The Black Widow of Cascade by LRH Balzer
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Act II
Cascade PD
Saturday
6:20 p.m.
Rafe entered with the requested files, and both men jumped as lightning flashed through the room, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Rain began to lash against the windows.
"Wow, that was close. The storm must be right overhead." Rafe went to the window, looking up at the ominous clouds racing across the early evening sky. "I'm going to wait until it ends before I leave. It looks wicked out there." He turned and headed to the bullpen. "Let me know if you need anything else, Captain. I'll be at my desk."
Simon leafed through the updates. "Where's Henri tonight?"
Rafe paused in the doorway. "His wife's father's birthday. Family thing. He said he'd drop by later."
"You're not going to watch the game?"
"It's on the radio. Should start at seven o'clock. I've got a radio at my desk, if you don't mind, Captain."
"No, go ahead. Let me know when it starts, and I'll turn my radio on, too."
Rafe left, and Simon took his files over to the conference table and spread them out. A few minutes later, he brought the white board closer to the table, and started a simple chart listing names, ages, cause of death, etc.
Rothschild Estate
Saturday
6:40 p.m.
Emily Rothschild was a very charming lady.
What was entirely weird was that Jim was being charming, too. What's up with that?
The entire time they were walking through the solarium, Blair felt like a little kid trying to keep up with the grownups. There was only room for two to walk abreast along the path, so he ended up trailing after them. The solarium was well planned, featuring plants of the Pacific Northwest. It would take a full-time gardener to take care of it, plus the other solarium he could see next to it.
He couldn't hear what they were talking about. Something about roses and soil. Acid content? Light meters? Just as well he couldn't hear; he wouldn't have been able to add anything to the conversation.
A subtle chime of bells signaled dinner was ready. Emily led them into a monstrous dining room with a table that was easily thirty-one feet long and could sit thirty or more guests comfortably. Their place settings were at one end if it. Rothschild sat at the head of the table, and Blair found himself across the table from his partner. Another fireplace cheerily crackled behind her. The dining room looked old, but well-maintained. Three monstrous chandeliers hung over the table. The mahogany paneling gleamed. There was mother-of-pearl inlaid about the window as well as the open doors leading to yet another solarium off the dining room.
"The chandeliers are beautiful. They look like Waterford," Jim said.
"You have a good eye, Detective. They are Waterford crystal and were made in Ireland more than 200 years ago."
Jim, you're scaring me here. Blair forgot sometimes that his partner had had a vastly different childhood than he'd experienced. Certain manners and customs seemed to come naturally to Jim, but were more the result of years of formal dinners, country clubs, and receptions. He could imagine that William Ellison would have made certain that his sons didn't disgrace him at any of those events.
"Do you entertain often?" Ellison gestured down the extended table.
"There's certainly room, isn't there?" she laughed. "Next Saturday afternoon, I'm hosting a luncheon here for the Horticultural Society of Cascade. Yesterday, Timothy had the table extended in preparation. He feels the table leaves need time to settle, or they'll creak. I find it's a huge expense to maintain antiques, but there's nothing more appalling than seeing a piece of furniture destroyed forever from neglect." Emily turned to Sandburg. "I have been wanting to redo the southern sitting room. It's closed right now. We finally had to retire some of the French pieces we had in it. I donated them to a furniture museum back east. I thought of you the other day when I saw the etched glass window you'd had installed in your former office at Rainier. An exquisite piece. I've become interested in Native American art as a result. Do you know of anyone I could contact about adding local art to my collection?"
"Current art or historical?"
"Historical. I prefer older pieces that fit better with the theme of the estate."
"I'll ask around. I can't think of anyone offhand," Blair said. "I know some local artists, but they specialize in silver jewelry."
"It's more the furniture I'd be interested in."
"I'll see what I can find," he said.
She turned back to the detective. "How is your father these days? William, isn't it?"
"Yes. He's fine, thank you. He's retired, but still manages to go in to his office every day."
"Paul was like that, too. Even when he was supposed to be relaxing, he'd often have men up for a game of golf on his mini-course in the back of the house. He said more business deals were done on the golf course than in the executive offices."
"True." Ellison raised his glass in toast. "To our lovely hostess. Thank you ."
"Thank you," Blair echoed. "This is all very impressive."
"It's my pleasure." She turned to Blair. "You find me a source for Native American goods and I'll be forever in your debt."
The first course arrived, steaming soup that tasted as good as it looked. As the dinner progressed, Blair kept glancing over at his partner from the corner of his eye, monitoring which spoon or fork he was supposed to pick up next and which plate he was supposed to put his bread on. Jim knew all that, too, it seemed.
Emily seemed captivated with his partner. She had read the same books as Jim, she turned out to know Jim's favorite professor from when he went to college, and she even told a funny story about Jim's father at a civic library meeting the previous year.
Not that Blair was ignored for a moment; Emily made sure to include him, dropping subjects into the conversation for him to contribute to. The perfect hostess. Despite their dinner served in a very elaborate setting, Blair noticed she still managed to keep them at ease and relaxed in her company.
Finally, when the main course was placed before them -- roast lamb with mint sauce and a beautiful array of roasted potatoes and vegetables -- Jim took his wine glass, swirling the rich ruby liquid before taking another sip. "Emily, tell me about this artifact that my friend here is so anxious to see. I spent some time in Peru, so I'm obviously interested in your decision to return the statues there."
That grabbed Blair's attention. Way to go, Jim. Sneaky way of wording it.
"Oh, I accessed the black market." Emily smiled at the sudden silence at the table as she dipped a piece of lamb into the rich sauce. "Well, it's true. I found out about the artifacts being for sale and made some inquiries. I contacted a black-market thief who admitted he had acquired them from another private collection. I feared they would never be returned to the people of Peru, their true owners, so I made the decision to take a loss and buy them rather than risk them disappearing forever from the public eye."
"Why not contact the police about it?" Jim asked, looking at his wine glass.
"The artifacts would have disappeared immediately had I done that. These people are professionals, Jim. I'm sure you're aware of their methods of operation."
The detective sighed and nodded. "Still, buying on the market is illegal --"
Blair cut in. "Not if she gives the artifacts back to who they belong to, right? That's righting a wrong."
"It doesn't quite work like that, Sandburg. But I'm sure it's been taken into account."
"I've had my lawyers set everything up with the Peruvian government. The National Anthropological and Archaeological Museum curators in Lima are thrilled to get the artifacts back, and in such excellent condition."
"There. See, Jim?"
Talk turned to other matters as they continued to eat their main course. As Timothy cleared their plates, Emily leaned forward and spoke quietly to Jim across the table from her. "I can give you the phone number the black market gave me to contact them. I tried it recently and it is no longer in service, but perhaps you can do a trace or something with it."
"Thank you. Every bit of information we can get helps. If you think of any names, locations, we can use, please let us know." Jim took a business card from his wallet and placed it on the table. "My card, if you wish to contact me at the precinct."
"I'll get you that telephone number. Now, would you gentlemen like a hot drink? Timothy makes a wonderful Monte Cristo, or perhaps an Irish Coffee?"
Cascade PD
Saturday
8:00 p.m.
Simon stared at the white board set up in his office. Still no pattern was emerging. He needed more information.
He needed more coffee.
It was time for espresso.
He went to the open door of his office, looking across the darkened bullpen to Rafe's desk, the desk lamp still burning. "Rafe? Want an espresso?"
"You're a life saver, Captain. I just got the report back from Serena and I was debating how I could get the energy to enter it into the computer."
"Leave it for Henri to do. I'll make the espressos, if you get me any unsolved open or closed files of businessmen who have disappeared in Cascade over the last fifteen years, and any men who died of suspicious causes during that time."
Rafe blinked, then gave a short laugh. "Anything else?"
"Yes, actually, any unsolved murder cases involving single men in the same time period."
"That's a tall order, sir. It's going to take awhile, even if I get someone in records to help."
"You're right. It's going to take an hour or so. We might as well have our espressos first. If you want a latte, bring me the milk from the Break Room. We can take fifteen minutes and watch the beginning of the second quarter of the Jag's game."
"I'll be right back. Regular or 2%?"
"Regular."
Rothschild Estate
Saturday
8:30 p.m.
Dessert was apple pie with brandied whipped cream and the best vanilla ice cream Ellison had tasted in a long while. He suspected it was home made. He could make out the individual bits of vanilla bean seeds in the frozen dessert.
Timothy brought them their coffees in yet another solarium, this one just off the dining room. Blair was obviously anxious to see the antiquities she had described, but smiled good-naturedly and sipped at his Irish Coffee. The glass roof echoed with the sound of rain, still falling heavily. Low lights cut through the foliage, casting shadows and catching flashes of color from the jungle flowers.
"I smell Cattleya violacea," he murmured.
"You have a good nose, Jim. It's an unusual flower. Where did you hear of it?"
They paused in front of a beautiful pinkish -violet orchid. Ellison reached out with one fingertip and touched the petals. "I lived in Peru for eighteen months. It grew wild in the area I was in."
"And you knew the Latin name for it?"
"I looked it up when I got back. There were several Cattleya orchids that I remembered. Cattleya rex --"
"I have some over here." She pulled him by the hand over to some large orchids with creamy white petals and sepals, and a red and yellow labelo.
"Yes." He smiled, remembering his first scent of one in the jungle. Incacha had followed him for ten minutes as he had tried to track it down. When he found it, he ended up sneezing for almost half an hour, managing to get pollen up his nose. Another scent caught his attention now. "Brassia longissima."
"My favorite." They walked farther through the jungle solarium, then stopped before it.
The Spider Orchid, Jim thought. Figures. The petals were very long and thin, giving the flower a spider-like appearance. The Black Widow likes Spider Orchids. Simon will love this.
"Why were you in Peru?" Emily asked.
"I was stationed there."
"His helicopter crashed and it took a year and a half for anyone to find him," Blair added.
"That must have been a harrowing experience for you."
Ellison nodded, then noticed again that Sandburg was getting antsy, his eyes roaming longingly back to the exit, one foot absently vibrating.
"It'll wait for you, Chief." Ellison laughed. "He's anxious to see the statue," he added in explanation to Emily.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Blair. Here we've been talking about flowers while you've been patiently waiting. Let me finish my coffee -- it's getting cold already, we've been chatting so much -- then I'll take you there."
"Oh, no rush --"
"Rubbish, dear. I know you want to see my beautiful statue. But first, Jim, where ever did you get the name 'Chief' for him?"
"It used to be a 'tick' of mine. I called everyone 'chief'. But when this guy came along, the nickname stuck, so I keep it just for him, right, Chief?"
"Right, Jim. Actually, Emily, it's better than some of his other goofy nicknames for me."
"Such as?"
"Oh, Darwin, Junior, Guppy, Sparky." Blair stopped the moment her empty cup touched the saucer. "Okay, you're done. At the risk of sounding totally rude, can I see the statue now? Please, please, please." His face crinkled into a look Jim couldn't begin to describe as anything but "puppy dog pleading."
Emily laughed and stood. "Right this way, Doctor Sandburg."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." Blair popped out of his seat, gesturing for Jim to get up quickly. If Emily Rothschild wanted to call him "doctor" he wasn't going to argue. Not if he could see the artifact.
Cascade PD
Saturday
9:15 p.m.
The fourth quarter was just beginning when Rafe returned to Simon's office with Henri in tow, both men laden with files.
"I found him at the elevator on my way down to records, so between us, we've got about 50 files here."
"You onto something, Cap?" Henri asked, dumping his load on one of the chairs.
"I might be. Do you have time to help?"
"Sure. Why not? Beats what I was going to do." Brown smiled and gestured to the muted television. "What's the score?"
"Jags behind by two. But there's still another quarter," Simon added. "I'll leave it on low while we work. We can catch the replays if anything happens."
"Works for me. What are we looking for?" Henri plopped into another chair and grabbed the top file.
"I want to add to this board any unsolved cases of involving men in Cascade. I'll list ages, occupations, status, and if they are missing or murdered or died by unusual circumstances."
Rafe nodded. "How about if Henri and I flip through these and feed you the information, while you write it down. It'll go faster that way."
"Get comfortable, gentlemen. We have a long evening ahead of us."
Rothschild Estate
Saturday
9:20 p.m.
The room was absolutely empty, except for the statue. The walls and floor were a dark slate gray, the windows covered in dark blinds the same color. The room was dim, lit only by several pot lights in the ceiling, their beams of light trained on the lone statue set on a pedestal in the center of the room. The shadows seemed to make the statue come alive. Carved etchings and hieroglyphics covered its base, the stylized stone jaguar appearing ready to roar and pounce.
Even Ellison was impressed with the display and the powerful lines in the ancient sculpture. He watched as Sandburg approached it reverently, circling around it several times before stopping at the front.
Ellison's attention shifted to Emily Rothschild. There was almost a hunger in the way she was looking at his partner, her full attention on him, cataloguing each move he made.
As if she felt him watching her, she smiled at Sandburg, the harsh gaze changing to a softer indulgent look. "Do you like it, dear?" she asked.
Keep your paws off him, lady.
"I'd like to draw it, if I could." Sandburg's voice broke, testament to the feelings so apparent on his face. "My backpack is by the door. I'll just pop back and get it."
"Tonight, is for viewing only. For relaxing," Emily said, firmly. "Tomorrow you may come back and spend the day with it. Draw it, take pictures of it, doing rubbings or whatever else you want. Tonight, though, enjoy it. I have other artifacts in my display room downstairs. We'll tour around and see everything. Tomorrow, you can concentrate on this one statue. Tonight, you're mine." She looked Sandburg over again, then turned to Ellison. "My guests."
Cascade PD
Saturday
10:30 p.m.
The storm had ended. A single bulb in Banks' office lit the white board, casting shadows through the venetian blinds to stripe the darkened bullpen. Major Crimes was now closed for the night, and Simon was alone again. The game was over, and his two men had left for the evening.
"Damn it. There's a pattern here somewhere. There's got to be some reason..."
He stared again at the names, the dates, in the long list of men missing through the years, or unsolved murder or suspicious death cases.
"You're tied up with some of these, Rothschild. I just have to find the connection."
Ignoring the rules, he lit a cigar and sat at his desk, staring across the room at the board.
Rothchild Estate
Saturday
11:20 p.m.
It was close to eleven-thirty before they left. Timothy had a brief word with Emily that a flashing light on the security panel near the front entrance was indicating a window was open when it was clearly shut.
Emily glared at the light. "There's been a problem with this security system for some time now, and I'm ready to replace it. Jim, would you mind coming back tomorrow and taking a look at it for me? I'd love your opinion on what I'm considering buying."
"You'd be better off bringing in someone from a reputable security firm. There are several good ones in the city; I can check and see which one my father uses, or if he has any suggestions. I'd be happy to look at it for you, Emily, but I'm not a home-security expert."
"But you are a police officer, and I'd like to hear your suggestions. I'll try to find that phone number for the black-market group for you, as well -- if it can be of any help."
"Thank you. I still wish you would have called the police at the time, rather than getting involved in illegal purchases."
"If I had done that, then the exhibit never would have happened, and the people of Peru would never have seen a valuable piece of their history."
The rain had stopped, the air was fresh and clean as they exited the mansion and walked toward the Corvair. Ellison stopped and looked at several expensive cars belonging to Rothschild. One was an antique early model Ford, one an Italian racing car, a classic Rolls Royce, a sporty convertible, and a stretch limousine. He half-expected to see a sleek BMW or a Merecedes Benz among her collection, but looking at the ten-car garage off to one side, there was still a possibility she owned one of those, as well.
Sandburg's Corvair looked somewhat bedraggled beside her cars. Time for a good wax job and some detailing for both the Corvair and his truck. Maybe tomorrow morning.
Sandburg took Emily's hand. "Thank you so much for dinner and the evening. I apologize for being so anxious to see the statue. I had a lovely evening."
"You'll enjoy taking time tomorrow to do your research right, Blair. Sometimes it's nice to do as Paul liked and mix business and pleasure, but I find myself more focused if I can stick to one or the other."
"I'll try to find that Native American information you wanted."
"Forget I asked, dear. Anything close to what I'm looking for is probably unavailable, or else it should be in a museum for everyone to share."
"That's probably true."
"I've already decided to go with a different theme. It was just an idea. Blair, you're a lovely young man, and I mean it when I say that you should continue your anthropological pursuits and get that doctorate. I've read some of your papers; you're a true scholar."
"Thank you. I enjoy what I'm doing right now, though, working as a police officer, as Jim's partner. It's the right choice for me. Down the road, I might return to my studies -- I'm not writing that off -- but it's just not that important to me right now. My job as a police officer is something I feel very good about."
"Then you need to be where you shine."
"Come on, Sunshine," Jim put in. "Time to hit the road. Emily, thanks for everything. The food and drink were marvelous, your home is spectacular, and your company was a pleasure." He held out his hand to her, then allowed her to kiss his cheek, as he returned the embrace. "I'll pop by tomorrow and take a look at your security system. Are you okay for tonight?"
"Yes, thank you. Timothy has it working again."
They got in the Corvair and headed down the long, winding road to the front gate, which again creaked open as they approached.
"See, Jim. You were acting so suspicious of her on the way here. She's just a nice, old, rich lady."
Ellison shrugged. Something was wrong. He didn't trust her for one moment, but he had nothing to hang that on. "Just be careful, Sandburg. She deliberately worked everything to get you to her house, then worked everything so you have to come back again tomorrow. She wants something from you."
His spidey-sense was tingling. He had watched her as she watched his partner looking at the statue, and had wanted to arrest her on the spot -- or at least challenge her.
"Just be careful, okay."
"Okay. Okay. I'll be careful. There. Satisfied?" Sandburg shifted topics, idly speculating on the jaguar statue's origins as they drove back to the loft
Rothschild Estate
Sunday
12:00 a.m.
Emily Rothschild sat at her desk in her private office, humming as she cut out the cover of a magazine. The clock chimed midnight, and she glanced over at it, waiting for it to stop before she continued.
She resumed her off-key humming, and placed the picture face down onto a mat, taped it, then slipped the mat into a frame, securing the four corners. She turned the picture over and smiled down at it.
From her archives she had found the magazine cover she had remembered while they were speaking. Ellison. Captain James Ellison. That's where she had seen him before. On the cover of "News" magazine. Beyond the Call: G.I. Survives Jungle Ordeal." He was gorgeous, besides. The returning soldier. The strong crusader for justice.
"You'll do perfectly."
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This page last updated 10/24/01.