“Wowzer.”
“Indeed.” I turned and looked at him. “You don’t think I’m reading too much into all this, do you?”
He paused a moment before replying, and I held my breath, wondering what he was going to say. Finally, he said, “I trust your instincts, Heath. I think your idea of what Mr. Blount was up to is right, and I think the bloody ‘W’ and spool of thread have to mean something. So, no, I don’t think you’re reading too much into it at all.”
I released my breath. “Thanks. I wonder myself if I’m getting carried away sometimes, you know?”
“You’re on the right track, I can feel it. So now what?”
“Regardless of his advice, I think we should play cop right here in Chicago and see what we can find out on our own about our four suspects.”
“But we don’t have any authority to question anybody.”
“No one says we can’t have a friendly conversation or two. Let’s go see if Mr. Bennett is around.”
“All right, Heath. You’re the boss.”
I grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “Partner, remember?”
Chapter Fifteen
Together we walked back around to the main entrance of the hotel on Michigan Avenue and into the lobby. “What do you plan on asking him, Heath?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. For starters, I’d like to find out if it was him the bellboy was talking about having an argument in Blount’s shop yesterday afternoon.”
“You think it was?”
“Not sure. It was either him or Gillingham, I’m willing to bet.”
“And you think whoever was having that argument is the killer?”
“It’s a possibility, but there are other factors to consider as well. I’d say it’s just one possible piece of the puzzle.”
“Okay, what about that film reel and the pictures?”
“I might bring those up. Let’s wait and see what he has to say first.”
“I’ll follow your lead, partner,” Alan said with a grin.
A middle-aged man stood at the front desk talking to a man and woman I assumed were hotel guests. When he had finished with them, I approached.
“Good afternoon. I’m Heath Barrington. I was wondering if Mr. Bennett was available. We’d like to see him.”
He looked surprised. “Mr. Bennett? Our junior assistant manager?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Mr. Bennett is off today, but he does happen to be here. He came in for a staff meeting this morning, then stepped out for a bit. He returned a short time ago, and I believe he’s in his office.”
“Which is where?”
“On the mezzanine level, just there.” He pointed up and over my left shoulder. “Shall I ask him to come down?”
“No thanks, we’ll go up.”
“All right. I’ll just ring him and let him know to expect you, Mr. Barrington.”
We took the marble staircase up to the mezzanine level and quickly found the door marked G. Bennett, Junior Assistant Hotel Manager. We knocked and presently heard him call out, “Come in.”
His office was small, but larger than Mike Masterson’s, and it had a window. In the air was the faint scent of cigars. As we entered, he got up from his seat at the desk.
“Mr. Barrington, Mr. Keyes, this is a surprise.”
“We weren’t sure you’d be here, Mr. Bennett.”
“I just got in. I’m actually off today, but I had a staff meeting this morning and now I’m working on scheduling.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt. We were hoping to chat with you.”
He was in his shirtsleeves and slacks, his tie loosened. “No bother at all. How may I help you? We got your note last night that something had come up. Vivian and I were wondering.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. I assume you’ve heard about Mr. Blount?” I asked.
“I’m afraid everyone’s talking about it. Dreadful, really.”
“Of course. When I went downstairs last night to look for Blount about the tie I bought, I found him dead.”
Mr. Bennett motioned for us to sit as he settled back into his chair. “Yes, I wondered if you were the one to find the body. How awful for you.”
We took seats opposite him. “Being a police detective, I’m afraid I’ve seen my share of dead bodies, though I can’t say I’m used to it yet. In a way, I hope I never get used to it.”
“I understand, Mr. Barrington. Can I offer either of you a drink or a cigar?”
“Not for me, thanks.”
Alan shook his head. “No thank you, sir.”
“Very well. I didn’t like him much, as you know, so I can’t say I’m too heartbroken to hear of his death.”
“I would imagine not,” Alan said.
“Still, it was a shock. Mrs. Verte is quite upset by the news, but then she was one of the few people that actually cared for him, it seems. Or at least didn’t hate him,” Mr. Bennett said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands. “And how sad is that, I must say.”
“Very sad, Mr. Bennett. When did you last see him, by the way?” I asked.
“Blount? It was yesterday afternoon when Vivian and I were in his shop. I bought that suit, which I’ll probably never get now, and Vivian left her dress to be hemmed. Why?”
“Just wondering. Being a police detective, I’m naturally curious.”
“Curious about what?” he asked.
“Someone told me you were also in Blount’s shop early yesterday afternoon, having an argument.”
He looked surprised. “Whoever told you that is mistaken, Mr. Barrington. I didn’t go to his store until later in the afternoon, and we didn’t argue.”
“You didn’t argue with Blount yesterday afternoon in his shop around two p.m.?” I pressed.
“I most certainly did not.”
“We have a witness that says someone did. A messenger says it was a man, and that he was having a rather heated argument.”
“Did he say what the man looked like?”
“No. How do you know it was a he?” I asked.
“I don’t, I didn’t, but you said it was a messenger, and generally they’re men, aren’t they?”
“Not always, Mr. Bennett,” Alan stated.
“I was just using ‘he’ in the general sense. During the war we used a few girls as pages and bellboys, but generally they’re all men now.”
“I see. What were you doing yesterday afternoon?” I continued.
“I was here, working most of the day. I had lunch, then I went out for a bit. I took in a movie.”
“In the middle of the afternoon?” Alan asked.
He nodded his head. “I do that sometimes. I work long hours and many days, so sometimes I treat myself to a matinee.”
“Anything good playing?” I asked.
“The Egg and I, at the RKO Grand on Clark and Randolph.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No. I mean, yes, of course people saw me. Other people on the street, shop clerks, the usherette and ticket taker at the theater, and whatnot, but I’m sure they wouldn’t remember me.”
“You were alone?”
“Yes.” He had crossed his arms and looked flustered, annoyed.
“Ticket stub from the show?” Alan asked.
“I threw it away. What is all this, you two? Why are you giving me the third degree over some argument I supposedly had with Blount, which I didn’t?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bennett. I’m just trying to make certain things clear, that’s all,” I said.
“What things? What’s this all about it?”
“You know Blount was murdered,” I said, watching his face.
Bennett nodded. “Yes, someone said he was shot, multiple times. Apparently the whole back room is covered in blood, and it even seeped out into the alley under the door.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “That would be a gross exaggeration. You know, I saw The Egg and I myself in Milwaukee last week, but I got calle
d away. How does it end?”
“Happily, I imagine. It was a silly farce. I left before it was over.”
What time was the movie?”
“Quarter past two. I got back here to the hotel around five. I happened to see Mrs. Verte going into Blount’s shop.”
“I see. So you went in, too?” I continued, still watching him.
“Yes, about quarter after five or so, I’d say. She wanted a dress she’d bought hemmed, and I bought a new suit. Vivian asked me to join her in the Sky Star, so she went upstairs to her room and I went back to my apartment to start getting ready for the evening. Then around quarter of seven I returned to pick her up as she had asked. When I knocked on her door, she told me she had broken her perfume bottle and she sent me out in search of a replacement.”
“Which took you almost an hour,” Alan said.
“Lavender Lilacs is a difficult thing to find at that hour on a Saturday, Mr. Keyes.”
“Yet it was for sale right here in the hotel boutique,” I said.
“I told you I didn’t think to look there.” He was scowling now, his arms crossed.
“There’s a display of it in their window,” Alan said.
“I’m not a window shopper, and I certainly don’t pay attention to displays of perfume.”
“I suppose not,” I said. “Well, we won’t keep you any longer, Mr. Bennett. But I wonder if you know where I might find Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I believe they’re up in the ballroom right now, running through some numbers. My security fellow rang me before my staff meeting earlier to ask if they could be allowed access.”
“I see. Perhaps you and Mrs. Verte, if she’s available, would be so kind as to join us up there, in say, half an hour?”
“What on earth for? There’s no show tonight.”
“Nothing planned, but there might just be a show. Would you join us, please?”
He shrugged. “I’ll see if Mrs. Verte is available. You certainly have my curiosity aroused.”
“Perfect. And thank you, Mr. Bennett. Good day,” I said, as Alan and I got to our feet.
“Good day to you,” Mr. Bennett said. I noticed he had started sweating.
Alan and I left his office and walked back to the marble staircase where we stopped, looking down at the lobby below.
“So what gives?” Alan asked me. “Why do you want those two up in the ballroom?”
“Just a gathering of the suspects. I want Mrs. Gittings there, too. I find it easier to sort through my thoughts if I can talk to everybody together.”
“Wilchinski’s not going to like it.”
“Ask me how much I care. I wonder if Bennett’s telling the truth about the perfume.”
“You think he really did buy it here in the hotel?”
“If he did, it would be easy enough to check. We could ask the salesgirl who was working last night. I would imagine she’d know him or at least remember him, and they can’t possibly sell that many bottles of Lavender Lilacs.”
“True. But why would he lie about it in the first place?”
“To give himself an alibi. He could have used that hour to buy the perfume in the hotel boutique, then go around and shoot Blount, destroy the evidence, and get back upstairs, where he ran into us.”
“Which would explain why he was winded and not put together.”
“Exactly.”
“Except he didn’t destroy his own evidence. It was all still there,” Alan said, looking confused.
“Maybe there was more than one film reel, more than one set of pictures. Perhaps Bennett thought he was destroying all of it.”
“Wowzer.”
“Of course, he could have actually not known the perfume was for sale in the boutique, and he may have been traipsing up and down Michigan Avenue in the wind looking for it like he said, and he isn’t the murderer.”
“But if he did shoot Blount, the timing is all wrong. Remember, Blount was shot at a little after eight.”
“Yes, I’ve been pondering that, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do we have to go by to determine the time of Blount’s death?”
“His smashed watch,” Alan said.
“Yes, exactly. Remember when we were in the back room and Wilchinski said, ‘The clock is ticking and you can’t turn back time, or stop it’?”
“Yeah, so?”
“You can’t move time forward, either. Or can you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if Blount was actually murdered earlier, but someone set his watch ahead?”
“Why would someone do that?”
“To give themselves an alibi, of course. Let’s assume for the moment Mr. Bennett did it. He shoots Blount at quarter after seven. Mrs. Verte and probably the doorman know he’s out and about. So Bennett changes Blount’s watch to just after eight and smashes it, stopping time and making it look like Blount was shot then. That gives Bennett time to get back upstairs with the perfume to Mrs. Verte’s room.”
“And at just after eight when the murder appeared to have happened, he was with us in the Star Sky Ballroom.”
“Yes, indeed. A perfect alibi.”
“Wowzer.”
“This is all just theory, though. It’s still possible Blount was murdered just after eight and the time on his watch wasn’t altered.”
“But the possibility of changing the time on his watch makes Mr. Bennett a suspect for sure.”
I nodded. “Yes. So really we’re still back to Mr. Bennett, Miss Eye, Mr. Gillingham, and Mrs. Gittings, and I’m a tad curious about Maynard Henning.”
“The piano player?”
“Yes. He was clearly a client of Mr. Blount’s, and not just for clothing, though we didn’t see any photos or movie reels of him, so Blount probably figured he wasn’t worth enough to blackmail.”
“Then why do you think he may be involved?”
“He may have become aware of what was happening with Miss Eye and decided to act on her behalf. And I keep coming back to that bloody ‘W.’”
“What about it?”
“Maybe it wasn’t a ‘W’ at all, maybe it was an ‘M.’”
“You mean he wrote it upside down?”
“Or he wrote out an ‘M’ for Maynard and then rolled over, making it appear he wrote a ‘W.’”
“Jeepers, this is all getting confusing.”
“I know, and I still can’t figure out the green thread.”
“Huh.”
“My thoughts exactly. I should very much like to talk to Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham, as well as Mr. Henning, but first let’s send a message to Mrs. Gittings.”
We went down the staircase to the lobby and crossed over to the desk once again, where I wrote out a message to Mrs. Gittings, put it in an envelope, and addressed it before handing it to the little man behind the counter. “Would you see this gets delivered right away? Send a boy, please.”
“Yes, sir.” The little man rang a bell and handed the envelope to a messenger boy as we walked over to a bank of pay phones next to the elevators.
“Now what, Heath?”
“Now I need to borrow a nickel.”
Alan reached in his trousers pocket, pulled out a small leather coin purse, and handed me a nickel from it.
“Thanks. I think I’ll invite Wilchinski to this party, too. After all, the clock is ticking.” I picked up the receiver, dropped the nickel in the slot, and dialed “O” as I took out Wilchinski’s card from my wallet.
“Operator.”
“Yes, King’s Lock 5-2825, please.”
“One moment.” I heard a click, then three rings before he picked up.
“Wilchinski.”
“Good afternoon, Detective. This is Heath Barrington.”
Silence. Then, “What’s good about it?” His voice was raspy.
“There’s a show in the Sky Star Ballroom in about half an hour, and I was wondering if you’d be inte
rested in attending.”
“You’re hilarious, Barrington. Quit wasting my time.”
“I didn’t know I was wasting your time, Wilchinski. Is the Blount case still open?”
“So far. I haven’t filed my official report yet. Why?”
“I have new evidence that will prove it wasn’t a random burglar.”
“Something someone left at your door again?”
“Now you’re the funny one. No, but I may have your suspect and the evidence on hand if you stop by the ballroom this afternoon just after four.”
Silence again. “I was just on my way out. I can swing by there, but I’m warning you, no guessing games, no smoke and mirrors. If you got something on someone, I want to know about it. Otherwise I’m filing my report.”
“I understand. Just be there.” I hung up without another word.
“Is he coming?”
“I think so. Let’s head upstairs.”
We took the elevator to the Sky Star, which opened onto the reception corridor. The double doors to the ballroom were closed and a sign said Open at 7:00 p.m. I strode over to them and pushed, but they were unlocked and swung open effortlessly.
The ballroom looked completely different in the afternoon sun, light flooding in from every direction through the many windows. The chairs were all turned upside down on the tables, which had been stripped of their tablecloths and candles. Stains on the floor that were invisible at night now appeared, and the glittering walls now looked drab. The twinkling lights in the ceiling had been turned off, and somehow the wonderful mystery was gone. It was as if we had peeked behind the curtain at the county fair magic show. At the far end of the room, on the stage, I could see a man sitting at the piano. Miss Eye, in an emerald green dress, her hair swept back into a ponytail, was standing nearby, looking over some sheet music. The man turned as we entered.
“Sorry, fellas, we’re closed. This is a private rehearsal.”
“I’m Heath Barrington, this is Alan Keyes. We were wondering if we could have a brief word with Miss Eye,” I said as Alan and I walked closer.
“It’s all right, Manny, I know these two. My friends from the coffee shop and Blount’s store, correct?”
I looked up at her on the stage and smiled. “That’s right. I’m surprised to find you here on a Sunday.”
Death Checks In Page 18
