The Riverview Murders

by Michael Raleigh

  The Riverview Murders

  A Paul Whelan Mystery

  Michael Raleigh

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1997 by Michael Raleigh

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition February 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-623-7

  Also by Michael Raleigh

  Death in Uptown

  A Body in Belmont Harbor

  The Maxwell Street Blues

  Killer on Argyle Street

  To my adopted clan, the Powells, and Empress Dorothy.

  Prologue

  Chicago, 1946

  At the corner of Clybourn and Western, the sailor shook a smoke out of his pack as he waited for his light to change. Just as it went from red to green, a streetcar pulled in behind him and a rush of people came out both doors, more people than you’d ever imagine a streetcar could hold, a hundred people chest-to-chest on a crowded streetcar on the hottest night of the young summer, and they came out laughing and talking as though it had been no trouble at all. They were going to Riverview, across Western Avenue and into dreamland.

  The sailor stepped into the street and glanced behind him at the press of people, men in loose sport shirts and girls in summer dresses, sleeveless dresses, backless dresses. He thought he saw one give him the eye and he wondered if he should drop back for a moment and start up a conversation. Then he strode off ahead of the pack. There would be time enough for that later, after he was finished with his business. It occurred to him that he already had enough women on his hands to satisfy most guys. No, you never had enough. But if things went well tonight, he’d have a roll in his pocket that would choke a horse, and a guy in uniform with money was going to be a tough combination.

  Ahead of him he could see that the park was already jammed. Even if you couldn’t see the crowd, you could hear them, and the rides, and people hawking things. You could even smell Riverview Park from a block away. When he was a boy, they’d stand around outside their houses and talk about what rides they’d go on if they had the money, and if the wind came in from the west, they could smell Riverview, the smoke and the food smells. Off toward the north end he could see a roller coaster straining up a hill, he could hear the slow clanking sound the train made just before it started down in a rush of screaming. He watched the parachute lift take a group of people to the pinnacle of the ride, then drop them as though punctured. They went into free fall for a few feet, screaming, till the chute opened artificially and they fluttered to the ground.

  And off to one side, looming over the park like an alien life-form, he could make out Aladdin’s Castle. He could see the huge hollow-eyed face of Aladdin staring from the facade of the fun house. No matter where you went in the great sprawling park, you could still see Aladdin.

  If you were supposed to meet somebody at Aladdin’s Castle, he could never say he couldn’t find the place.

  The sailor looked down the row of turnstiles along the white entrance gates and saw a man he planned to avoid tonight. He paid his dime and pushed his way through the white gates and almost ran into a pair of young women. They laughed and one gave him a quick look. When he met her eyes, she smiled. He took a slow puff on his cigarette and smiled back, then caught himself.

  First things first.

  He knew he was early, so he took his time, sauntering slowly around the whole long, crowded Midway, past the rides, the great Ferris wheel, the fantastic carousel with its carved wooden horses and angels, past the Bobs, the Tilt-o-Whirl, past the freak show and the beer garden. In the light of the fast-setting sun, you could make out the cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke hovering over the drinkers at their crowded tables. As darkness set in and the park’s bright lights took over, the smoke hung there like a low blue cloud ceiling, to be dispersed only when the park shut down and the drinkers went home.

  Eventually he made it to Aladdin’s Castle. He could hear the screams and giggles from the fun-seekers inside, tumbling in the great moving barrel, blasted by jets of air that tugged and billowed at the girls’ skirts. He checked his watch and saw that he was almost exactly on time. No matter: the man he was going to meet would make him wait, as he made everybody wait. If you knew that going in, it was less irritating. The sailor shrugged and drew his smokes out of the white shirt. There were only four cigarettes left in the pack: another dead pack of Luckies. Here was evidence that all the world’s troubles brought good to someone: The cigarette guys had to be making a mint off all the guys like him who’d picked up the habit in the war. In the Pacific he’d seen hundreds of guys start smoking. People said that war brought no good to anyone, but you couldn’t prove it to him.

  When he was just reaching the last acrid half inch of his smoke, the other man arrived. The sailor took a couple of steps back so that the wall of the building hid him. The newcomer stood in front of the ticket booth to the fun house and peered up and down the Midway. He was a study in casual fashion: light gray summer slacks and a loose-fitting light green shirt that looked like silk. The sailor would have bet the rent that the shirt was silk. Oxblood shoes—you could see your face in the shine of his shoes. Slicked-back brown hair, newly cut, cut by a pro, and a fresh shave, a straight-razor shave. He didn’t even shave himself, this guy.

  Ten feet away and you could already smell him: He smelled like money.

  As far back as the sailor could remember, he’d associated this man with money, always money. Even when they were kids, he’d always seemed to have more money than anybody else. Never quite enough, though. Always out there dancing on the edge, always scrambling around for a buck. Spent it fast as it came in. But he knew how to spend. The sailor sighed and stepped out from his vantage point. “Chick,” he said.

  The other man nodded and forced a slight smile. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

  “Nah, you wish. There was never any chance of me not coming.” The sailor looked at him with a half smile.

  The well-dressed man snorted and extended a hand. “Long time, Ray. You look good. Thought maybe you’d find yourself one of them broads in the kimonos and stay over there.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Well, you look good, anyway.”

  The sailor shrugged and shook hands. “I’m getting by. Not like you, though. You look like money, Chick. Like always.”

  “It’s just clothes, Ray. I’m a businessman. Guy wants to make money, he’s got to look sharp.”

  The sailor laughed. “Chick, you know what we used to say about you? We used to say you probably put on a suit coat just to take a piss.”

  The other man took out a small cigarette case from his slacks and pulled out a smoke.

  “Want one?” He offered the case to the sailor, who just shook his head.

  “No. I want to get down to business. Let’s just take care of what we came for, all right?”

  “Okay.” Chick stepped aside to allow a couple to enter Aladdin’s Castle. When he spoke again, he let his voice drop. “You said you wanted to talk about money.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You and everybody else. You want to put something on a horse or what? Give you a good horse, Ray.”
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  The other man stared and said nothing.

  “What? Not the nags, that’s not your style, huh? Baseball?”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about that. I play cards; I don’t bet. I want some money, Chick.”

  “Can’t do yourself any good yet, huh? Well, you’ll find something pretty quick…”

  “I want my piece of that money.”

  Chick squinted and made a little shrug.

  “Don’t play dumb. You know what money. The Kraut.”

  Chick looked stunned.

  “You got it all, Chick. Far as I can tell, nobody ever saw a nickel of that except Chick Landis. You said you’d give me my share. Now I need money and I figure I got some coming.”

  Chick shook his head. “The Kraut? That’s a thousand years ago, Ray. Jesus, that’s long gone. It wasn’t what we thought. Wasn’t that much there.”

  “You told me some of it would be mine. I never saw a nickel.”

  “Wasn’t nothing to see, I’m tellin’ you.”

  The sailor put his hands on his hips and stared at the other man. He made a sudden movement forward and Chick moved quickly away.

  “Take it easy, Ray.”

  “Eight grand, they said it was. That was a lot of money. Shit, it still is. I want my dough, Chick, I want some of that eight grand. I never said nothing about that to nobody, not the cops, not nobody…”

  “I know, I know, you’re a stand-up guy, Ray. But…eight grand? Where’d you hear eight grand?” He grinned and shook his head.

  “I don’t know how much, but I know it was enough to send you running for cover. There’s people that would be real happy to know what happened that night. All I want from you is what’s mine. That’s all I want. I don’t want to give you no trouble, but that’s what you’ll get, Chick, and plenty. Give me my money, Chick. You got money—you always got money. I want mine.”

  “Hold your horses.” Chick ran his hand through the slick hair and made an exasperated shake of his head. “All right. I still don’t know where you got eight grand, I don’t know where that comes from, eight grand, for Chrissakes. This was…it was small-time, Ray. But…you’ll get your dough, I’m good for it.”

  “How much?”

  “A grand.” Chick held up his hand. “Come on, Ray. How much would your share be? And there wasn’t no eight grand. More like five.”

  The sailor sighed. “When?”

  “Take me a couple days to get it together. I know, I know, you’re short. You’re down on your luck; you need a little dough…”

  “What? I need some money? You kidding me? It’s my money.” A passing man in a green Hawaiian shirt shot them a surprised glance over his shoulder, then looked away quickly.

  “I’ll have it in a couple days.” Unconsciously, he took a half step back.

  The sailor said nothing for a moment. He took out his cigarette pack and lit one. Then he took a long slow drag, watching the other man. “What gives, Chick? Why a couple days?”

  “Hey, I’m good for it. I got expenses, Ray. I got a saloon and a book, I got suppliers and customers. I take money in, babe, but believe me, I pay money out. Two days and you can have it all. Come on, Ray, how much can you spend in one night?” He brought out a flat wad of new-looking bills in a silver money clip. “I got two hundred on me and you can have it. I’ll take the goddam streetcar home and you can go on a toot. Find a broad, have some drinks, live it up. I’ll get you the rest Saturday. C’mon Ray, even you can’t spend two bills in one night.”

  “You better have it.”

  “Oh, I’ll have it, kid. And you’ll go through it in a month. Then maybe you’ll come back and we’ll talk business. I’ll show you how to make money. I know about money, Ray. You get a couple nickels in your pocket, you’re a big shot. You go places, you duke a little here, a little there, throw money at the waiters and the broadies, and then it’s all gone. And then you need more. This money you’re so hot to get hold of, Ray, it’ll be gone like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Then you’ll be just another working stiff. Me, I’m gonna have a lotta money, and if I play my cards right, it’s never gonna run out.”

  “Just come across with what you owe me.”

  “Have it your way, Ray. But here, have a little fun.” He held out the money to the sailor, but the other man refused to take it.

  “I don’t want yours, I want mine. You get it, Chick.”

  “Hey, I’m good for that and a lot more besides. Saturday. You come see me Saturday, at my joint. I’ll take care of you. We’ll be square, Ray.”

  The sailor gazed at him calmly, then nodded. “Okay, Saturday it is. I’ll be there at noon. And you better have it, Chick. You don’t, I’ll make you come up with it, right there.”

  “Yeah, tough guy. Don’t worry, I’ll have it.” He watched the sailor spin round on his heel and walk away. The man called Chick finished his cigarette and tossed the butt away with a carefree movement, pausing to watch it clear a bench and land in the grass.

  He took a final look behind him at the departing sailor, then walked away in the other direction, turning at the far corner of Aladdin’s Castle.

  A few yards away, the sailor stopped and lit another smoke, cupping his hands around the match. He shot a sidelong glance in the direction the other man had gone, shook out the match and let it drop. For a moment, he stood with one hand in his trouser pocket and puffed at his smoke. Then he turned suddenly and retraced his steps, moving faster now.

  I know you, Chick, he thought. I knew you’d pull something, I knew you wouldn’t have the money. I just wanted to see what kinda story you’d come up with. And, yeah, I’m a tough guy.

  At the far corner of Aladdin’s Castle, the sailor looked behind him once, then turned in the direction the other man had gone.

  “Whattya got?” the boy asked.

  The older boy hitched up his shirt and revealed the top of a half-pint. Delicately, he lifted up the bottle so that its clear liquid contents showed, as well as the top part of a yellow label.

  “Gin!” the first boy said, and his companion grinned, nodding. “Where’d you get gin?”

  “My brother. Come on.”

  “Where? The can?”

  “Nah. We can go back here.” He nodded in the direction of Aladdin’s Castle.

  “Somebody might see.”

  “Chickenshit. Cluck-cluck-cluck.”

  “I’m game if you are.”

  “Come on, then.” The older boy tucked his shirttail around the precious bottle and sauntered toward the rear of Aladdin’s Castle. In the faint light, the back of the building was in almost total darkness. The boy almost fell over the body before he saw it. He stopped just short, weaving to reestablish his balance and staring openmouthed at it.

  “God Almighty,” he muttered, and the other boy came up and looked over his shoulder.

  “What is it? Oh. See if…” He never bothered to finish the sentence, for questions were unnecessary.

  The dead man looked up at them, through them, his mouth agape as were theirs. From the stiff angle of his shoulders, he had attempted to regain his feet, pushing back against the wall before giving in to the wounds in his chest. There appeared to be several, and the white shirt was a mass of clotted blood. His sailor cap hung to the back of his head, pinned between his scalp and the back wall of Aladdin’s Castle.

  The boys stared without speaking for several seconds and then the smaller boy cupped his hand over his mouth and began running for the rest room.

  One

  Chicago, 1985

  At the farthest end of the breakwater, where it hooked back toward the beach and the city beyond, two men stood over a third. The third man sat with his back against the thick steel cable and stared sightlessly out over the lake. The larger of the two men wore a thin red windbreaker that just managed to cover the hard bulge around his middle. He went down on one knee and stared into the dead eyes, examined the wound in the chest, no longer bleeding, reached around and found the walle
t, fished it out and opened it one-handed.

  “Michael Minogue,” he said tonelessly. “Name from the old country.”

  The man behind him shrugged, squinted up into the sun and absently patted his hair back into place as the wind riffled through it. Then he looked down to see his partner touch the corpse’s cheek. He’d seen the big man make the odd, tentative gesture before and had heard the explanation twice: “Somebody should always touch a dead man,” the big one would say. “Somebody should always touch a dead man.”

  He peered out over the lake where a big sailboat seemed to be ducking into the stiff north wind, and ran his hand through his hair again. When he looked back, the big man was squinting up at him.

  “You through doin’ your hair?”

  “I wasn’t doing my hair. I was waiting for you to get done fucking around. Anything in the wallet?”

  The big man smiled to himself and turned his attention back to the corpse. “Yeah. Couple bucks, Social Security card, old lottery tickets. I’ve seen half a dozen stiffs with lottery tickets on ’em, like they were afraid to let go, maybe there was a mistake and their number’s really gonna be good after all.” He looked at the dead man again. “Wearin’ his watch.” He lifted up the dead man’s arm and held the watch up for the younger man.

  “Ring, too.” The big man got to his feet and then looked down at the dead man. “I seen this guy before.”

  “Where?”

  “A saloon. Old guy in a saloon.”

  A squad car rolled onto the beach and joined the two already waiting. A few feet ahead of the squad cars, almost touching the concrete of the breakwater, sat a gleaming gray Caprice. The big man looked over and saw a white-shirted officer climb out of the car.

  “There’s the Honorable Michael Shea.”

  The younger man shrugged, looked at the corpse and then surveyed the end of the breakwater. “Fucking nasty place to die.”