“Maybe she should go through Betty’s things, huh?” Didi asked.
Joe was already dialing the hospital on his cell, pacing the room as he was forwarded from extension to extension.
At last a nurse informed him that Miss MacIntyre had checked herself out a few hours after being admitted to the ER.
“Damn!” he swore violently, then turned to the two women. “I’ve got to go. Listen…” He wanted to throttle Leslie. He really needed to work on Genevieve’s disappearance, but he was growing more and more afraid to leave Leslie alone for a minute. “Do you think I could hire the two of you?”
They looked at each other in surprise.
“I didn’t think you—” Didi began, but he cut her off.
“No…no. I mean as assistants.”
“Assistants?” Didi murmured.
“Does he mean…a threesome?” Heidi asked.
“I mean, to work for me.” He picked up the picture of Betty, Genevieve and the mystery man. “I need to get this picture to a man named Harry Barton, up in Soho. If I give you an address, can you get it to him for me? And tell him that I need the man in the picture enhanced as much as he can. I’ll pay you for being messengers, of course.”
“That’s a relief,” Heidi muttered. “Sorry—I guess I didn’t want you to turn out to be a weirdo. I can still dream, you know.”
“And you don’t have to pay us,” Didi told him.
“I’m going to pay you because you work for a living and I’m using your time, plus I’m being paid, okay?”
They looked at each other again.
“It’s a rich lady’s money,” he said. “You might as well get your piece of it.”
“Done deal. Give us the address. And if you think of anything else…?” Didi said, a question in her tone as her voice trailed off.
“Actually, yes. I want you both on the streets tonight,” Joe said.
“He’s a real reformer, isn’t he?” Heidi asked Didi.
“Not taking tricks. I want you to keep an eye out all night.”
“For a black sedan,” Didi said.
“You got it. Okay, address…and I’ll be in touch.”
Joe ran down the six flights of stairs, thinking again that something needed to be done about the place. He hoped he knew the right people to do it.
If Matt were alive, he would write a column that would have the landlord all but boiled in oil by enraged citizens.
But Matt wasn’t alive.
When he reached the street, he paused. Strange. This morning it had been as if he was being warned to get to Leslie. Now…
Now, nothing. Where the hell had she gone? Back to Hastings House. He was sure of it.
The crying had faded.
Leslie walked around and around, listening for it, but it was gone. She sat on the box Brad had tripped over, frustrated. Then, suddenly, she heard it again.
She leapt up, trying to determine where the sound was coming from. At first, as she neared the hearth, she thought she had zeroed in on it. But when she got there, it seemed to be coming from the other side of the room. She walked around the small room, one hand on the wall as she went. It was all brick, and it all looked as if it had been there, getting grimy, forever.
The sound faded away again, and she went back to sitting on the box. Okay, so she was hearing ghostly tears. But she’d dug the woman out of the wall. She was doing all she could. “You know,” she said aloud, “if you would all just show yourselves, I could be much more helpful.”
She began to walk around the room again, this time pressing on the bricks, looking for…something.
She couldn’t help thinking that there was more here than met the eye. She thought about the underground railroad. And here, it might really have been underground. There were so many tunnels nearby. Underground tunnels, underground chambers. A city beneath the city.
“Leslie!”
She froze, stepping away from the wall, stunned.
The voice had come from above, from the servants’ pantry.
“Leslie?”
Someone was coming down the stairs. Instinctively, she backed away, looking toward the stairs and the man coming toward her.
“Leslie?”
It was Hank Smith.
“Hey,” he greeted her. “What are you doing down here? I saw the open hatch and came to check, but Brad said you were going to shower and meet him for dinner,” he said, coming toward her, looking concerned. “You know, you’re scaring the hell out of us. I can’t believe you didn’t hurt yourself with that kind of a fall.”
“A few bruises, that’s all. I was lucky,” she said. He’d closed the hatch behind him, she realized. It had gotten darker, with only artificial light around them. Corners became deep shadows.
Hank was, as usual, handsomely dressed, but his attire was GQ casual. White cotton shirt, beige jacket, jeans, Dockers. Hair clean and slick, smelling of a subtle aftershave.
“So…what are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came to check on you, of course.”
“Well, that was sweet of you. Thanks.”