Chapter 2

"Okay, I'll go with you," Matt said. Abby had asked him on Monday to accompany her to a charity fund raiser that coming weekend. "But my good suit will have to be enough; I'm not wearing a tux. And you'll owe me for making me get dressed up."

She smiled, hugged me and gave me a kiss that left me breathing hard. "Consider that a down payment on my bill."

Saturday evening at 7 we entered the ball room of The Four Seasons Hotel. The hotel sat one block from the Mississippi shore line, above the flood wall and just north of the Gateway Arch. It was one of the most expensive hotels in St. Louis and probably the nicest. The ball room was a huge room and easily held the two hundred invited guests.

The tables were dressed with white tablecloths, china and expensive center pieces. Along three of the walls free bars were kept busy; they'd better be free with the cost of the tickets, I thought. There was a band stand and a dance floor toward the back of the room. "I bet you couldn't play basketball on that dance floor," I said to Abby. "But maybe you could get in a half court game."

Abby and I found our table; we were sitting with her boss and other people from her company. I got us a drink and looked around. At the head table, where all the big shots who'd given big bucks to the charity sat, I saw Jonathan and Cynthia Robinson. The Mayor, a City Alderman or two and the Police Commissioner were at the same table.

I nudged Abby and sort of pointed with my chin at the high roller table. "That's the Robinsons sitting with the Mayor," I told her. It had been about six weeks since I gave him my report.

"Your recent client?" She asked. And I nodded.

As we ate dinner I said, "You'd think a five star hotel like the Four Seasons would serve something better than this rubber chicken. I've had better food at the street vendors on Euclid Avenue." The dinner surprised me as to how ordinary it was; I thought the food belonged in a two star place at best.

After dinner we circulated greeting and talking to the other people; most of whom I wouldn't be able to point out again if they ran their Mercedes over me. I met more than one boyfriend or husband that looked like they'd rather be in the sports bar down the street. Abby and I approached the small crowd at the head table saying hello to the big wigs. I'd met the Mayor and I knew the Police Commissioner, although not on a first name basis, having been a detective for the St. Louis police at one time.

"I never expected to see you at one of these affairs Mr. Steele." Robinson was showing his typical condescending manner. "After all, it's $1000 a plate."

"Usually I wouldn't come to something like this," I replied. Then I continued, "But I came into an extra $10,000 a couple of months ago and thought what better way to spend part of it by helping a charity."

Robinson stiffened and his face got red, but he recovered quickly. "Cynthia my dear, this is a business associate." He neglected to give her my name.

I did a sort of half bow. "Mrs. Robinson, I'm Matt Steele." Indicating Abby I added, "This is my friend Abigail Stewart."

Cynthia extended her hand to first Abby and then to me. "Have we met before Mr. Steele? You look familiar."

I could see Robinson stiffen again but I let him off the hook. "I don't believe we have Mrs. Robinson." Nodding to both of them I said, "Nice to meet you Mrs. Robinson and good to see you again John. Please excuse us." I knew the "John" part would make the guy mad but he deserved it after his comment to me.

Abby and I walked back to our table. As we sat down I said, "Looks like the Robinsons have made up."

"Don't you believe it," she replied. "That lady is not a happy camper. You can see it in her eyes and the way she holds herself." She motioned back at the Robinsons and said, "Watch."

The small orchestra started to play, Jonathan tried to take Cynthia's hand and lead her to the dance floor. She pulled her hand away, stepped past him, and went to the ladies room.

"See," Abby said.

"Well, that's their problem." I took Abby's hand and leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "I believe there was mention of further payment. Do you want to dance for awhile or get right to it?" She smiled took my hand and led us out of the ball room and up to a suite she'd reserved earlier. My Abby is a take charge kind of gal.

I was my office on the following Sunday morning going over some paperwork and setting my schedule for the next week; actually I had my feet up on my desk with a cup of Kona coffee in my hand reading the Sunday Post Dispatch. I was leafing through the local section until I found the police blotter for Saturday and Saturday night. It was some I did every two or three days. I liked to follow the reports in spite of not being a detective anymore. Abby had left to attend a brunch for a lady that was retiring from the charity business.

One small paragraph caught my eye and I read it in detail. "Cynthia Robinson, a local resident and wife of mogul Jonathan Robinson, was found dead late Saturday evening. The body was discovered leaning out of the passenger door of her car which was parked beneath the ramp up onto the Eads Bridge.

My feet come off the desk sat up straight and put my coffee cup down. "What the hell was Cynthia doing under the Eads Bridge?" I ask out loud. There was no one in my office so I didn't get an answer. Picking up my phone I call Frank Wends, a St. Louis Police Detective.

He and I had worked together while I was a detective; in fact he was my training officer. He was now the commander of the Detective section of the combined south side precincts.

"What are you doing calling me on a Sunday?" Frank asked.

"Hello to you too Frank. Look I just saw the blotter report on Cynthia Robinson. Anything you can tell me about it?"

"That Mrs. Jonathan Robinson? I haven't even seen the write up on it yet. Hell I didn't know it happened until you just told me."

"Can you give me a call when you do?"

"You know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation with civilians." Frank waited for several seconds and added, "Of course you're not exactly a civilian; not sure what you are but you're not a civilian. What's your interest?"

"I'll let you know when I know more; I promise. Maybe I'm tilting at windmills but something is going on."

"Talk to you tomorrow and don't bother me at home anymore." Frank hung up before I could make a smart ass reply. I picked up my coffee and stared out the window. There were no lovelies walking by as it was Sunday but it was a nice view anyway.

"Why are you staring out the window?" Abby asked as she entered my office. She came over with the coffee pot, poured me another cup and sat on my lap.

"Something's going on with the Robinsons." I handed her the paper and pointed to the report on Cynthia. "First George Hamilton, the guy that was trying to seduce Cynthia, dies in a boating accident and a few weeks later Cynthia is found dead."

"People die all the time," Abby replied. "It's just a coincidence."

"When two people who know each other die, it's a coincidence. When those same people know each other the way Hamilton and Cynthia knew each other, it's more than a coincidence."

"If you're bothered by it call Frank and ask him to look into it.'

"Already did but the blotter report said it was a carjacking gone bad."

"Sad as it is, that happens a lot," Abby said as she got off my lap and leaned against my desk.

"Abby, you know the Robinsons; you know they have big bucks." She nodded and I said, "What was Cynthia doing in a low rent neighborhood like under the Eads Bridge? So unless the police do a full investigation I'm going to look into it ... I'm going to look into it even if the police do their job."

"What can you do that the police can't?" She held up her hand before I could answer. "Never mind, I forgot for a second who I was talking to."

I smiled at her and said, "I can find out things the cops can't cause they got rules they have to go by. Me? As the song says, 'I've got friends in low places' ... friends that can get information and not worry about rules. At least they can and will if I ask them nice."

My stupid cell phone shocked me awake. The ring tone was like an old fashion alarm clock and very loud. I glanced at the clock beside the bed and saw it was 7 AM. Abby and I had decided that one night of payment for my services at the fund raiser wasn't enough; I hadn't got to sleep until almost 3.

"What?" I screamed into the phone. "This better be money or good news or I might shoot someone."

"Threatening a police officer is a crime," Frank Wends said and chuckled.

"Why are you calling me at the break of dawn Frank?"

"Serves you right for calling me at home on a Sunday. Now do you want the full report on Cynthia Robinson or not?"

I nodded my head and then remembered; I was on the phone. "Yes sir, please sir, if you could find the time sir," and then in a louder voice, "Since you woke me up at an hour only fit for mad dogs and Englishmen."

Frank laughed again. "Okay. Mrs. Robinson was found in her car, sort of; the top half of her body was across the passenger's seat and her legs were still outside. She had been beaten severely and looks like she tried to get back to her car or to her cell phone which was in her purse on the console. The M.E. hasn't finished yet but there is a gunshot wound to the back of her head; at the base of her skull. Looks to be a small caliber weapon, maybe a .22; my guess, that's the cause of death."

"The report states it was a carjacking or mugging gone bad?" I questioned but in a puzzled tone.

"That's what the patrolmen said."

I was quiet for several seconds; almost a half a minute. Then I said, "something's hinky here Frank, something doesn't add up."

"Pray tell me old great and omnipotent detective," he questioned with a sarcastic voice. "Tell me why there is something hinky."

"C'mon Frank, cut the crap. Quit being pissed off at me and listen." I waited a couple of seconds and before he could spout off again I continued. "The report says that it was a mugging or carjacking gone bad. But if that was what happened, why was her purse still there? The report said it was on the console didn't it? For that matter, why was the car still there?

A mugger would have taken the purse ... oh and check for her jewelry, a mugger would have taken that too. A carjacker, willing to kill for her car, would have just rolled her out of it and drove it off. And what was she doing on the passenger side?" I paused and added, "This wasn't a theft gone too far, this was a murder plain and simple."