Secret Radio Murders - Chapter 17

A warm wind kicked up, as the sun began its slow summer vanishing act; it rattled the floor length drapes that hung beside the open patio doors. Softly the breeze touched Bridgett’s cheek as she stared down at the speeding evening traffic below, and it sent a shiver from her neck down her spine. Ever since this morning, she’d been carrying around this weird premonition--no it was more a feeling of apprehension.1

She couldn’t pinpoint when it started. Mark not being home in the morning? It certainly wasn’t the first time. Even the fact he’d remained among the missing when she returned this afternoon was hardly a first.2

In the last three hours she’d run the gauntlet of emotions from anger, through disgust, to concern. She’d traipsed between the open windows and the hall door so many times before she dressed, while she was dressing, and when she done, she began to imagine things. 3

One time she stood in her underwear at the dressing room window and swore someone was watching her. She’d stepped back quickly. Her small hands formed into fists at her side, her eyes roamed the buildings facing hers. It was still light out then and she saw nothing at the strangers’ windows.4

Shortly after that she’d stepped into the foyer that held the rear door and swore the handle on that door turned ever so slightly. It was an illusion, she even opened the door, with the chain intact and saw no one.. 5

This was ridiculous; she chastised herself more than once for she had a lot more going for her than Mark Gheil. Life was fabulous before she met him and she would do fine when they called it quits. She had deliberately stepped into this role with wide-open eyes and hadn’t anyone to blame but herself.6

Mark hadn’t changed; it was she who expected a closer commitment. It was far from the first time Mark hadn’t come home. Before she moved in here sometimes she wouldn’t see him for days.7

In the short time they’d been living together, he’d forgotten to tell her about several afternoon ballgames, or card games that ran into late night, how a bout a two-day trip for a nephew’s birthday. 8

The best excuse of course was just last month when he took off to spend Mother’s day with his mother. He hadn’t thought to ask her if she had plans, or if she would like to accompany him. Later in his halfhearted apologetic way he told her he assumed she’d be visiting her own mother. 9

Time kept passing. 'Where was Mark?' Again she left anger behind and was becoming anxious. If Mark didn't come soon, her plans for the evening would we ruined. 'If he doesn't come in the next thirty minutes...,' she started to contemplate what her next action should be. 10

She heard the key in the lock.11

As Mark entered their apartment, Bridgett bolted into his arms and kissed him fully on the mouth. “Wow, honey!” he said holding her back. “Give me a chance to catch my breath.”12

“Can't darling,” she answered in her over-accented Irish speech. “We've got things a doin'.”13

“What things?” asked Mark a touch of concern in his tone as if once again, he’d forgotten to remember something.14

“I've got reservations for 8:00 at Le Bernardin, we've got no time for ya ta catch your breath.” Bridgette was dressed in a metallic tan silk that caressed her curves and accentuated her slenderness. The muted brown shading of the evening dress went well with her ivory complexion. Hours of continuous retouching had turned her smooth ‘do’ into a cascade of ringlets and added to the charm of the ‘Raggedy Ann’ hair color.15

She was a portrait that swept the weariness from Mark’s soul. “Five minutes, “ he begged off an instant departure. “Just in an out of the shower.”16

“Five it is.” Her green eyes flashed. “No more than dunk your toes. Your clothes are on the bed.” She ignored the telltale tiredness of his face. She’d convinced herself this night out was what they both needed. 17

True to his word, Mark allowed her to drag him from the apartment in less than ten minutes. 18

They arrived at La Bernardin a respectable twelve minutes late and the reservation was still honored. 19

The prestigious restaurant, one of the princes among New York’s regal eateries, could accommodated two hundred and fifty during the prime dinner hours and was always at capacity. Natural wood paneling of blended maple tones covered the walls a third of the way up, topped from there to across the cathedral ceiling by off white paint with a hint of a sparkle. As if in a further effort to subdue its presentation in order to enhance its glamorous patrons, ecru lacy tablecloths were decorated only by a simple green ivy arrangement circling a plain white candle.20

The waiter’s French accent was well practiced or genuine, either a possibility in the International city. “The special of the day is the salmon with black truffles.”21

Bridgett fluttered darken eyelashes and smiled coyly up at the young man as she said, “I'd like a hamburger and fries.”22

“Whaa…” The waiter’s eyebrows arched in surprise.23

Mark shook his head and laughed softly. Then admitted, “The lady’s a nutcase.” Though his menu lay open before him where the Maitre d’ had placed it, Mark ignored it and asked, “Does Eric still make that delicious shrimp ravioli.” Dropping the chef's name had the expected effect on the young waiter. He mellowed in anticipation of a properly sufficient tip.24

“Oh, but of course, and might I recommend the sea bisque it is being exceptionally well received tonight.”25

“Always a fine choice.”26

“And the lady?”27

“Lady?” Mark rolled his eyes and glanced around as if looking for someone who was missing.28

“Grrr.” Bridgett then giggled realizing the teasing was embarrassing the serious young man. She smiled at him. “Lighten up. The shift won’t seem so long. I’ll have the bisque also. But I’ll have the salmon. And bring us the house champagne since I’m paying.”29

“Not on a bet,” Mark said. “Don’t mind you flashing your millions luv but I’m drinking Dom Perignon.”30

“If you promise we're not going to talk about work tonight. Not yours, not mine,” said Bridgett as the waiter quickly deserted them.31

“Whatever are we going to discuss then,” said Mark feigning astonishment.32

With an impish grin she flicked her nose with peach polished fingertips.33


Across town, in a rowdier more rustic atmosphere, a waitress set two heaping fish fry platters on a wooden table without a tablecloth. “I’ll be dressed and ready by seven,” Sandy warned. “You better not be late.” Her eyes sparkled in the glitter of the dim overhead light as she looked up then dropped her stare to roam the faces of two men.34

“Wouldn’t dream of making you wait.” Neil Harris gestured towards Joe Farley’s empty beer glass. 35

Joe shrugged, put his hand out and covered the opening. “I’ll wait awhile Sandy.” As the attractive young waitress moved off in the dim haze of cigarette smoke towards the kitchen he let his glance follow the movement of her hips. . 36

Neil grinned and said, “Nice view.” 37

“Better if it was about ten years older.” Joe grunted. “We are only spending one day afloat. I hate taking time off in the middle of an investigation.” He dived into his food suddenly realizing he hadn’t eaten since morning. 38

Neil sampled the flaky haddock then played a bit with potato salad he’d substituted for fries. He waited until Joe had finished nearly half his dinner before he interrupted with, “Have you got any good suspects?” 39

Joe rested his fork on his plate. “We're looking at a lot of people, but at this time I really shouldn't discuss them.”40

“I'm a professional secret keeper,” returned Neil.41

Joe laughed sharply and then grinned to soften his declaration. “Yes, but your actually one of the people we have to consider. Though I've ruled you out because I know you, Benson isn’t so sure.”42

“Ah, I see,” said Neil. “If you really don’t suspect me Joe, you know I could be of some use. Let me review the files of just the victims? I might be able to construct the type of personality that would likely be attracted to these women.”43

“You want to play profiler?” Joe did a quick over the shoulders and round the room survey before he answered, “You mentioned that before Neil, I don’t think I can. I’d need an okay from higher up—and that’s not gonna happen in a heartbeat.”44

“What are you so worried about?” Neil wet his throat with coke. “Give me unnamed files. I’m not interested in finding out who was murdered just how, why, and then perhaps finding something that will lead to the killer. You take full credit. I don’t need recognition.” Neil didn’t disclose his desire to do a research study on serial murder—and this could be the perfect opportunity for a close look on the development of one.45

Joe's cell phone began ringing.46

“Farley here.” He said without first checking the caller ID and then groaned.47

“Did you get the direct deposit worked out at the bank?” His ex-wife’s voice burst abruptly in his ear.48

“Don't you ever think about anything but money?”49

“Well, there's really nothing else for us to discuss.” Came her brash reply.50

“There is Becca's visit.” 51

“I don't really think that is a good idea, Joe.”52

“Don't be ridiculous, of course she's coming here. According to the custody agreement, she is to spend at least a month with me while school’s out.”53

“Joe, at her age I think that would only hurt my authority over her, I think it's better that she stay here at least for this summer. Maybe you might visit for a few weekend…”54

“Can the crap! You don't cooperate and I'll go back to court and try for full custody.”55

“Damn you! That’s why I left New York. I want my daughter to have a somewhat stable life.”56

“Our daughter Rose. I agreed to this arrangement but there’s nothing saying I can’t change my mind. Judges are more tolerant lately of father’s claims. My sister is more than willing to step in and help me. ”57

There was a long silence and Neil mouthed, “That a boy.” Relieved by what he’d made out of Joe’s end of the conversation, he commenced eating his meal. He was tired of his friend’s ex-wife playing him so badly. During the years they’d known each other, he’d watched the marriage decay to the point Rose saw Joe only as a means of support. When she found a better candidate, she’d pursued that relationship disregarding her family. She wanted a divorce. He’d tried to talk her out of it, but was secretly content when she wouldn’t listen.58

Joe took a rare cigarette from a his security pack and lit up. He took a long leisurely drag as he listened to the ranting of his ex-wife. When there was a pause he reminded her of the fact, “The court will take into consideration the child’s preference. Becca’s no baby.”59

“Bastard! You win but she’d better be back here by the fifteenth of August.”60

Joe flipped the phone closed and switched the ring to vibrate.61

Neil motioned to Sandy, indicating Joe’s glass and she came bearing a fresh brew. 62

“Shall I bring a male guest tomorrow,” she said with a teasing grin as she set the beer down and leaned on the table.63

Joe snorted. “If you want me to feed him to the fish.” 64

Both men glanced at their watches.