The Opening Night Murders

by James Scott Byrnside

  “Are you paying me to talk? I was already talking to you. You got the order of things all mixed up.”

  “No, I am offering to buy you a drink. Just being friendly.” Rowan looked her over. “You have nice hair.”

  “It’s a wig.”

  “Well, it is a lovely wig. Excellent…taste you have.”

  Her grin revealed yellow, acrylic dentures. “You ain’t a real people person, are you? I can tell.”

  Williams would get a kick out of you. “Was Clarence your man?”

  Althea exhaled smoke with a deliberate, thin breath. It reminded Rowan of steam spouting from a kettle. “I wouldn’t call him that. Just a friend.”

  “Did he ever introduce you to any other women?”

  She looked down at the bill. “How did you find me?”

  “I went to the iron mill and talked with Andre.”

  “I’ll be damned. How’s Andre?”

  “He has seen better days.”

  “Ain’t we all? I loved his jaw.” Althea’s long fingers traced the outline of her jaw with mnemonic strokes.

  “His jaw?”

  “He had that Polack jaw. You ever seen a Polack’s jaw? It’s like a square. Plenty rugged. Ain’t nothing like a strong man. After he’s been working…chopping wood with the sawdust sticking to his skin. Mmm, mmm, mmm.” Her body shifted in the chair from some other distant memory. “Sometimes Clarence would come by after work. Sometimes he’d bring Andre. He never brought any other women.”

  Rowan rubbed his bleary eyes. “Was Clarence a good man?”

  “He was a happy man. Never held a grudge. Treated people nice. It’s a shame what happened to him. The man couldn’t swim and he ends up naked, drowned in a lake. Go figure.”

  “Do you know anyone who would have wanted him dead? Perhaps a jilted lover?”

  Althea shook her head. “Clarence had plenty of those, but he was good to everybody. I know he put a few women in the family way. Always offered to pay to take care of it. Fellas don’t do that nowadays. I heard he even got married once or twice.”

  “Do you remember any of the women’s names?”

  “I’m too old to remember names.”

  Rowan swallowed, feeling the solution drifting farther down the abyss of forgotten memories. “Do you at least know what happened to them? Did any of them remain in Chicago?”

  “One woman was pregnant around when he died. I think she moved away.”

  “By any chance, was the woman involved in theater?”

  “If she was, he never told me about it. Or maybe he did, and I wasn’t listening. I didn’t really have Clarence over for his conversation.” She took a long drag and eyed him suspiciously. “Rowan?”

  “Yes, Miss Johnson?”

  “Smile.”

  At ten thirty the next morning, Rowan and Walter showed up for the postmortem report. Grady led them down to the lonely white-and-gray basement.

  “Bombing’s cleared up at least. The feds lost Thompson thanks to Young, but they got the union boss in custody. Guy named Heather. They think he was the mastermind behind the whole thing. After a week of turning the screws, he’ll talk.”

  Rowan asked, “Can we talk to Heather?”

  “That’s a negative. The feds don’t give a good goddamn about your case. I was lucky to get Grizz’s razor from them. They also told me that my services are no longer needed. That means I am now on the Miller case, and you are to keep me informed of every move.”

  “Don’t you mean the Pluviam case?” said Rowan.

  “Either way, I’m after one guy, Manory, and his name is Timothy Brown. McKinley took one look at Grizz’s razor and nixed it. The edge don’t fit the throat. We bought the same razor that Brown uses and whatdya know? A perfect match.” Grady nodded at Walter. “How’s the mitt?”

  Walter held up his bandaged hand. “My piano playing days are over.”

  “Didn’t know you played.”

  “I don’t. It’s just something people say.”

  Grady narrowed his eyes. “Why the fuck would people say that if they don’t play the piano? What sense would it make?”

  Walter smiled dumbly at him. “You and Manory should really be working together. It’d be a laugh riot in that office. Nothing would ever get done.”

  “Have you gotten hold of Maura Lewis?” Rowan asked.

  Grady stopped at the door to the morgue. “Maura Lewis was reported missing from the Oleanna Woman’s Shelter up on Michigan and Thirtieth.”

  Rowan said, “A woman’s shelter? Really?”

  “Yeah. They keep tabs on their residents on account of all the missing people in the city. If the residents find housing, they are to notify the shelter or else they call the police. They called. One more thing.” Grady pulled a card from his breast pocket. “I got your address in Baraboo. It’s a Warners. I tried to call, but there’s no phone.”

  Finally. “Outstanding. This case will be over in no time.”

  Grady tapped at Rowan’s lapel. “You sure you’re not holding out on me?”

  “Grady, you have always been the third person to know what I know. I am working on the case. I will hand it to you with a bow. Trust me.”

  McKinley sat at the back table, smoking and playing solitaire. “We have to stop meeting like this, Manory.”

  Grady scowled. “She looks horrible. Couldn’t you have put in some elbow grease or something?”

  “Look what I had to work with,” said McKinley, sweeping the cards into a deck.

  Rowan said, “I imagine there were no surprises.”

  McKinley tossed his cigarette on the floor and squished it with his shoe. He joined them next to Allison’s corpse. “The killer used a straight razor on the neck. He was right-handed, approached her from the front. There were two wounds to the neck. The first was quite shallow but just deep enough—a slashing motion from a relative distance. The second was a deep, oblique cut. I think he was standing over her body, used two hands to manage it. The slicing of the stomach and chest was done with a butcher knife, slightly jagged, at least six inches. After that, it’s just chaos. Lots of gray wool fibers, so he was wearing gloves. He ripped out her organs with his hands. Sliced open everything. We aren’t dealing with Jack the Ripper. This clown had no idea what he was doing.”

  Grady said, “Anything out of the ordinary?”

  McKinley stared at him.

  “Anything else out of the ordinary?”

  “Standard disembowelment, as far as these things go.”

  “Would you say we’re looking for a man?”

  McKinley shrugged. “Not necessarily. Whoever did it had lots of time. There’s so much hacking involved. I don’t think our guy had to be strong. Might have been a woman. A determined one.”

  Rowan sighed. “All right, Grady. I will come back from Baraboo tomorrow evening and give you a full report.”

  “At least tell me what you expect to find.”

  “The Williams connection.”

  Walter looked at him.

  Rowan shook his head. “Not you, the…” His eyes glinted. A smug smile came to his face. That is what it was.

  Walter saw that look of astonishment on his boss’s face. It had been a while since Walter had seen it. “I know that look.”

  Grady squinted. “What look? What are you two mugs talking about?”

  “Nothing,” said Rowan, pulling Walter along. “Nothing at all. Good day, Grady.”

  “Good day? Hey, no secrets, Manory. You know something, you tell me.”

  The detectives reached the main floor. Rowan nervously lit a cigarette in the corner. “Go back to the office. If the doctor from the hospital in New York calls, find out everything you can about the Pluviams. I’ll call you later with instructions.”

  Walter asked, “Where are you headed?”

  “Edward’s house. Maura has moved up a notch on our suspect list.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It was something that happened when I met
the cast on the day of the opening. I noticed it, but I did not pay it proper attention. I think in my younger years, I would have picked up on it right away. Do you remember when you were talking to Maura in the dressing room?”

  Walter pictured her Louise Brooks haircut. “Yeah. She said something about the killer being dangerous for everybody.”

  “Do you recall what she did?”

  “No.”

  “I do. I could not fathom it at the time, but how could I have? I did not know then what I know now.”

  Maura looked at Edward’s reflection in the mirror over the living room mantel. “Do you think one of us is next?”

  “Nonsense. Timothy had a reason to kill Allison. He has no reason to kill us. You saw him on Tuesday; he was doped up on something. He wasn’t himself.”

  “How did Allie die? Did she…” Maura sobbed. “Did she suffer?”

  “They wouldn’t tell me. The cops just said she was murdered. I don’t know why it hasn’t been in the paper.” Edward paused. “Did you catch up with Allie that night?”

  “Obviously not. I ran after her, but I lost her.”

  “You left just after she did. How did you—”

  “What’s with the third degree? She went down an alley, and I fell down and lost her. Twisted my ankle real bad too.”

  “It looks fine now.”

  “It got better. Jeez Louise, Eddie, the police are after me. There’s a killer out there. I’m scared.” She put her palm over her forehead and let it slide down her face and onto her mouth.

  “Why would the police be after you? Did you follow Allie to the theater? You can tell me the truth. I don’t care if you did.”

  “What about you? Huh? Where did you go?”

  “I came home, expecting to find you. But you weren’t here. I haven’t slept for the last two nights, been worried sick, and now you show up here and…Where have you been?”

  She turned away from him. “Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry. You’ve been so good to me. I don’t know who I can trust.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Maura. I don’t care why you’re running from the police.”

  “Eddie, I—”

  Edward tried to embrace her, but she flinched. “You don’t think I’m the killer?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then we’ll leave, together.”

  “Where?”

  “Who cares? We’ll just go. Every time I read a murder mystery, I always wonder why the people don’t just leave. I know you didn’t do it, and you know I didn’t either. We’ll go tonight. Maybe out West.”

  “What about Christine?”

  Edward looked up at the stairway. “I’ll drop her off at the hospital. They have to take her in. I’ll tell them she’s not feeling well.”

  “Eddie?”

  “I’d do it for you, Maura. I’ll do anything for you. Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’re running from, it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

  A knock came at the door.

  Edward pointed. “Upstairs. Go.”

  “It’s the police? They’ll come upstairs. They’ll find me, Eddie.”

  “I won’t let them. Go. Quickly.”

  Maura ran up the stairs, disappearing around the corner. Edward waited a few seconds and pulled the door open.

  Rowan stood on the porch with flared nostrils. “Where is Maura Lewis?”

  CHAPTER 11 The nasty, Dark-Haired Girl

  12:12 p.m. Friday, April 12th

  The long, mirrored mantel was lined with a precious collection of knickknacks Christine had collected over many years. Rowan put his index finger at the top of a miniature replica of the first Ferris wheel and spun it. “Tell me about the party, Edward?”

  Edward relayed the primary events, leaving out some of the debauchery and coming to the point where Allison faced off with Timothy. “Allison said she knew how he had done it.”

  “How he had killed Lisa?”

  “It wasn’t crystal clear, but yeah, I think that’s what she meant. She said there was evidence, and she was going to bring to you.” Edward’s eyes grew wide. “That means the evidence was at the theater. It must have been why she went there.”

  “I am certain it is no longer in the theater. The killer has surely removed it.”

  “You mean Timothy?”

  Rowan stared at him blankly.

  “I don’t want to believe he did it, but he knew she had evidence. He even told me he was going to kill her.”

  “Yes, and you knew she had evidence too, Edward.”

  “That’s right I did. Everyone at the party heard her.”

  “Including Maura?”

  “Yeah, but…” He seemed to mull over the idea for a moment but then rejected it. “No. No. That’s…You’re not…” The words eluded him. “It’s ridiculous.”

  Rowan grabbed a chair from the fireplace and pulled it close to the table. “Where does Maura live, Edward? The police are having the damndest time finding the girl.”

  “I don’t know where she lives. She never told me.”

  “That is difficult to believe. She was your date to the party. Obviously you and Maura have feelings for one another.”

  “We’d been planning to go to David Brouthers’s party for a few weeks. She invited the cast so we could celebrate The Balcony. Since opening night, Maura and I have seen each other a lot, it’s true, but we always meet somewhere. I’ve never picked her up at her house.”

  Rowan lit a Camel. It tasted of dust. “Are you in love with her?”

  Edward raised his voice. “Yes, I am. I fell in love with Maura Lewis the moment I met her, it just took me a while to realize it. That’s how I know she isn’t the killer.”

  Rowan chuckled. “No, that is why you are blind to the possibility. The problem, Edward, is that there may not be a Maura Lewis. She lied about her address, she lied about where she was from, and I cannot imagine she has decided not to lie to you.”

  “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t make her a murderer.”

  “Have you ever heard of a man named Clarence Williams?”

  “No, should I have?”

  “I think Maura might be connected to this man. What’s more, I think Maura might have had a reason to want Lisa dead because of him.” He thought better of saying anything else. “Where do you think she is now?”

  Edward shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Would you tell me if you did?”

  “Probably not. No, definitely not.”

  The top stair creaked, startling the men in the living room. Two thick, veiny legs hobbled down the stairs. Christine bunched up the hem of her white draping lace nightgown. Before each step, she paused several seconds and then firmly planted a foot. When she finally made it to the bottom, Edward was waiting to take her by the arm. “I don’t know what it is about me and stairs.”

  He gently guided her to the corner chair next to the sofa. “I think it’s impressive you can still get down by yourself. Christine, this is Detective Rowan Manory.”

  Rowan gave a slight bow. “Miss Filius. I’m a friend of your nephew’s.”

  The sconce light cast a shadow over her face. “But you’re almost my age. How could you be Eddie’s friend?”

  “I’m only forty-seven years old.”

  Christine squinted in the darkness. “You look a lot older.”

  “Thank you.”

  Edward rubbed her shoulders. “Were you able to sleep?”

  “Much better.” She gave Rowan a disapproving look. “Being sick is not fun. Especially when the end is so near.”

  Rowan sat back in his chair. He didn’t particularly want to talk with this woman, but a few questions for Edward remained. “Are you ill, madam?”

  “I spent three days in the hospital.”

  “Two days,” Edward corrected her.

  “I’m not crazy. Thursday I went in, all day Friday, and you picked me up on Saturday. That’s three days.”

  Rowan gave a sympathetic look. “I am
sorry to hear that. What was wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know. No one can give me a straight answer.”

  He looked to Edward.

  “Last Thursday, she went into a brief coma.”

  Christine shook her head. “It wasn’t a coma. A coma, you go to sleep. I could hear and see everything when it happened. I saw the look on Edward’s face. The poor dear was so worried. And I saw that nasty girl.”

  The detective paused, a subtle gleam coming to his eyes. “What girl is that?”

  Edward blurted out, “The nurse.”

  Rowan said, “The one with the bracelet? Nurse Gonzalez?”

  “Yes, how did you know? Am I…am I under investigation?”

  “Why were you fired, Edward?” asked Rowan.

  Christine’s face turned angry. “You’ve been fired? Oh, Edward. In this economy?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to wait until I found something else,” Edward looked at Rowan, “so you wouldn’t worry about me.”

  Rowan kept his gaze fixed. “Why were you fired, Edward?”

  “For theft.”

  “What did you thieve?”

  “Can we discuss this later?”

  Christine said, “Edward, you don’t need to steal. I’ll buy you anything you need.”

  Rowan stayed on track. “What did you steal, Edward?”

  Edward took a deep breath. “Morphine. I stole a bottle of morphine, and I sold it to some people at David Brouthers’s party. I don’t remember their names so don’t ask.”

  Christine shook her head. “Kids these days. When I was his age, I wasn’t worried about morphine. I certainly wasn’t getting fired for stealing it.”

  Rowan gave a smug grin at Edward. “Really? You stole the morphine?”

  “That’s right.”

  Christine said, “You know I was his teacher in high school. He was a good boy then. Always did as he was told. Said yes sir and yes maam. Now he’s selling drugs.”

  Rowan kept his eyes on Edward while he spoke to Christine. “What did you teach, Miss Filius?”

  “I taught all ages and I taught every subject. Everything but mathematics. I could never understand it. Such a cold language.”

  Edward gave a tepid, nervous laugh. “Imagine how popular I was in school with my aunt as the—”