by Rick Polad
Ben’s forehead crinkled. “Let me get this straight. You don’t remember leaving the bar, or driving home, or getting into bed?”
“No.”
“What did you drink?”
“Beer and tequila.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
That was the first thing that made any sense.
Charles squirmed and asked, “Can I go to the bathroom?”
“Sure.” Ben called the guard. Two male officers escorted Charles to the bathroom.
Ben sat down with his head in his hands, staring at a pad full of notes and several large question marks.
* * *
There were three more questions on Ben’s pad. He wanted to give Charles all the time it took, but needed to be in court at one. Might be another no-lunch day.
Charles was led back into the room. He looked like a beaten man.
“Charles, you said you couldn’t remember if your wife was home. But if she was home, she would verify what time you got home, wouldn’t she?”
He shrugged.
“What does that mean?”
“She doesn’t like me. She’s glad I’m in jail.”
Ben certainly remembered Mrs. Lamb’s anger, but thought that she would have calmed down by now. “I’ll have a chat with her.”
“Why do you need to talk to her?”
This was very frustrating. “Because you need an alibi.”
Charles just repeated that his wife didn’t like him.
“You said Margaret pointed at you and said you killed Miss Brock, correct?”
He nodded.
“Why do you think she would do that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Did you do anything to her to make her angry?”
“No, I just worked. I didn’t talk to her.”
This made no sense to Ben.
“Two more questions.” Ben took a deep breath as he turned to a new page. “Miss Brock was killed with a knife or a dagger. The police have a chest from your home. There are spots in the chest for two daggers. One is missing. Can you explain that?”
Charles shook his head. “I don’t know why it’s missing.”
“When was the last time you saw it?”
Charles hesitated. “I polished the silver last week. Sarah makes me polish it twice a year.”
“The daggers, too?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do with the daggers after you polished them?”
He tried to think. Stammering, he said “I, I—just put them back.”
“And you didn’t take them out again?”
A very quiet “no” followed ten seconds of silence.
Charles’ answers were not convincing to Ben. He knew they wouldn’t be convincing to a jury either. There was no way he would put Charles on the stand.
“Last question, Charles. Do you know what Miss Brock did for a living?”
“She made a lot of money.”
“Yes, but what did she do?”
“I don’t know. I tried to think about it, but I don’t know.”
“What did you think about?”
Fidgeting in the chair, Charles replied, “The book I saw.”
“What book was that?”
He squinted, like he was trying to see it.
“There was a green book on her desk with funny words and dates.”
Ben knew that was Miss Brock’s client list.
“But you don’t know what she did? She never said anything?”
He shook his head and then looked thoughtful. “The man at the gas station called her a whore, but I thought he was just angry.”
“Could she have been a prostitute, Charles?”
He became very animated and angry. “No! Miss Brock was a nice lady. She thought I was a nice man.”
“Okay, I’m sure she was. I’ll talk to you again in a few days.”
Ben called the guard. Still time for lunch. Remembering the transfer, he turned back to Charles.
“They’re transferring you to Cook County this afternoon. I’ll see you...”
Before Ben could finish the sentence, Charles had flipped over the table and a look of utter terror filled his face. He had instantly turned from a lamb into a raging lion.
The guard yelled for help. Within seconds, two more officers were in the room. They all just watched as Charles ranted. He was shaking violently. All three officers had their hands on their weapons. Slowly, Charles calmed down. He had backed himself into a corner and two officers turned the table back on its feet. Ben asked Charles to sit down and he did.
“Charles, what’s the matter?” As he asked it, he knew how stupid it must have sounded, to a normal person anyway. This guy was in jail for something he said he didn’t do and was going to be transferred to a worse place, and Ben was asking him what was wrong.
Charles violently shook his head. “I can’t go there. I’ll hang myself. I can’t go there.”
“Why not, Charles? It’s just like here.” He knew that wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t at all true.
“I just can’t, that’s all—I just can’t,” Charles said with a shaky voice and fear in his eyes.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Ben.
He left the room wondering what had just happened, and asked one of the officers if Detective Lonnigan was in. He said he would check.
* * *
Rosie met Ben in the lounge. He explained what happened and told her he was going to request a psych eval. He asked if they could keep Charles here until the eval was done. He was going to try and have that done before the preliminary hearing on Friday. She said the inn was not full and she would check.
* * *
When Ben got home, he called Spencer and asked if Spencer could come to his condo at eight.
“Is it important? I’m working surveillance on Laura.”
“Come up with anything?”
“Yup.”
“Care to share?”
“I don’t think so, other than she’s okay and definitely looking for her sister.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” said Ben.
“No. But how she’s doing it is a little out of the box.”
“Are you involved?”
“I am now.”
“Remember what happened the last time you were involved with her?”
“Don’t worry. Never forget that. But this time I’m on her side.”
“Okay. But we really need to talk. I need your help with the Brock murder. I’m defending Mr. Lamb.”
“Do you think it’s tied to the other killings?”
“Probably not. But pretty strange nonetheless.”
Ben gave Spencer some of the background.
“Okay, I’ll be there at eight.”
“Thanks, Spencer.”
Spencer called Stretch and told him he couldn’t make the evening walk, but to beep him if the big man showed up.
Chapter 77
Spencer was ten minutes early, but Ben was waiting for him.
“Thanks for coming, Spencer. Grab a beer while I get my notes.”
Spencer took his beer to the window. The view out over the lake from the twenty-sixth floor had always been something Spencer was jealous of. Floor-to-ceiling glass faced southeast, looking down on the lights of Navy Pier and the harbor light.
“Unit for sale on the floor below me,” said Ben.
“This is beautiful. I’d have to retire cuz I’d never leave. What’s up?”
“I’m sure you read about the arrest.”
Spencer nodded. “Didn’t buy that this guy is Friday.”
“No, me either at first. But open your mind for a minute. One of my clerks did some digging into Charles Lamb. When he was ten his father was arrested and charged with the murder of a prostitute. He hung himself in Cook County before he came to trial.”
Spencer’s eyes widened and he stopped the beer in mid-drink. “Doesn’t sound like a happy childhood.�
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Ben glanced down at his notes. “It continues. His mother was an alcoholic who disappeared after that happened. He was brought up by an aunt and uncle and his older brother, Steven.”
“Geez. Remind me to shut up when I complain about my life. Can’t be happy about being in jail.”
“No, but it’s gonna get worse. I told him they’d be transferring him to County and he went crazy. Flipped over the table. Said he couldn’t go to County—he’d hang himself.”
Spencer whistled. “Poor guy. I can’t imagine. You think he killed her?”
Ben gave Spencer a what the hell is the matter with you look. “Come on, Spence. You know it’s not what I think that matters.”
Crossing his legs, Spencer said, “Not in the long run. But in the short run, what do you think?”
Ben shook his head and told Spencer about Charles’ arrest record. “But I’d like to think he didn’t. Seems like a nice guy. Not too bright, but there’s a little kid quality that’s likeable.”
Spencer emptied the bottle. “And then there’s the flip-over-the-table guy—the guy who attacked the woman outside the bar.” He stared out the window. “Maybe that guy could kill someone.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find something that proves he didn’t.”
Spencer laughed. “Sure. No problem. I’ll get right on it.” He told Ben about the man on the street.
“Interesting. Well, Charles is in jail, so let’s see if your man shows.”
Spencer nodded. “How did Brock die? Anything I didn’t read in the paper?”
Ben related everything he knew over the second beers. Spencer took notes.
When Ben finished, Spencer got up and walked to the window. “Beautiful city till you look behind the doors. I have some questions you probably don’t have answers to.”
“So do I. What are yours?”
Spencer returned to the table and sat. “Where was he Friday night, and when?”
Ben sighed. “That’s the million-dollar question. Spent Friday night drinking away his problems. He’s a regular at Lights Out. Doesn’t remember a thing from after he arrived at the bar till when he woke up at home around noon Saturday.”
Spencer yawned and rubbed his eyes. “So there should be a bartender who remembers him, and his wife should be able to tell us when he got home.”
Ben agreed. “You can check out the bar. It’s on Western north of Diversey. But the wife isn’t exactly your loving spouse. She’s more concerned about her daggers than her husband. Might be good to find out why. I asked her what time he came home.” Ben frowned. “She walked out without saying a word.”
Spencer shook his head. “Nice. I’ll have a chat with the lady.”
“Don’t turn your back.”
Spencer laughed. “I’ve been through worse than what she’ll have to offer. But maybe there’s a good reason she isn’t giving him an alibi. Maybe she does know when he got home and it wasn’t in time to give him an alibi. And why did the maid finger him? She doesn’t point him out, and he’s still walking around, right?”
“Right.” Ben tapped his pencil on the glass top of the desk. “That’s one of the things I’d like to know also. Of course, the evidence is what put him in jail. They wouldn’t arrest him just on her accusation. But that led them to the money and the missing dagger. Still, without her they don’t find the evidence.”
“Doesn’t sound like enough to get a conviction.”
“Maybe not. The knife will tell the story. Hopefully that’ll prove him innocent.”
“Sure, if he’s still alive.” Spencer got up and paced. “So, what we have to do is show suspicion somewhere else.”
“Agreed. I’d start with the maid. See if you can get her to say why she accused Charles.”
Spencer nodded. “Then there’s the guy in the limo, but that’s a pretty big longshot.”
“If you can even find him.”
“I can try—gas station may have records if he charged it. I need the date and time.”
Ben made a note on the pad.
“There’s also the problem that it seems only two people had keys. She was locked up for the night and getting ready to go to bed. There were no signs of forced entry so either she let someone in or someone had a key.”
Spencer returned to his chair. “Perhaps she had another customer at home and she let him in.”
Ben shook his head. “Not likely. Everything points to her doing business elsewhere.”
“You never know. And maybe Lamb did kill her. Maybe he’s a gentle lamb until he fills up with alcohol and then turns into a prostitute-hating Mr. Hyde. Sure would be nice to put someone else in that house. Next time you see Charles, ask him if there was anyone else who was there—even a delivery person.”
“I did ask. He said the maid. He just doesn’t think very well. And he mentioned a bum he saw out by the rocks the morning before he started work.” Ben shook his head. “Things like that make this so hard. My client has no logical thought processes.”
Ben raised his arms, palms up. “See what you can find out. Start with the bar and Margaret. See if you can get an answer to why she accused him.” Ben read off her address.
“Okay, I’ll see Margaret tomorrow. You have anything on her?”
Ben flipped through his notes. “Husband died three years ago. Twenty-one-year-old son lives with her, going to college.”
“Great, thanks.”
“And one more thing.” Ben had started to close the folder and then remembered the partially finished work. He thumbed through his notes. “This is just a little strange. When Brock was showing Charles around, he noticed some work that wasn’t finished. She got angry when he asked about it.”
“Angry at what?”
“Well, that’s a good question. He thought she was angry at him so he didn’t ask any more.”
Spencer took a deep breath. “Maybe none of these things mean anything, but there’s enough strange things to make you wonder.”
Ben closed the folder. “Yup. But there is one thing for sure—there was someone else working in that house. Maybe Margaret knows who.”
“Worth asking.”
They spent the next half hour talking about strategy. Spencer said he would stop by the bar on the way home, see Margaret in the morning, and Mrs. Lamb Thursday night.
Ben had to be in court for the hearing Friday morning at nine. He had received a message that the psych eval had been approved, but wouldn’t be done until Charles was transferred. Another message was from Rosie, telling him they could only keep Charles until the hearing. If he was held over for trial, he would have to go to County.
Chapter 78
Spencer had to park on a side street three blocks away from Lights Out, and he was lucky to get that as someone pulled out. Parking in the city was never any fun. There was nothing different about Lights Out from any other bar. The music was loud, the crowd was louder, and a haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Booths lined the wall to the left and tables for two filled most of the linoleum-covered floor. The bar stretched along the right wall to a hallway at the back with He and She signs on the wall above the doorway. In back of the bar, the wall was lined with the customary mirrors and shelves of liquor.
Spencer looked for the bartender and found two. A woman with a white towel over her shoulder was filling beer glasses at the near end and a man with a bushy moustache was mixing drinks in the middle. Three waitresses were waiting with empty trays.
The booths were full, as were the tables, so Spencer took the only stool open at the bar. The place was packed on a Wednesday night. Spencer had noticed the Twenty-Five Cent Draft Wednesday sign in the front window. Nothing like cheap beer to pull in a crowd.
* * *
Spencer waited till the man came his way and ordered a draft Pabst.
When the bartender set the glass down, Spencer said, “Thanks. I wonder if we could chat for a minute.”
“
Mister, this is a bar, not a coffee house.”
Ignoring that, Spencer continued. “I have some questions about one of your customers.”
“And I have a bar full of customers waiting for drinks.”
“Fine. A subpoena will work too.”
Giving Spencer a disgusted look, he looked up to the ceiling and said, “Not my night. Who are you?”
Spencer showed his license.
“Private dick, huh. Okay, if you want to wait until the crowd clears, we can talk.”
“When’s that?”
“Usually around eleven.”
“That’s two hours.”
Spencer got a tough-guy look. The bartender pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels off the shelf and walked away.
Spencer watched the crowd while he waited.
* * *
Shortly before eleven, the bartender joined Spencer at a table, saying he could spare two minutes.
After introductions—his name was Mike—Spencer gave him the quick story of what he was looking for.
Mike looked surprised. “So you’re working for Charlie? The cops were in here a few nights ago.”
“Yes, I’m working with the Public Defender.”
“Well that’s different. Sweet guy, Charlie.”
“So you know him?”
Mike laughed. “Everybody here knows him, especially after he started buying rounds. I don’t know if he came into money or what, but a couple weeks ago he became the life of the party. Can’t believe he was arrested for that murder. Did he really do it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. I’m hoping not, but there’s not much to go on yet. Has he been coming here for a while?”
“Yup, years. Almost every Friday night. And a lot of Saturdays. And sometimes during the week. But during the week he just comes for an after-dinner drink. Weekends, he’s here all night.”
“Were you here last Friday night?”
“I’m here almost every night.”
“Do you remember last Friday? Was Charlie here?”
