A/N, still not at home. may or may not return after Saturday,
depends
on whether or not they discharge my mum. But here is part five.
Enjoy!
***********
Steele had no sooner stepped foot in the Mariott that had been
suggested to him by the baby-faced young detective than then man
who
had suggested the hotel to him stepped forward. "Ah Detective-Hoyt
was
it?" Steele asked the young man as he proceeded towards the
registration desk. "I was just about to check in and give
you a call.
Saved me the trouble." He congenially gave Woody a slap on
the
shoulder and continued on, but Woody stopped him.
"No Mr. Blaine, I'm saving you all the trouble, I'm taking
you down
the station myself so that you don't have to get a cab."
Steele looked
at the man confused. "You have the right to remain silent"
the man
began, pulling Steele's arms behind his back and cuffing them.
The cop finished reading Steele his rights by the time they
reached
the car and Steele had taken a seat in the back. "I don't
understand
detective." Steele protested as they headed down towards
the station.
"Your prints were the only other ones there, you were
the one that
found the body, and we know Rick Blaine's not your name."
He had all
but bodily thrown Steele into an interrogation room.
"He was dead when I got there, I told you I was there
for business
reasons. When he didn't answer I tried the door, and I poked around
a
bit thinking he'd be right in, after a few minutes I decided to
see if
he was asleep or something and that's when I found him like that.
He
had to be dead for at least a half hour."
"How did you know that?" Woody asked amazed.
"Professional knowledge, you get used to telling when
a body's been
killed really recently, semi recently or if they've been gone
for a
long time. And Bart was recent but not quite fresh. I wasn't even
in
Boston when he was killed."
"Prove it." Steele attempted to reach his jacket pocket and couldn't.
"Check the inside pocket of my jacket. There's a plane
ticket in
there, call the airport, they'll say my plane landed only an hour
ago,
I went straight to Bart's after I landed." Woody reached
into the
pocket and pulled out a plane ticket. He looked at it for a long
minute.
"But this is made out to-" the detective did a double
take as he
realized who the man before him was "Remington Steele."
Woody
instantly turned off the bad cop routine "You're Remington
Steele?"
The young detective was incredulous. "THE Remington Steele
PI
extraordinaire from the city of Angels?"
"Yes, yes I am." Steele said, attempting to look
flattered by the
baby-faced cop. "And I'd appreciate it if no one would know
I was
here. The only one who even knows I'm in Boston is my secretary."
"Holt isn't it? You know I've read so much about you and
your firm in
the papers. Learned a thing or two from you, a real Sherlock Holmes."
Steele smirked. If Laura was there she would have murdered the
young
man for thinking that she was his secretary. "But Mr. Steele-"
Woody
began, getting back on subject. "What were you doing in Bart's
apartment. We know he was a bookie-"
"Who owes a client of mine a quarter of a million dollars."
"How did your client get a quarter of a million dollars in winnings?"
"By betting five grand on a fifty to one horse."
"Well how did he get the five grand?" Woody forgot
who it was he was
interviewing, this was no longer an idol of his, this was a man
who
had information, valuable information in a murder investigation.
"I don't know, he didn't say and I didn't ask."
"But why you? Why get a detective from all the way in
California to
threaten a guy in Boston?"
"Because I've known him for a long time."
"Why, Mr. Steele, did you lie to us?" Steele rolled
his eyes, this
conversation was running in circles, as most police questioning
tended
to do.
"Because I told you, the only one who knows I'm here is
my secretary
who got my plane ticket, and she doesn't know WHY I'm here, just
that
I am. I did not want to tie Remington Steele investigations to
a
two-bit bookie."
"Who is this client that hired you?"
"A friend."
"Who?"
"Is on first." Steele said with a smirk and Woody
sighed with
exasperation. He knew he would get nothing else out of the private
investigator. "Look," Steele started, "I don't
know who killed Bart,
but I do want to help you find whoever did, I have no stomach
for
murderers, and my client does need that money." Woody thought
for a
moment.
"Fine. You see what you can find, and we'll share. You're
in this for
your client, I'm in this because it is a homicide, we'll work
together. But I'm telling you right now, you cannot hide from
the
press once they get wind of this. I'm not going to protect you
from
them." Steele nodded and grinned, following the young detective
out.