Death Checks In

by David S. Pederson

  “The weather is supposed to be better tomorrow,” Alan said.

  “I certainly hope so. These last few days haven’t been the nicest, and tomorrow is Father’s Day,” Mr. Bennett said.

  I slapped my forehead. “Father’s Day. Alan, I forgot the tie.”

  “What tie?”

  “The one I bought for my dad.”

  “Golly, you’re right, Heath. Blount never gave it to us. It wasn’t in the bag with everything else.”

  I looked at Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Verte. “I bought a tie yesterday from Blount’s—totally forgot to pick it up this afternoon when we got my other items. I can’t believe he didn’t give it to us, and he’s closed tomorrow.”

  “And Monday,” Mr. Bennett reminded us.

  I pulled my wallet out and glanced at the receipt Blount had written out. “He charged me for it, too, but he never put it in the bag.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t deliberate, Mr. Barrington,” Mrs. Verte said.

  “I’m sure it was,” Mr. Bennett said.

  “Regardless, I wonder if he’s still there,” I said.

  George glanced at his watch. “It’s quarter after nine already. He closed shop at seven, so I’m sure he’s gone home.”

  “Damn it.” I glanced at Mrs. Verte. “My apologies, madam.”

  “Certainly.”

  I set my glass down. “Alan, I’m going to run down to his shop and just see if he happens to still be around. I remember him saying it would be a late night for him. Anyway, it won’t hurt to check.”

  “Oh, really, Mr. Barrington, why interrupt a lovely evening just to go in search of a tie?” Mrs. Verte stated.

  “It was a gift for my dad for Father’s Day, as I said. I planned to give it to him Monday night when we get back, and I can’t show up empty-handed.”

  “I could give you one of my ties, Mr. Barrington. I have a couple new ones I haven’t worn yet. I would hate to see you in the doghouse with your dad,” Mr. Bennett said.

  “That’s incredibly generous of you, Mr. Bennett, and I may take you up on it, but let me just check on Blount first. If he’s not around, I can go to plan B.”

  “Have it your way, then. We’re going to have another round of cocktails. The champagne’s just about gone.” Mr. Bennett signaled for the waiter.

  “Want me to come with you, Heath?”

  “No, thanks. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. Besides, I think Mrs. Verte wants to do the Balboa.” I winked at him.

  “Oh, Mr. Barrington, I don’t think I’m even up for that,” she said.

  “Well, they’ll play a waltz again soon. Perhaps Alan and I can find partners and we can all dance.”

  “That would be nice,” Alan said, looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes.

  “I’ll hurry back.”

  Chapter Nine

  I tried Blount’s door, even though the lights were off. It was, as I expected, locked. I did notice a light coming from under the curtain to the back room, though, so I rapped on the glass door and waited. Nothing. I rapped again, louder this time, attracting the attention of a young couple strolling by who gave me a curious look.

  After a few minutes, I turned toward the lobby, almost running into Mrs. Gittings again, still in the same dark green dress, green velvet hat, and soiled gloves she had on yesterday.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gittings. We really must stop meeting like this.” I smiled at her, but her stare was cold and blank.

  Finally the cloud lifted and she shook her head. “You’re Mr. Barrington, from Milwaukee, bruck, bruck. I remember you now.”

  “Yes, that’s right. You’re out late, Mrs. Gittings, it’s after nine.”

  “I was, bruck bruck, here. Had something to do.” She clutched her pocketbook defensively, as if I might try and snatch it away.

  “Is everything all right? Is there something I may be able to help you with?”

  “Bruck, my hatpin, missing. My husband gave it to me. I left it somewhere.”

  “And you came back to look for it?”

  “Bruck bruck.”

  “Well, if I see it I’ll be sure and let you know. Have you asked at the desk?”

  Her eyes were glazed as she stared at me. “Had something to do here, Mr. Barrington.”

  “Yes, you told me. I hope you find it.”

  “Evil must be destroyed—it’s God’s will.”

  “Uh, certainly,” I said, puzzled. “Anyway, I’m looking for something, too—a package I left in Mr. Blount’s shop. Have you seen him?”

  “Evil. Eeevil, bruck, bruck.”

  A strong smell of alcohol emanated from her breath.

  “Yes, so you’ve mentioned.”

  “Bruck, bruck. Blood on the hands. Blood stains. Stains the soul. I saw him.”

  I looked at her, somewhat alarmed now, and tried to determine if she was merely rambling or if there was really something to be concerned about. Blount had told us that she had threatened him.

  “Who did you see? Mr. Blount? He had blood on him?”

  “Bruck, bruck—up.” She pointed a bony finger toward the elevators. “An angel, all in white—in God’s hands now. God will judge thy actions.”

  “I don’t think the elevators go all the way to heaven, Mrs. Gittings.”

  “God knows, Mr. Barrington, bruck bruck. Only God can wash away the blood.”

  “Ah yes, I suppose so. That and a good detergent.”

  She shook her head again and looked me up and down. “All dressed up, looking fancy.”

  “Yes, my friend and I are having cocktails upstairs in the Sky Star Ballroom.”

  “Bruck, bruck, Sky Star Ballroom. I remember that place.”

  “You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

  She stared at me again, making me a bit uncomfortable. “I must get home. Stanley will be waiting, bruck, bruck, bruck.”

  “Your husband?”

  “You know him?” she asked, cocking her head. Her hat slipped down a bit over her left eye.

  “Ah no, but you mentioned him at lunch.”

  “Stanley. Poor Stanley. Bruck, bruck, must be going,” she said, pushing her hat back into place.

  “Right. Well, nice running into you, so to speak, Mrs. Gittings. Be careful going home. It’s very late.”

  But before I even finished speaking she had tottered off, still clucking softly to herself and clutching her handbag to her chest.

  I sighed and shook my head, then I headed in the opposite direction, toward the lobby and out the front doors onto the street.

  “Cab, sir?” The doorman looked at me inquiringly.

  “No thank you, just getting some air,” I replied, not sure of what else to say. Michigan Avenue was still bustling with people hurrying here and there, carrying packages, waiting on busses and cabs, and milling about. The temperature had dropped about ten degrees, and the wind had picked up. I went around the corner and down Superior Street to the alley where I felt certain I would find the back door of Blount’s shop.

  The alley was dark, murky, and poorly lit, as alleys generally are. I got a momentary chill as I stared into the darkness and the shadows, wondering if I should proceed. But I shook off my fears and took a few steps in, glancing about, my senses on high alert. There was a loading dock just off the street, and a landing with a door on it marked Stairs in white paint, but no one was about. The wind rushed down the alley, blowing abandoned newspapers and other bits of assorted trash around as I moved slowly along, holding my tuxedo jacket closed against my chest.

  A large rat passed in front of me, and I jumped as I watched it scurry behind a trash can on the opposite wall, probably more afraid of me than I was of it, but not by much. I wondered where all the alley cats were when you needed one. About a third of the way down from Superior, roughly where the back of Blount’s shop would be, I noticed a sliver of light coming from a door standing slightly ajar. A small industrial light fixture shined above it. Curious.

  My mind and body went
into police mode as I remembered Mrs. Gittings’s words of death and blood, and I drew my gun, glad I had brought it. Perhaps I was being overly cautious, but my training had taught me to always be prepared. I approached as quietly as I could in my dress shoes, trying to avoid the many puddles of black water I came across. I hoped there were no more rats about.

  I braced myself flat against the brick wall of the hotel where I could peer in the open door unobtrusively. I saw nothing unusual at first, just his back room, lights blazing. No one was around, or at least I didn’t hear any sounds from within. All I could hear was the continuous wind whistling through the alley. I pushed cautiously on the door, which swung open with an audible creak. I flattened myself on the outside wall once more, but no one and nothing came forth, so I swung into the doorway in a crouching position, my gun in both hands in front of me.

  I saw Blount lying on the floor to the right of the door, amidst a large pile of thread spools from the overturned rack. He was partly on his left side, his eyes open. His white dress shirt and tie were soaked with blood, and a single line of red came from his nose. A shudder went down my spine as I got to my feet and scanned the back room to make sure no one else was about. Then I knelt beside him to check his pulse, but no luck. He was dead, all right, his skin cold.

  With my gun still drawn, I got to my feet and checked the dressing room and small bathroom, the only places anyone could hide, but there was no one. I found the charred remains of something that had been burned in the bathroom sink, but nothing else. I went to the phone on Blount’s desk and dialed, using my handkerchief lest I disturb any fingerprints. I kept my eye on the curtain to the front of the shop as I waited, watching for any sign of movement.

  “Operator,” a young female voice said.

  “Get me the police, quick.”

  “One moment.”

  There was a click and a buzz, and then a man’s voice. “Twelfth precinct, Sergeant Zutell.”

  “This is Detective Barrington of the Milwaukee police, I’m on vacation here in Chicago. There’s been a murder at Blount’s clothing store in the Edmonton Hotel, back room, off the alley. I just found the body, it’s Mr. Blount.”

  “Roger that, don’t touch anything. I’ll get a squad over pronto.”

  “Right.” I hung up and dialed the hotel operator.

  “Operator.”

  “This is Detective Barrington. Find Mike Masterson and send him to the back door of Blount’s right away, off the alley, it’s urgent.”

  “I’m not sure where Mr. Masterson is at the moment, sir.”

  “Well, find him. This is important police business, understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good. Also, send a message to Alan Keyes in the Sky Star Ballroom, with Mr. Bennett’s party. Tell him he’s needed by me at the back door of Blount’s also. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll have the front desk send a boy right away.”

  “Hurry.” I hung up once more. My gun still drawn, I moved quietly toward the curtain separating the front of the store from the back room. There was a row of light switches on the wall, and I hit them all in succession, watching through the curtain as the front of the store lit up bank by bank. Nothing moved. I entered cautiously through the curtain, sweeping side to side, noting no one behind the counter. From there, I moved to the racks of clothes and displays, but after a few minutes, I concluded the shop was empty. The killer must have exited out the alley door.

  I returned to the back room, wondering where in the hell Masterson and Alan were as I holstered my gun. I walked over to the desk once more. I knew I shouldn’t, but I pulled open the drawers. I didn’t find the gun he’d talked about, but in the top right drawer there was a box of bullets, and a space where it most likely had been. I closed the drawer again and looked about the back room once more while I waited impatiently.

  He must have overturned the rack of thread spools when he fell after being shot. Besides that, nothing else seemed to have been disturbed. Not much of a struggle, apparently. The safe under the work table was open, but I couldn’t tell by looking if anything was missing.

  Blount looked ghastly white. The blood from his nose had run into his thin mustache, turning it an odd color. He was grasping a spool of green thread from the rack in his right hand, a needle thrust into the top of the spool. Interesting. Was he holding it when he was shot, or did he grab it after he had fallen? And if so, why? I could read the name of the thread on the top of the spool: Jewel Green. I wondered if he was trying to send a message, but if he was, I didn’t know how to read it. Just above the pool of blood, he had scrawled a capital “W” on the floor with his own blood. Another message, but I had no idea what it meant, either.

  I heard a sound from the alley then, and I rose and spun on my heel, reaching for my gun once more. I was relieved to see Mike Masterson’s face in the doorway, with Alan right behind him.

  “Heath, what the hell?” Mike said.

  “Blount’s been murdered, looks like a gunshot.” I put my gun away again.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes, I called them first, then you two.”

  “Thanks,” Mike said, “but Blount’s store is a leased space in the hotel. Not my jurisdiction.”

  “I know, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Robbery, probably,” Alan said. “Are you okay, Heath?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Perhaps it was a robbery.” We all looked toward the safe under the work table then, which as I noted earlier was standing open.

  “Any sign of forced entry?” Mike asked.

  “No, the door was ajar when I got here. I came by to see if he was still around, as I forgot to pick up a tie I had purchased earlier.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “Come on, Mike, you know me better than that.”

  “Sorry, force of habit.” He cocked his head, listening. “Sounds like the cops are on their way. That siren is getting closer.”

  We all listened until the sound was in the alley right outside and we could see the red light flashing through the still open doorway. Then the siren stopped abruptly and the slamming of car doors echoed off the building walls. Our eyes were on the door as two uniformed policemen entered with their guns drawn. The three of us instinctively put our hands up. Behind the police a sour-looking older man in a dark suit and fedora came in, followed by a tall, pale, younger fellow in a gray hat and suit. The first man glanced at the three of us, then at Blount, then back to us.

  “Mike Masterson, what the hell are you doing here? And what the hell happened?”

  I could tell Mike was relieved. “Glad to see you, Marty. Would you tell your boys to put their guns away?”

  The man in the suit snapped at the cops. “It’s all right, boys, holster ’em. So what happened?” he asked again. “And who are these two?” He motioned with his large chin toward us.

  “I can vouch for them. This is Detective Barrington from Milwaukee, and a colleague of his, Officer Keyes, also of Milwaukee. Heath’s the one that found the body and called you.”

  The man’s eyebrows went up in an arch. “Heath Barrington?”

  I looked at him, surprised. “Yes, that’s right, do I know you?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard of you, your name’s been in the Tribune lately, and my chief has mentioned you. Apparently you’re quite a crack detective.”

  “Thanks. I’ve had some good breaks, and Mr. Keyes has been an enormous help with every case so far.”

  “Uh-huh, I see. Well, this is the big city. Things work differently here. Our cases are more brutal, more complex than you all get up north.”

  I bristled a bit but didn’t argue. “I’m sure they are, sir.” I felt Alan looking at me, but I kept my eyes on Marty.

  “Anyone check the front of the store to see if anybody’s hiding in there?” Marty asked.

  Mike glanced toward the curtain. “I’m not sure, Marty. We came in the
alley door.”

  “I checked it out. I’m the one who turned on the lights up front. It was all dark. I didn’t find anyone. I also checked the dressing room and bathroom back here.”

  “You shouldn’t be nosing about like that, Barrington. This isn’t your city, not your jurisdiction. You could get yourself killed. The criminals in Chicago are a little tougher than in Milwaukee.”

  I bristled again but said nothing.

  “Let’s have a look for ourselves. You might have missed something,” Marty said, drawing his gun. He motioned for the two uniformed officers to follow him. “DeCook, check the bathroom and dressing room again, too.” After he and the two in blue had gone up front, Alan turned to me.

  “Geez, Heath. He’s acting like you’re a child.”

  “It’s fine, Alan, and he’s right. This isn’t our city, not our jurisdiction.”

  “Yeah, but still…”

  I shrugged, knowing DeCook could probably hear us.

  Shortly the detective and the two police officers returned. “Nothin’ out there. Anything back here, DeCook?”

  “Somebody set fire to something in the bathroom sink, but otherwise no,” the tall redhead replied.

  Marty scratched his chin. “Somebody burned something, eh? Interesting. Investigate that, DeCook. But no sign of anyone hiding back here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No one out there, either, like I said, and the front of the shop is locked tight. The killer must have gone out the alley door,” the detective said.

  “I know,” I said. I couldn’t help myself.

  It was Marty’s turn to bristle as he turned toward me. “And you two are here why and how?”

  I gave him the details as best I could, but his eyes were not on me as I spoke. He looked about the room furiously, taking in every detail.

  “Uh-huh. So, he was dead when you got here.”

  I nodded. “That’s right. I checked for vital signs, then called the police.”

  “Anyone ID him positively?”

  “I did. It’s Victor Blount, the owner of this store,” I said. “Mr. Keyes and I met him yesterday right here in his shop.”