Death Checks In

by David S. Pederson

I nodded. “That’s true. But you didn’t report it to the police, which I found very odd. Of course, you didn’t report it because it had a gun in it.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “Not really. But having the gun stolen really fouled up your plans. Then that night when we were all having cocktails and Mr. Blount mentioned his gun, that was like a gift to you, wasn’t it? How simple it would be to buy a dress that needed hemming, bring it to him, go in the back room to try it on, and rummage through his desk until you found the gun. You slipped it in your new purse, and you were off. That’s why Miss Eye couldn’t find it when she looked for it. You had gotten there before her.”

  “That’s absurd.” She had uncrossed her arms and turned her necklace about until it was tangled.

  “You went back up to your room and started getting ready for the evening. Blount’s closed at seven. You couldn’t risk missing him, so you intentionally broke your perfume bottle and sent George out in search of a new one when he came to pick you up. Once he left, you headed downstairs, Blount’s gun still in your purse. By the time you reached the alley it was just after seven, maybe five minutes past. You knocked on the service door, Blount answered, surprised.

  “You made an excuse, perhaps you told him you lost an earring when you were changing earlier. He let you in to look for it. You pulled the gun and demanded the pictures of Rose. He gave you a file and you shot him. He fell, knocking over the thread rack. You bent down next to him and moved the hands of his watch to two minutes after eight, and then you smashed it against the floor, stopping time, as it were. Then you burned the file in the sink in the bathroom and hurried out into the alley and back upstairs. You probably never noticed Mrs. Gittings out in the alley. With her dark clothes, she most likely blended into the shadows.”

  “If you insist on making these absurd accusations, Detective, I think I should call my lawyer.” She had abandoned her necklace now, leaving it tangled about her throat.

  “Go ahead. I think there’s a pay phone near the elevators. I’ll even loan you a nickel. Or at least Alan will. I’m fresh out.” But she didn’t move.

  “Not up to making the call?”

  “I’m amused by your story, that’s all. Please continue,” she said dryly.

  Wilchinski had come forward and was now leaning on the table, listening intently.

  “Very well. When Alan and I came out of our room and saw you by the elevator, you weren’t waiting to go up, as you had said. You had just come up from downstairs. When you stepped off the elevator, you heard me in the doorway of my room talking to Alan, so you pretended you had just left your room and were waiting for the elevator. Remember, you hadn’t pressed the button.”

  “I forgot.”

  “Yes, you did, because you had stepped out of the elevator and turned around pretending to be waiting for it when you heard us.”

  “Why would I do that?” she asked, her voice a bit louder now.

  “Because it was seven forty. You needed us to believe you had been in your room waiting for George since six forty-five, when he left. You had planned for him to believe that, too. Your hair was a bit of a mess and you were slightly out of breath, but you made the excuse that you had been dancing by yourself in your room when in fact you had been hurrying through a dark alley, into the lobby and up the elevator. You had hoped to beat George back to the room, but Alan and I disrupted your plans. And when you went back to the room to put the perfume George bought away, you switched to your smaller evening bag.”

  “Because I changed my mind.”

  “Because your larger handbag still had the gun it. You went back to the room and switched handbags, putting the larger bag away for safekeeping until you could figure out how to dispose of the gun. What did you do with the gun, Mrs. Verte?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “My guess is it’s in the lake. I recall you saying you were going to walk down there this morning before breakfast,” I said.

  “What if I did? That’s not a crime, is it?”

  “Not in and of itself. You just happened to get lucky in discovering the gun and had to get rid of it. Shooting someone is relatively easy, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t know, really, because I didn’t kill him, and I’ve had just about enough of this. You’re making a fool of yourself with all this talk of green spools, bloody ‘W’s that aren’t bloody ‘W’s, the ramblings of a drunken old woman as your witness, and a watch you say was altered.”

  “I forgot to mention a couple of other things, Mrs. Verte.”

  ‘What would that be?”

  “The fact that you were wearing a lovely white dress last night.”

  “Yes, I was. I bought it just for this trip. So what?”

  “A loose flowing dress you said was easy to move in.”

  “Because I wanted to dance.”

  “Because you wanted to be able to move quickly once you shot Blount.”

  “You’re delusional, Mr. Barrington.”

  “And Mrs. Gittings saw a white angel last night. As I mentioned earlier, she was in the alley, waiting for Blount to come out. But she saw you instead, and mistook you for an angel in white. And then she saw Blount’s dead body. She followed you back into the hotel and saw you go up in the elevator, to heaven, she believed.”

  “Clearly she is delusional as well, as I said before. If anyone murdered him, she did.”

  “When she gets here soon, she’ll recognize you, of course.”

  Mr. Bennett got to his feet then, his complexion almost purple. “Stop this at once, Mr. Barrington. You were right the first time. I killed him. I did it, and I’m glad.”

  She looked up at him, surprised and shocked, “You see? He admits it. You all heard it.”

  “Vivian had nothing to do with this, Mr. Barrington. Blount was blackmailing me, like you said. I couldn’t take it anymore. He was driving me mad.”

  “I find your devotion to Mrs. Verte admirable, Mr. Bennett, especially when she was quick to point the finger at you and still is, but please sit down.”

  “This is a circus. Unless you have absolute proof, I refuse to listen to any more,” Mrs. Verte said.

  “There are a few other things,” I said. “Of course, we could subpoena the death records of Rose Dousman, search for next of kin, look up the newspaper accounts of her death, find back copies of the girlie magazine, and dredge it all back up, if that’s what you want.”

  “Leave my sister out of this. She’s suffered enough.”

  “I agree. By the way, Mrs. Verte, you were wearing gloves last night, as I recall.”

  “Of course I was, my evening gloves.”

  “But you wouldn’t have been able to alter the time on Blount’s watch while wearing them. They would have been too clumsy. You would’ve had to take them off. I’m willing to bet we will find your fingerprints on his watch. Yours, Blount’s, and no one else’s.”

  Mrs. Verte opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

  “Oh, Viv,” Mr. Bennett said softly, sinking back down onto the chair and putting his hand on hers.

  She pulled her hand away. “So what if I did shoot him. So what? He was a vile, nasty man. If I shot him, and I’m not saying I did, he deserved it. Not just for what he did to my Rose, but for every other girl that had come after and would come after her. With men like Blount, there would always be other victims, other innocent young girls, caught in the cross fire.”

  “What will happen now, Detective?” Mr. Bennett asked, crestfallen.

  “Mrs. Verte will be arrested and tried for murder. It’s up to the jury to decide her fate after that.”

  “You can’t, they can’t. Vivian is innocent in all this. I’ll claim I did it, I’ll say I shot him.”

  “But you didn’t, Mr. Bennett.”

  “Your evidence is circumstantial, Detective Barrington. Arrest me if you want to, but I doubt a jury would find me guilty,” Mrs. Verte said.

  “Not if they
find your fingerprint on his watch.”

  “She can say she handled his watch earlier, when they were together.”

  “Not likely, Mr. Bennett. I doubt a jury would believe that when confronted with the evidence of Blount and her sister, Rose.”

  “Please, Mr. Barrington. Vivian’s life will be ruined if you arrest her.”

  “Like Blount’s life is over,” Alan said.

  “He deserved it,” Bennett said.

  “You two seem to be in agreement on that point, but it’s not for either one of you to decide. It doesn’t matter if you think her actions were justified, Mr. Bennett. It doesn’t matter if I think they were. We are not a jury, we are not the judge, and we cannot sit in judgment of Blount or anyone else. It is not up to you or Mrs. Verte or me or anyone else to try and circumnavigate the law, to be vigilantes.”

  Wilchinski whistled and looked at his watch again. “Four and a half minutes, Barrington. Not bad. Well, I suppose I should take you downtown, Mrs. Verte, under the circumstances.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  He shook his head. “Not formally, ma’am, not yet anyway. Let’s go down and just see if your fingerprints happen to be on that watch. If not, well, then we’ll see.”

  “I’ll come, too, Vivian,” Mr. Bennett said, getting to his feet again.

  She looked at him coldly. “No, thank you, Mr. Bennett. It’s because of men like you that Blount had his nasty little business in the first place. Men like you who took advantage of innocent young women. For a while, I really thought they were going to pin his murder on you. That, to me, would have been the ultimate justice.” She got to her feet, gathered up her handbag, and walked out, followed closely by Wilchinski.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alan and I picked up our hats and quietly left the ballroom after Wilchinski had gone down with Mrs. Verte. Mr. Bennett had sat back down at the table, looking stunned and hurt. Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham went back onstage, presumably to rehearse some more or just talk about what had happened. We took the elevator back down to the eighth floor and then to our room.

  Alan tossed his hat on the dresser and flopped down on the bed nearest the window, unbuttoning his jacket.

  “Gee, I never would have guessed Mrs. Verte killed him. She didn’t seem the type, and I thought she was one of the few people who actually liked him.”

  “That was her intent, of course, to make us think she liked him, that she had no motive.”

  “What finally tipped you off?”

  “When I was reciting basic French words to you, I remembered that green was verte. Then you mistaking Henning for Hemming got me to thinking that things aren’t always what they first appear to be. And I kept coming back to that blank look Blount had when Mrs. Verte mentioned her maiden name was Dousman. Of course, at first we thought his look was because of Mrs. Verte’s off-color joke, but Blount didn’t seem the type to be offended by something like that.”

  “Golly, you put the pieces together well.”

  “And just in the nick of time. Wilchinski was losing patience.”

  “He never seemed to have much patience to begin with. So what’s going to happen to her?”

  I shook my head, putting my hat on the dresser next to his and checking my reflection in the dresser mirror. “I’m not sure, though it’s possible she may get off.”

  “Really?”

  I shrugged as I ran a comb through my hair. “Wilchinski still seemed intent that it was an unknown robber.”

  “Yeah, but if her fingerprints are on the watch…”

  I put my comb away and turned to Alan. “If Wilchinski even bothers to check. He said he would, but I have my doubts. I don’t think he likes my butting in, figuring things out when he didn’t, making him look bad. And in his opinion, Blount was a nasty little man that deserved to be murdered.”

  “But that’s not right, Heath.”

  “I agree, but I think we’ve done all we can. People don’t always get what they deserve, and they don’t always deserve what they get.”

  Alan started fiddling with his tie absentmindedly. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Maybe Wilchinski will surprise us. Maybe he’ll look for the fingerprint, make the arrest, and press charges. Maybe she’ll go to trial.”

  “And if she does? If she’s found guilty?”

  “She could go to the gas chamber.”

  Alan looked away from me. “Wowzer.”

  “The fact remains she murdered someone in cold blood, with intent. As I said before, we must not, cannot judge.”

  “What if she’s not found guilty? Or if Wilchinski decides to let her go?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. She’ll go back to New York and all this will be forgotten, I suppose. She’s a strong woman.”

  “What about Mr. Bennett?”

  “Good old Mr. Bennett. I feel sorry for him, but he’s relatively young yet. Who knows, he might still find one of those librarians. Since the war, eligible men are in short supply, you know. I doubt there will be any need to disclose what Blount did to him and why, even if Mrs. Verte does go to trial. The prosecuting attorney will focus on Rose Dousman, the fingerprint, and Mrs. Gittings’s testimony, along with ours, I imagine.”

  “Jeepers, you think Mrs. Gittings would testify?”

  “Hard to say. The defense attorney may argue she’s not a fit witness. Nevertheless, I think Mr. Bennett’s career and reputation will be safe. Certainly Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham have nothing to gain by exposing him.”

  “I’m glad. He’s a good man.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m glad, too. He made a few mistakes, but he’s learned from them. As for Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham, their secrets will be safe, too. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they both have long, happy careers.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something? We could say we knew her when.”

  I laughed. “Yes, and we have her autograph,” I said, removing the program from my pocket and setting it on the nightstand.

  Alan took his out and set it next to mine for safekeeping. “What about Mrs. Gittings?”

  “I worry about her most of all, but I think she will be all right, also. The man she hated is gone. Maybe we can come down here once in a while and visit her.”

  “I’d like that,” Alan said, turning on to his side and propping himself up on one elbow.

  “I thought you might,” I said, smiling.

  “It certainly has been a weekend. Say, you never got the tie for your dad.”

  “I’ll pick one up in Milwaukee when we get back tomorrow, probably get it on sale.”

  “That’s a good idea. This trip sure didn’t turn out exactly how I’d pictured it. Maybe my lucky rock isn’t so lucky after all.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. We solved the murder, didn’t we?”

  “Yeah, I guess we did. But still, maybe it’s time I place it on a shelf in my apartment.”

  “You sure?”

  “You’re all the luck I need, Heath.”

  I grinned. “You know what? This is our last night in Chicago—why don’t we put our tuxes on, and I’ll take you to the Pump Room for dinner, and then we’ll go clubbing? We’ll find some nice girls to dance with and we’ll dance close by, pretending we’re dancing with each other.”

  Alan didn’t say anything for a bit. He sat up, hands on his knees, and stared at the carpet, his feet on the floor. Finally, he looked at me, his eyes moist. “No, let’s stay right here in our room tonight instead, order room service, turn on the radio, and dance. Just the two of us.”

  I cocked my head in surprise. “But we could do that back in Milwaukee, Alan.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to pretend to dance with you. I want to dance with you. I’ll even let you lead.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Life’s too short to just pretend, and we have to do enough of that every day.”

  I went over to the dresser and turned the radio on, letting it warm up as it buzzed and crack
led to life. A little fine-tuning and soon the sounds of the Andrew Sisters swelled forth. I put out my hands to him. “Then let’s do it, Alan. No pretending tonight.”

  His face was beaming as he got to his feet and came into my arms. “If you’re waiting for me, you’re wasting your time.”

  Mystery History

  The Edmonton Hotel in Death Checks In is fictitious, but is based on a composite of several Chicago hotels of the era.

  The Pump Room, the Boulevard Room, Empire Room, Tip Top Tap, and Chez Paree were all well-known, popular Chicago restaurants and nightclubs of the 1940s.

  The Brownie camera Alan Keyes uses in the book was first produced in 1900 and introduced snapshots to the general public. It remained in production in various forms up until 1986.

  As mentioned in this book, Babe Zaharias really was the first American to win the Women’s British Golf Title. She was named the 10th Greatest North American Athlete of the 20th Century, and the 9th greatest by the Associated Press. In addition to golf, she excelled in baseball, softball, bowling, track and field, and basketball. She and Betty Dodd, a fellow golfer, were rumored to be close and loving partners, though Babe was married to George Zaharias.

  Alan Keyes is a big believer in horoscopes, which first appeared in daily newspapers around 1930.

  Before credit cards, letters of credit were accepted at hotels, and most guests paid by check or cash.

  The elevator operator strike mentioned in this book really did occur in 1945 in New York City. It hastened the arrival of automated elevators by bringing business to a grinding halt until the strike was settled.

  The fictitious Allegrae Auction House mentioned briefly in this book is also mentioned in Death Comes Darkly.

  The character of Mrs. Gittings and the incident with Heath in her apartment are based on real-life events that happened to this author.

  The movie The Egg and I debuted in 1947, starring Claudette Colbert and Fred MacMurray. It was a huge hit and launched the characters of Ma and Pa Kettle, played by Percy Kilbride and Marjorie Main, who went on to star in movies of their own.