here I am thinking that I need to hire someone to follow her, and boom. Here you are. “

“Look, I’m on a case.”

“Oh, right! How about a card then? I’ll call you later”

The man began fishing in his coat pocket for his wallet. Just for a moment, he took his eye off Lance. It was enough. Lance swung hard, hitting him full in the gut with his clenched fist. The detective doubled over, gasping for air but finding none. One more to his exposed jaw and it was all over. He collapsed unconscious to the cold cement.

Lance bent over quickly and snatched the man’s camera, wallet and notebook. A few people stopped to watch. Lance said loudly.

“Stay away from my sister! The restraining order wasn’t enough for you to get it, I hope my fist was!

A woman passer by nodded her approval to her husband, and they kept walking.

Lance strode quickly away, hopping into a cab.

“Circle the block, cabbie. Keep doing it until I say so.”

At the second pass, the beaten detective was gone. It took 20 more block circuits and $65 in a fare before Lance got what he wanted. Ellen was leaving the building looking angry. His heart flipped. Throwing open the door he shouted –

“Jump in!” he shouted.