Murder.com (26 page)

"I just hope he gets what he
deserves."

John sat on the corner of
Connolly's desk. "Me too, Max. Me too. So what's in the cards for
you two now? Back to your normal lives?"

Imogen looked at me, and I, in
turn, looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "I don't know quite yet.
I do know Ginny and I need a vacation."

"Oh yeah, where to?"

"Whistler!" Ginny yelled with a
big shit-eating grin on her face.

"And why's that, Miss Whitehall?"
Detective Carrington asked.

"We're getting
engaged!"

Imogen seized the moment. And why not? She, I mean
we, deserved it.

"Well, looks like congratulations
are in order, you two."

John congratulated us, patted us
both on the back, and then Ginny and I walked out of the police
station into the cold New York night.

My face was turned to the left, lying on the pillow,
the covers pulled up to my armpit and my eyes closed. I was in a
semi-conscious state, my body finally resting after a week of abuse
that I had voluntarily put it through. We had spent the week
skiing, drinking, eating, sleeping, unwinding, and engaging in
other various extracurricular activities. When I finally lifted my
head and opened my eyes, I peeked out of the window. White. The
mountain was right there. I could see the lifts in motion and
little moving blips traversing the beast of a hill on their way
back down to the village.

Ginny was next to me. I gave her a
slight push, but she didn't move. Her nude back was exposed, but
the air in the bedroom certainly wasn't enough to wake her. It was
a balmy sixty-eight degrees in the chalet. I rolled back over to my
side, inhaled, and then stood. I expected my bare feet to hit the
tile and freeze, but the floor was heated. Such a wonderful perk. I
relaxed my tense muscles and thought to myself that I needed to put
heated floors in my house. This was a fantastic way to
live.

I had a week's beard growth on my
face, my bones ached, and I was exhausted, but despite all of that
I was almost ready to pack in my life at home and become a ski bum.
Ginny hadn't discussed it with me, even though I'd tried to bring
it up at dinner last night right after we had gotten engaged.
"Really, Max, now?" That was what she had said after I'd floated
the idea by her. I had informed her that my suggestion was merely
that, a suggestion, and, of course, we didn't have to discuss it
now. "Good," she'd said. "Because I'm too busy staring at my new
ring to think clearly." That comment had been interesting.
Apparently, diamonds and proposals had the same effect on women as
alcohol did on me.

I shaved, showered, and dressed. All of which took
place with the aid of a heated floor and a heated towel rack. The
chalet was fantastic. When I entered the bedroom again, I could see
that Ginny was now lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling,
dangling her left hand in front of her face, trying to catch the
sunlight entering the room through the picturesque window off her
engagement ring.

"It's beautiful," she said,
watching me enter the room.

"I'm glad you like it, my
dear."

"I love it!" She stretched and sat
up in the bed, pulling the covers over her bare chest.

I could see the fire coming off the diamond from the
doorway.

"And I love you," I
countered.

Ginny smiled, and her hands came
to rest next to her body. "I don't want to leave,
Dutch."

"I offered you a solution to that
very problem last night, my dear."

"Oh, Max, I don't want to stay
here forever. I, well, just don't want this week to end. It's been
magical."

"It most definitely has, my love."
I walked over to the bed and gave her a kiss. I had just come to
the decision that I was going to adopt "my love" as my new way of
addressing Imogen. Maybe I'd even just call her "my wife." After
all, we were to be married. I sat down next to her on the bed.
"We've got time for lunch in the village, if you're
interested."

Imogen slowly interlocked her
fingers behind my neck and pulled herself up to my ear, where she
whispered, "What's the rush?" Then she kissed me as we slowly
descended back into the bed.

It had been a few months since
Imogen and I were engaged. Coincidentally, it had also been a few
months since Ken Clarke and Kitty Baxter were arrested for the
murder of Ted Baxter. Today we were going to stop by the police
station to see Detective Carrington. After all, we had become sort
of friends, brought together by external forces and a unique
situation. Plus, it didn't hurt to know a detective on the local
police force.

Before Imogen and I were going to
meet with John, we had to finish our day's first order of business,
which was a board meeting in the city with everyone from POP.
Imogen and I would be heading back home after the meeting. We were
happy to report that the suburbs were once again our home. Although
we had vowed to spend at least one week a month in Manhattan. After
all, there were a lot of restaurants to try, and Lord knew there
were plenty of places to introduce Ginny to, namely Chinatown. She
had never been. That was a lot of lo mein and dim sum she had
missed out on so far. She had a lot of catching up to
do.

We were at my office, in the
boardroom. I had a decent boardroom. Nothing remotely close to the
boardroom at BMC, which looked like it was out of a Roaring
Twenties corporation with extravagance at its height. We had an oak
table that could seat about twenty, plush leather chairs, and a
large, flexible high-tech television that served the purpose of
displaying boring spreadsheets and the occasional cool application.
All in all, it was nice, but I wouldn't have described it as
opulent. We also had floor-to-ceiling windows that had an open view
of the East River. You could see the Chrysler Building as well,
along with the Empire State Building and the UN, but for my money I
thought the Chrysler Building was one of New York's finest. I loved
the art deco roof that was reminiscent of the 1930s, but it was a
personal preference.

Mike was sitting across from me.
Imogen was off to my side. She was part of the work fabric these
days. In case you were keeping tabs. She did come in at the
with
level, and she was
right. I couldn't afford her.

Things had changed dramatically
for Mike and BMC. Most importantly, he was plum out of partners.
Ken and Kitty were out of the picture, and both would be in prison
shortly. There was already a legal battle going on to dissolve BMC
between Mike and Ken so that Ken, most probably, could take some of
his proceeds to pay his upcoming legal expenses. Before we had
entered the boardroom, Mike pulled me aside.

"So, Max, I was
thinking…"

"Never a good thing," I said, our
relationship now a friendly one. In fact, friendly enough where I
was engaging in some of the same banter that I usually saved for my
fiancée. Granted, I found that fact a little weird
myself.

"Funny," he replied sarcastically.
"As I was saying—"

"I'm on pins and needles," I
said.

"Can I finish?"

"Dutch, give it a rest already,"
Imogen interjected. "Go ahead, Mike."

"Dutch?" Mike asked.

"I'll explain later," I
said.

He continued on with his last
thought: "At least I can talk to one of you. So, as I was saying,
BMC is going through some changes."

"That's the understatement of the
year," I said.

Mike shot me a look that was
trying to masquerade as stern, but the smirk that he was trying to
hide gave himself away. "And since we're going through these
changes, I was thinking that it might be time for me to find a new
place to hang my hat."

"Are you asking me for a job?" I
asked.

"Are you that dense?" Mike shot
back. "No, I don't want a job. I was thinking that my new company,
Miller Capital, and your firm might make a good team. Maybe combine
forces and take over the world."

"
Aut
Consillis Aut Ense
," Imogen
said.

Mike laughed. "Someone's been
working on their Latin."

I added, "Either by meeting or the
sword."

"And another scholar. You never do
cease to amaze, Max."

"Let me get this straight, you
want to be partners?" I laughed.

"More like colleagues that come
together in a merger of sorts."

I started to tell Mike that the only good partners
were dead partners, and then I realized that comment would be in
extremely poor taste. Maybe the caveat should be that the only good
partners were the ones that were in jail and never coming out.
What? Too soon? Instead, I explained to Mike my theory on partners,
which boiled down to not having one. He listened, and then we
agreed that I would take some time to think about it.

The meeting wrapped up with plenty
of time to head home and see John. We arrived at the police station
around 4 p.m. Imogen and I strolled up the steps to the brick
building looking for John. We stopped by reception.

"We're here to see Detective John
Carrington," I said to the police officer behind the plastic
bulletproof window.

"Detective?"

"Yes, Detective John Carrington.
Is he here?"

"Sir, he's Sergeant John
Carrington. And yes, let me see if he's in."

The officer picked up a phone and called Sergeant
Carrington. I could faintly hear a female voice on the other end of
the line.

"Your names?"

"Max Slade and Imogen
Whitehall."

He repeated our names to the voice
on the other line and then stared at me. "She's checking." A moment
later, he said, "You can go right in to see him. Take your second
left." He buzzed open a door, which we walked through.

There was the cell that I had been thrown into. The
box that almost took away my freedom.

After a jaunt down the hall, we found ourselves face
to face with Sergeant John Carrington.

"Sergeant John," I said. "How do
you like that? Moving up the ranks."

John smiled. "Indeed. Rapidly
ascending through the inner sanctum."

"Well, let me be the thousandth
person to offer you congratulations," I said, extending my hand to
shake his. We locked palms in a celebratory embrace.

"And hello to you, Miss
Whitehall,—or should I say the future Mrs. Slade," John said after
we finished shaking hands.

"You detectives don't miss a
trick," Imogen said. "Yes, we're engaged."

"Hard to miss it. That ring
certainly is big enough," I said.

"Oh, well, let me return the favor
by being the thousandth person to offer you both congratulations,"
John said, and gave Imogen a kiss on the cheek. "You two make a
great couple." I said thanks and shook his hand again. This time I
received a pat on my back. "Max, I didn't think you had it in
ya."

"He found a way," Imogen
said.

"Isn't this Williams' office?" I
asked. Remembering my time locked in the cell right outside the
door.

"It was," Carrington said. "He's
no longer here."

"Where is he?"

"You'll be happy to know he was
placed on administrative leave, indefinitely. The disciplinary
board will ultimately decide what happens to him."

Good. I hoped that he got kicked off the force with
no pension and no future. That, and only that, would serve him
right.

"It wasn't only because of the Ted
Baxter fiasco. He's had a history of bad decisions. The Baxter case
just pushed the brass over the edge."

"And you were the perfect man to
fill his shoes."

"Well, I was next in line. That's
how it works."

"Well, I'm happy for you, John. I
really am. Can't say I care much what happens to Williams,
though."

"He's not all that bad, Max. He
just made some bad decisions. You, better than most, should know.
Sometimes, good people make bad mistakes."

"Really bad ones, like
murder."

We both had a good chuckle over that one.

"Anyway, in addition to how happy
I am to hear that you're both engaged, I wanted to offer you both
my thanks."

This was the most public acknowledgement that we
would ever receive for our part in the Ted Baxter murder
investigation.

"I was glad we could help," I
said. "And I was glad you didn't lock me up and throw away the
key."

"Max, I'm the kind of guy that
goes with his gut. Even if it throws me down the sewer. I've
trusted it all my life, and it's gotten me this far."

"I know what you mean. But thanks.
You were the only one who believed me. And I'll never forget
it."

Maybe I was getting caught up in
the emotion of my engagement or my feelings about the case, but I
almost cried. I didn't know where that emotion came from. It was
one that didn't creep around too often, but I felt it, and when I
thanked John for keeping me free, I meant it. Much more than he
would ever know.