Death Checks In

by David S. Pederson

  “Anything unusual about her?”

  “Unusual? Gee, I don’t think so. Although come to think of it, she was carrying the newspaper under her arm. Never saw her do that before. I didn’t even think the newspapers had been delivered yet.”

  “Right. Well, thanks, Jenkins. We’ll be on our way.”

  “Very good, Mr. Barrington, Mr. Keyes. Have a nice Father’s Day.”

  “Thanks, likewise.”

  Alan and I walked back to Michigan Avenue and turned toward the hotel, and I recounted to him what had occurred in the apartment and what Mrs. Gittings had said. He whistled.

  “Jeepers, Heath, do you think that gun is the missing one? Do you think she shot him?”

  “I think it’s entirely possible, unfortunately. I imagine the gun can be traced and tested to see if it is the murder weapon.”

  “And if it’s not, she’s in the clear?”

  “Not quite. It could still be her gun, and she still may have stolen Blount’s and disposed of it.”

  Alan nodded. “I suppose so, but she sure doesn’t seem like a killer to me.”

  “Alan…”

  “I know, I know. All kinds of people do all kinds of things, and people are not always what they appear.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about that newspaper?”

  “It seems likely to me she had it delivered to us. Yesterday’s paper is missing from the stack in her apartment, and that doorman saw her leaving this morning carrying a newspaper, which he said was unusual for her. I suspect she got up early this morning, took yesterday’s paper since today’s hadn’t come yet, circled the key words, then carried it to the hotel and gave it to a bellboy to deliver to our room. Then she toddled back here, picked up today’s newspaper from the hall, undressed, and took a nap, perhaps after a cocktail or two.”

  “Why would she leave that newspaper at our door and send a note for us to come see her? Why do both?”

  “I’m not sure, Alan. Perhaps she wrote out the note and sent it along with a neighborhood boy, then forgot about it and decided to send the newspaper. Or perhaps she sent the newspaper but felt we might not pick up on the clues and decided to tell us in person instead. She may even have had the note in her purse when she dropped off the newspaper and gave the note to one bellboy, the newspaper to another. We may never know; it’s difficult to have a clear conversation with her.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “One small consolation for you. If she did kill him, the courts would probably find her not guilty by reason of insanity. I doubt she’d serve time.”

  “So you do think she did it?”

  I shrugged. “I really don’t know. From what she said, it sounds like she saw Blount dead, anyway, but whether she stumbled upon the open door in the alley and saw him after the fact or if she actually did the crime remains to be seen.”

  “So why do you think she wants us to search Blount’s store?”

  “Maybe to find her hatpin, maybe no reason at all, other than she didn’t like him and still feels he has something to hide, or maybe there is something there.”

  “She said she saw an angel,” Alan said.

  “Yes, all in white, come to carry him away.”

  “I wonder.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “If she saw a ghost, maybe his ghost.”

  “You and your spirits, Alan.”

  “It could have been.”

  “I suppose so, but I’m not counting on it.”

  “All right, Mr. Skeptical, so what are we going to do next?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. I suppose, Alan, it’s time to phone Detective Wilchinski.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  We returned to room 804 and made ourselves comfortable, noting the maid had already been in to make up the room. “I could get used to maid service, Heath.”

  I laughed, “Me too, but not on our salaries.”

  “No, guess not. Are you going to make the call?”

  “Yeah, I have his card here.” I walked over to the desk and picked up the phone, asking the operator to connect me to the number listed on the card Detective Wilchinski had given me last night.

  It rang three times, then I heard his voice, still gravelly.

  “Detective Wilchinski, homicide.”

  “Good morning, this is Heath Barrington, from Milwaukee, we met at the Edmonton last evening.”

  “Oh right, the Blount case.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I was wondering if you could meet me in his shop this afternoon. I’d like to have a look around.”

  “It’s not a tourist attraction, Mr. Barrington, go visit a museum.”

  He had a way of getting under my skin, but I let it go. “I have reason to believe there may be something in his store or back room that would have significance to his death, Detective.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure, but I want to investigate.”

  “I thought I made it clear the other night—not your city, not your case.”

  “I’m just trying to help, Detective.”

  “Help me by telling me what you know, not playing games.”

  “I am telling you what I know—I have reason to believe there may be something in his shop we didn’t see the other night, but I won’t know until I look. Someone sent me a newspaper here at the hotel this morning telling me to search Blount’s store. They had circled key words in it.”

  “Who sent you that?”

  “I don’t know, it showed up in front of my hotel room door this morning.” It wasn’t a total lie, as I didn’t know with certainty Mrs. Gittings was behind it.

  “Why would anyone send you something like that instead of reporting it to the police?”

  “Again, I don’t know, Detective. Maybe one of my fans.”

  “Funny guy. You’ve had your name in the papers too often, your head’s getting big.”

  I bristled again. “Do you want my help or not?”

  “Fine. I guess I can spare you a few minutes. Meet me in an hour in the alley behind the hotel. The locks have been changed, but I have a key to that entrance. Bring that newspaper along, I want to see it, and try not to disturb any fingerprints.”

  “I’ll do my best. See you in an hour. It’s 11:57 now. Let’s say 1:00 p.m.”

  “Let’s.” He rung up the phone rather abruptly, and I did the same.

  “How did it go?” Alan asked.

  “About as well as I expected. We’re to meet him in the alley at one p.m. He also wants to see that newspaper that was left at our door this morning, too. What can I put it in so I don’t disturb any more fingerprints?”

  “Hmm. I don’t know. Could you fold it up inside a towel?”

  “Maybe, but I’m afraid the ink would come off on the towel. I’ll just take it as is and he can deal with it,” I said, picking it up off the desk. “Let’s hit the coffee shop for a quick bite first.”

  “Good idea, I’m hungry.”

  “Same here.”

  “Ready?”

  “After you, Officer.”

  We grabbed our hats, left the room, and hit the down elevator button, waiting beside a younger man and woman who were holding hands. I envied them that. Soon the elevator came and the four of us got in, riding in silence to the lobby, where we said good day to them and then headed to the coffee shop behind the marble staircase. It was just after noon and quite busy, but we managed to get a table for two toward the back, across from a portly man chain-smoking cigarettes in between bites of his sandwich. We put our hats on the wall hooks and I put the newspaper gently on the rack above them where I felt it would be safe and out of harm’s way. That done, we settled in across from each other at the table as the waitress brought over menus and two glasses of water.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. Two, black.”

  “Right.” She walked away as we picked up the menus.

  “What looks good?” I asked Alan.

&n
bsp; “It all looks good, Heath. I’m hungry.”

  “Good, get what you want. I’m buying.”

  “Let’s go Dutch, if anything.”

  “Don’t argue, Officer, I outrank you.”

  “But you’ve spent so much on me all ready this weekend.”

  “Because I want to. Now order what you want.”

  “If you insist. But I’m buying dinner tonight.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The waitress reappeared with the coffee, and we ordered, Alan getting the country ham omelet, hash browns, and toast, and I got the corned beef hash with a poached egg.

  She jotted it down on her pad, returned the pencil to behind her ear, and walked away without a word.

  “Friendly sort, isn’t she?” I said.

  “Probably having a tough day. Waiting tables is hard work. My cousin does that at a place in Racine.”

  “Every job dealing with the public can be challenging, I imagine. Including ours.”

  “No arguments there.”

  The waitress dropped off a check at the portly cigarette-smoking man’s table. He clambered rather awkwardly to his feet and left, replaced shortly by two priests, one older, one younger. Alan and I nodded to them politely as the waitress handed them their menus and water and then returned to our table and poured more coffee. In less than five minutes, she was back again with our food.

  “Anything else, gentlemen?”

  I looked at Alan, but he shook his head. “No thank you, miss.”

  She left us to it as she took the priests’ order.

  As we ate, I noticed Alan was unusually quiet. “Everything okay? How’s the omelet?”

  “Hmm? Oh, needs salt.”

  I picked up the shaker and handed it to him and he took it without a word, shook some on his food, and set it back on the table.

  “What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re not usually this quiet.”

  He looked up at me, his blue eyes penetrating. “Sorry. It’s fine. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

  “I figured you were, and I can guess what about. Look, I’m sorry we got involved in another murder case, Alan. Once we meet with Detective Wilchinski, we can tell him everything we know and then let him take over and we can enjoy the rest of our last full day here.”

  Alan swallowed a bite of his omelet and then shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t be happy doing that. We’re in the middle of this case, like it or not. After all, you found the body, and that newspaper was delivered to you, not Wilchinski. And Mrs. Gittings…well, she talked to you, not him.”

  I nodded. “That’s true. But I want you to be happy, too, Alan.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. I know that. And I am happy, more than you could know. We had a wonderful Friday and a great Saturday together. Well, up until the murder and all, anyway. And I’m with you, doing what you love. I’m a part of that, so how could I not be happy?” He smiled at me, and I could tell he was sincere.

  “That means a lot to me, Alan, it really does.” I wished at that instant I could reach over the table and kiss him or at least put my hand on his, but we were in public, so the best I could do was smile back at him. Both of the priests at the next table, I noticed, were leaning in our direction, doing their best to listen to our conversation. The older priest was staring at us.

  “I know how you feel,” Alan said softly, the edges of our hands just touching on the table top. From the other table, I heard the older priest cluck disapprovingly.

  I turned from Alan and looked over at the priests directly. “Sorry, not confession time.” The older one shot me an indignant look, the younger one looked embarrassed, and both of them looked away, busying themselves with their silverware.

  I turned back to Alan. “Sorry about that. So, why so quiet if you’re happy?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just thinking about Blount, the suspects, the clues, Mrs. Gittings.”

  “You really like that dotty old woman, don’t you?”

  “I do. I know it’s crazy, I know she’s crazy, but I like her, and I feel kind of sorry for her.”

  “I feel the same way. But we can’t let that get in the way of the fact that she’s still a suspect and may be a murderer.”

  “But she said Blount was evil.”

  I set my coffee cup down and looked at him hard. “Alan, she could have said he was the devil himself, but that doesn’t make it so, nor does it justify killing him, even if it was so.”

  He sighed. “You’re right, of course, but I really hope she didn’t do it.”

  “Me too, Alan. Me too. Did the salt help?”

  “Oh, yeah. Not the best omelet I’ve had, but it filled me up enough, anyway. I think I’m done. How about you?”

  “Yes, I’m through. They certainly don’t skimp on their portions here. The hash would have been more than enough on its own, but the poached egg was a treat. I should order that more often.”

  “I can poach an egg—I’ll make you one sometime.”

  I grinned. “For breakfast after a long, hard night.”

  He grinned back. “You’re on. You bring the orange juice.”

  “Deal. We’d better get moving.” I signaled for the waitress, who brought over the check. Once we had gathered our hats and the newspaper, I turned once more to the two priests.

  “Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen.”

  The younger one smiled, but the older one just scowled. “We weren’t eavesdropping, sir, but you were talking about murder, bodies, and uh, other unnatural things.”

  “Unnatural for you, perhaps.” Then I looked over at the young priest, who was blushing again. “Or perhaps not. Good day.”

  I left a tip on our table, paid the bill at the register, and together Alan and I headed out the door.

  “Those two seemed to be listening to everything we said.”

  “Oh, they were, from the time they sat down. Old busybody, that’s all. I probably shouldn’t have confronted them, but then again, why not?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  We went out onto Michigan Avenue and around to the alley, which was deserted. Not even a rat was in sight at this time of day. The police barricades at either end of the alley had been removed, and no one was in sight. The lock on the back door of Blount’s had obviously been changed, as Wilchinski had said, but other than that everything seemed just as it was yesterday, except now it was broad daylight. I tried the door, but it didn’t give, so I knocked, not really expecting anyone to answer. No one did.

  “What time is it now, Heath?”

  I checked my watch again. “Twelve fifty-eight.”

  About fifteen minutes later, I began to pace and fidget, mulling over things, thinking about what Mrs. Gittings had said. The alley was now flooded with sunlight, and I was glad for my wide-brimmed fedora.

  “Do you think he forgot, Heath?”

  I stopped and looked at him, leaning against the wall of the hotel, his hat pulled low. “No, I think he’s making us wait. Childish.” I paced some more, aimlessly kicking an empty can of soup about, bouncing it off trash cans and walls.

  Finally, a maroon Pontiac Torpedo pulled into the alley off Superior and came to a stop about five feet from where we stood. Wilchinski got out of the driver’s side, apparently alone.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming, Detective. We did say one o’clock, didn’t we? It’s one thirty now.”

  “Chicago’s not like Milwaukee, Barrington, and this isn’t my only case. You’re lucky I showed up at all. I have things to do, places to be, and this seems like a big waste of my time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve already been in there, and so have my boys. We took fingerprints and photographs, and checked for evidence. What do you think you’re going to find that we haven’t already?”

  “I don’t know. I won’t know until I get in there. Maybe nothing, maybe something, but I won’t know if we don’t at least look.”

 
“Fine, but let’s make it quick. DeCook’s off today, so I’m running solo.” He scowled in Alan’s direction. “Who are you again?”

  “Alan Keyes, also from Milwaukee. A police officer and a friend of Mr. Barrington’s.”

  Wilchinski looked him up and down. “I see. So, Mr. Keyes, what are you, Barrington’s assistant?”

  Alan looked somewhat embarrassed. “Yes, I guess you could say that.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I said.

  Wilchinski and Alan both looked at me, and Alan seemed surprised. “No?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I’d say we’re partners, in a manner of speaking.”

  “Partners in fighting crime, eh?” Wilchinski grumbled.

  “Yes, exactly.” I smiled at Alan, who beamed back at me.

  “Whatever works for you two, I guess.”

  “It works. Here’s the newspaper you wanted. You can see the folded-over page, and the circled words in the ads and articles.” I held out the paper for him.

  Wilchinski took it and glanced at it, turning the pages, squinting to read in the bright sunlight.

  “You said someone left this at your door at the hotel?”

  “That’s right, this morning. I don’t know who for certain.”

  “Interesting. Somebody’s playing games.” He glanced at it once more and walked over and tossed it on the seat of his car. So much for handling it carefully. He slammed the door shut again and grunted in my direction. “Let’s get inside and get this over with. Don’t go touching anything in there.”

  “Why?” I asked. “You said your lab guys have already been over the place.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, they have, they’re a pretty thorough bunch.”

  “Then what does it matter if I touch anything?”

  Wilchinski scowled again. “Because this is my case, and you do as I say, got it?”

  “I got it, but I’m not going to be able to have a very thorough look around if I can’t handle things,” I said.

  “Fine, but be sure and put things back the way they were. Everything’s been photographed.”

  “I understand, Wilchinski. Did your guys find anything?”

  He shook his head. “There were dozens of sets of prints in there, on everything. More like Union Station than the back room of a store.”