“Perhaps Allison wised up and kicked him out.”
“Allison checks out completely. She lived at the McGraw Orphanage until she was eighteen. The dean of the Goodman School gave her a scholarship. He chooses an orphan every year.”
Rowan nodded slowly. “That leaves one.” He tapped Grizz’s photo on the front page of the Tribune. “Unfortunately, he has gone into hiding.”
Walter grinned. “I have some good news on that front. Grizz has the apartment on Wilson, but that place is staked out. Good-looking, fit men in suits—definitely not cops. There’s no chance for me to search the place. But, I got another address about an hour ago from Jimmy Dykes.”
“Dykes, Dykes…” Rowan’s eyebrows shot up. “The State Fair Flasher?”
Walter frowned. “Good God, a guy shows up to the state fair with nothing but a raincoat one time, and the poor fellow is forever known as The State Fair Flasher. Jimmy is Grizz’s cousin. He gave me an address for a different place, said Grizz never stays there. I drove by and there were no agents outside, not yet anyway. I’ll go tomorrow and see what’s what.”
“Take Young with you.”
Walter’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“You heard me. He’s still working the Polish neighborhood. Find him and say Grady ordered him to go with you.”
“What if the kid gets in trouble?”
“Mr. Thompson is responsible for the deaths of eight people, possibly nine. It will be dangerous. If I were to lose you, there would be no one to make the coffee.”
Walter swirled the ice in his glass. “I got a stupid question.”
“Have at it.”
“Where exactly are we going with the investigation?”
Rowan took a heavy breath. “I am currently juggling the focus. Jenny was my first instinct. One always must follow the money, and no one benefits more from Lisa’s death. That business on the catwalk leads me to believe she was working with Grizz.”
“And why would they write a death threat?”
“I have been thinking about that too. Do you recall the Lasciva case?”
Walter nodded. “I think about Lasciva every time it rains.”
“That case had some startling similarities to our current one. A simple death threat was received. While we moronically pondered the motives of the killer, we failed to see the result of the threat.”
“You mean…” Walter held up a finger before dropping it. “I was going to hazard a guess, but I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean, Manory.”
“The result, my dear Williams, was that we were baited into going to Mississippi. Now,” Rowan poured a second glass, “what was the result of the Pluviam death threat?”
“Same thing, I suppose. But, no one tried to kill us this time. Or did they? Have I missed something?”
“I have a funny feeling you and I were meant to be witnesses to Lisa’s death.”
“I have to disagree with you there, boss. The killer didn’t need witnesses. There were plenty of them, two hundred paying ones, in fact.”
“True, Williams, but none of the audience members knew the circumstances. You and I had intimate knowledge of the scenario, the cast, the theater. We knew what was coming, and we could not provide a solution to the murder nor prove that one even existed. It could have been an invaluable resource for the murderer, far better than a simple alibi. If we could not solve the murder, no one could.”
“How would it work though? I can’t even imagine…”
“It wouldn’t. Unless…” A piece of the puzzle appeared in Rowan’s mind, but he quickly stowed it away, fearful of its implications.
“Unless what?”
“Nothing. There are other possibilities of course. One on which I am quite keen involves Clarence Williams. All the actors are old enough to be his child. If his offspring were seeking revenge—”
“But Lisa didn’t kill Clarence. They took her to Baraboo and the witness said she didn’t do it. It wouldn’t be revenge.”
“The killer may not know that. Or perhaps the killer knows something we do not. If this theory is correct, then we have three suspects.”
“You mean four.”
“I mean what I said. Timothy Brown has a father. Naturally, he would be excluded.”
“Now just a second, boss. What if Timothy was angry about Lisa breaking up with him? You saw how unhinged he was in Lisa’s office. I thought he was going to strangle you.”
“This would be the third theory and the one that satisfies me the least. Love is a strong motive for murder, but Timothy seemed the most troubled by her death. I don’t believe Mr. Brown wanted Lisa Pluviam dead. But all this conjecture is neither here nor there. Things will become clearer once I get the address in Baraboo. Somehow, Clarence is the key. I’m sure of it.” Rowan balled up the empty cigarette paper and threw it on the floor.
“What’s wrong, Manory?”
“I fear that everything I need to solve this case has already been presented to me. The Rowan Manory of yesteryear would have cracked this nut by now. At the very least, he would have known exactly which of those three threads to follow.”
“California, boss. The sunshine and the girls will fix your brain right up.”
“I doubt it, Williams. The train has left the station.” Rowan raised a wobbly glass. The ice jangled like tiny bells. “Here is to the man I once was.”
Walter clinked his whiskey against Rowan’s. “I never liked that guy anyway. Such a damn know-it-all.”
While the detectives sat drinking in their office, a get-together was happening across town, one which would present to them a most irregular piece of the puzzle.
CHAPTER 8 David Brouthers’s Shindig
10:37 p.m. Tuesday, April 9th
Fractured structural cracks zigzagged across the steps and walls, rising up to the fifth floor along the wide, alabaster stairway. Evidence of past gatherings lay strewn about in the form of confetti, paper hats, and an unmistakable whiff of dried urine. The doors of the lower apartments hung open, some of them torn from the hinges and leaning against the walls. A cacophony of giggles, moans, and orgiastic screams came from within the rooms, suggesting some of the partygoers preferred solitude for their activities.
Edward stopped at the base of the fourth floor and pulled Maura toward him, lifting her bottom so they could kiss. A couple passed them down the steps, stopping to give a playful tsk tsk.
Maura settled her buck teeth on her lower lip and straightened Edward’s tie. “This is going to be fun. You’ve never seen anything like a David Brouthers shindig.”
“Yeah, you keep telling me. I think you may have oversold this thing.”
“I collect stories from these parties.”
“Are they going in the act too?”
Maura widened her eyes and nodded. “I like to think of myself an art journalist when I come here, taking notes on the sordid underbelly of the artistic community. That’s what David calls it anywho. I’m not sure why it’s an underbelly.”
Edward wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”
“Reefer. They’ll offer it to you. Don’t smoke it.”
“No worries. I won’t go near it.”
A woman in an undraped kimono answered the door. She was naked underneath, and the sides of her garment hung loosely on her arms. “Maura, darling.” She leaned forward and kissed the air around Maura’s cheeks. “Who’s the fly in the fucksuit?”
Edward said, “Pardon?”
Maura slapped his shoulder. “This is Eddie. He was in the play with me.”
The woman gasped. “The one where the actress bought the farm? That must have been wild. Did you see her die?”
Edward stared at her breasts. “No, I…My name’s Edward.”
“I heard.” She extended her hand. “I’m Juliette. I was named after the de Sade heroine.”
Edward finally looked at her face, hypnotized by the single false eyelash constantly fluttering above her right eye. “Who’s de Sade?”
“The Marquis.”
“Never met him.”
“Very progressive man, very Parisian. I was born in Paris.”
Juliette opened the door wide and beckoned them to enter the crowded kitchen. Five or six groups stood together drinking, wildly yelling over the din from the living room. Maura nodded to a man wearing a sailor suit with a beer under his tattooed arm. A Filipino woman moved from group to group asking where Billy was. Three identical women in black flapper dresses took turns kissing each other. Their skin was white as porcelain.
Maura pulled Edward against the counter by his tie. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.”
“What’s wrong with these people?” asked Edward.
“They’re actors, Ed. It’s a big show.”
“Why is Juliette naked?”
“Her name is Ethel. She lives in the suburbs and her dad’s a bank clerk. She’s just high.” The entryway to the living room was clogged with strangers trying to push in both directions. The sound of feet pounding out the jitterbug rag vibrated through the walls. Maura leaned in close to his ear. “Get us a couple drinks and meet me in the living room. I have to go talk to David.”
Edward yanked her forward. “Alone?”
“Oh, God.” Maura ran her hands up and down his chest. “You’re so ginchy when you’re jealous.”
“I am?”
“I’ll be a good girl, don’t you worry.” Their lips touched with a sticky, languid kiss, and she bounced off him, bending her way through the packed crowd into the living room.
Edward stood unnaturally still in the corner of the kitchen. No one had ever called him ginchy. An older Italian woman with green eyes and the hint of a mustache asked him if he was a business man. He proudly replied that he was an actor, and he was here with his girlfriend.
In the living room, the music from the record player drowned out attempts at conversation. Smoke wafted in billows under the lampshades. Maura pushed her way through, peeling her shoes off the sticky wooden floor with every step. She screamed at a few people, asking where David was. A real, honest-to-God descendent of the Meskwaki Tribe pointed a spear at the glass door to the balcony.
David Brouthers was outside, leaning over the rail so far that his feet were off the ground. Maura closed the door behind her and yelled out, “Don’t jump!”
“Shut up.” Brouthers pointed downward over the rail. “Look.” A homeless man was lying prone, half of his body on the sidewalk and the other half in the street. He stared intently at the figure. “He hasn’t moved. I think he’s dead”
Maura squinted at the street. “He’s probably sleeping.”
“Nah. He’s dead.” Brouthers lifted a whiskey glass high in the air and let it drop. The glass missed its target by a few feet, but the shatter woke the man up with a start. Brouthers’s mouth gaped. “Go figure. I guess you were right. He’s not dead after all.”
Maura’s fists hit her thighs. “David, you could have killed him!”
Brouthers turned, recognizing her freckled face. “Maura. Thank God you’re here.” He lifted her with a bear hug and spun her. “Did you bring the morphine?”
“No.”
“Oh, baby. I could have used it tonight. I’m almost out.” Brouthers pouted. “What happened?”
“Jeez Louise.” Maura pushed her way out of the hug. “My line quit his job. I couldn’t get any more.”
“Delivery boy quit? He’s gotta get his job back. Or maybe he knows somebody that still works there. I got plenty of duff, but it’s not like what you brought. That was the real thing—hospital grade.”
“I’ll ask him.”
“If he quit, then he probably needs money. Everyone needs money.” Brouthers looked down at the screaming bum. “You need money, right? Can you get me some proper morphine, sir?”
Maura took Brouthers by the jaw, turning his head toward her. “My friend doesn’t need money. And if you talk to him, don’t say anything about it.”
“Why the hell not?”
“He doesn’t know I took it.”
“You little minx.” He gave her backside a sharp pinch. “Oh, another one of your friends is here.”
“Allie came?”
“No, Tim. That guy is a madman.” Brouthers laughed. “First he drank a bottle of champagne and then he inhaled more Benzedrine than any human being I’ve ever seen.” He stopped talking, unnerved by an unfamiliar look of dread staring back at him. “What?”
“Where is Tim?”
“I don’t know.” Brouthers looked back at the bum. “Maybe that’s him. Hey! Is your name Tim?”
Back in the kitchen, Edward found two glasses and played eeny, meeny, miney, mo with the liquor, ending up on a bottle of Calvert. A knock came at the front door. No one seemed to be in a rush to answer it, so he pulled on the handle. Allison stood in the hall, appearing so weary and anemic it pained Edward to even look at her. “Allie.”
Her words came out hoarsely with put upon joy. “Hiya, Eddie. It’s good to see you.” Allison’s embrace was awkward, her hands galumphing against his body for support.
Edward felt her cheek, cold and blubbery against his skin. “I’m glad you came. We missed you.”
Allison’s pupils dilated a bit when she looked round the kitchen, her head bopping to the music. “How’s the party?”
“Yeah, it’s…it’s hopping. Let’s see.” Edward pointed to the corner. “That guy in the vest, he’s Sam. He’s a phantom engineer. He’ll look into your soul and fix your karmatic something or other. And there was a psychic here before, but he passed out, and his friends dragged him down the stairs. Didn’t see it coming, I guess.”
Allison grabbed a random glass off the counter and downed it.
Edward snatched the empty glass from her hand. “Whoa! You don’t want to do that. Maura said the drinks are probably spiked.”
She put her mouth against Edward’s ear. “Good.” She grabbed another drink and repeated it. Warmth seeped through her body and a bit of rose color appeared on her face. When Maura forced her way into the kitchen, Allison raised her arms in celebration. “The gang’s all here.”
Maura grabbed hold of Allie’s hands. She spoke breathlessly. “Allie, we have to go.”
Edward said, “Why?”
Allison wrinkled her brow. “Go? Ridiculous. We’re not going anywhere. Are we, Eddie?”
Maura pleaded with her. “It was a mistake to come. I didn’t realize how crazy it would be. You can’t even talk to anyone. And it’s boring, anywho. We could go to a bar.”
Allison huffed. “We’ll go somewhere and pay for drinks that we can get for free? Relax, dollface.” She grabbed Edward’s drink and hustled into the crowd.
Edward pulled Maura aside. “Why do we have to leave?”
Maura said, “Tim’s here, and he’s buttered to the gills.”
“Oh, drat.” His face blanched. “That’s bad.”
“I’ll get Allie, pull her onto the balcony before she sees him. You find Tim and take him home. Not home home, just wherever he came from.”
“But—”
A scream erupted from the living room. With a crash of the record player, the music stopped. Allison had Juliette by the hair, the locks twisted tightly in her fists. Timothy slumbered against the wall with his pants around his ankles, barely cognizant of the fight in front of him. Juliette broke free and ran out the front door with her hands covering the scratches on her face. Allison dug bloody, chewed nails into her palms. Her flame-lit eyes regarded Timothy with a tipsy cunning.
He slobbered as he spoke. “Babe, I didn’t see you come in. You here to finish the job?”
“So smart. So goddamn smart.” The words ground through her clenched teeth. “We’ll see who’s smart after I go to the police.”
Timothy reached out to grab her arm, but she easily avoided his grasp. “Get a grip of yourself. You’re causing a scene.”
“I know how you did it. I know how you killed Lisa.”
He snicke
red. “You’re crazy. Always been crazy. And I done had to put up with it.”
Mumbled voices from the room came out like a backing chorus in a play.
“Allison’s talking about that actress.”
“Timothy killed her?”
“I thought she fell.”
Allison cried drearily, her tough exterior cracking. “I thought you did it for me. That’s why I didn’t tell anyone. That’s why I hid the evidence. But not anymore, Timmy. I’ve got it hidden away where you can’t find it. You’re going to sit on the hotsquat, and I’m going to watch you fry from a front-row seat.”
Timothy leaned his head back against the wall. “Fine,” he drawled. “You do that. Tell the police everything you know. Just lemme walk you home. You’re not well. It ain’t safe out there.”
“I was going to get rid of it, but I kept it. Just in case. I’ll take it to that detective in the morning. He’ll believe me.” Allison flounced off, sobbing through the kitchen with Maura running after her.
Edward approached Timothy cautiously. The crowd milled about in the background, unsure of what to do next. The chatter died down, and a jarring silence took over the room. “Go easy, Tim. It’s me. I’m your friend, remember.”
“I’m in trouble, Eddie.”
“What did you do?” Edward stared at Timothy’s hands, leery of a sudden attack.
“Done did something that can’t be undone. Why am I so stupid?” Timothy slapped his own face three times in a row, leaving bright red welts across his cheek.
“Don’t do that. Let me take you home. You want to go to sleep, don’t you?”
“Lisa used me.” His mouth twisted, rage appearing in his voice. “I loved her, Ed. Jesus, I sound like a goddamn swish. I’m not supposed to be this way, am I? I’m supposed to be a man.” Timothy punched against the wall and then whimpered, “I might as well kill Allie too. What’s one more body?”
Edward held his hands out, patting the air between them. “It’s okay, Tim. A good night’s sleep is all you need. You’re just confused. In the morning, everything will make sense.”
The Opening Night Murders Page 11
