Front Page Fatale: The First Ida Bly Thriller

by Daniel Fox

  Pointe, pale, to Bader: “What are you?”

  Bader, his voice guttural and wet: “Listen!”

  “Who... who does such a thing?”

  “Did you not hear?”

  “You’re not human. You can’t be human!”

  “’We’. She said ‘we’.”

  Pointe blinked. Looked to Ida. Took a breath. Gave a shaky nod to Bader.

  Bader put the scalpel to the back of Ida’s ear. “Where is Bob Tree?”

  A car crashed through the big front bay window.

  CHAPTER 52

  Ida moved.

  She rolled off the examination table, dropped on the floor. She threw herself forward into the back of the doctor’s knees, buckled him over. His head hit the edge of the study door – blood sprayed from his nose.

  Pain like lightning along her exposed back. She could feel her own blood not dripping but flowing down to her backside. She was pretty sure the doctor had cut her open real good.

  Pointe was swinging back from the car.

  Bob cranked open the driver-side door.

  Pointe turned back, startled, let two shots fly at Bob, both missing.

  Ida scrambled out of the study, past the men’s legs, on her hands and knees.

  Bob yelled, ducked, put the car in reverse, tried to back out. Something on the rear of the car stuck. There was a lot of tire-squealing, rubber smoke in the air, the car shuddered but didn’t go anywhere.

  Pointe ducked down to get a better angle on Bob. Aimed. Ida threw herself again, knocking into Pointe’s legs. Two more shots went off into the ceiling.

  Bob got out on the far side of the car.

  Pointe brought his gun down. A dead bead on Ida’s head.

  Bob hurled a chunk of window frame wood across the hood of the car. It caught Pointe in the face, cracked his head back.

  Bob yelled run.

  Ida scrambled up to her feet and did just that.

  Behind her – a scuffle. Bader shoved Pointe out of the way, started after Ida.

  The way to the front and back doors was blocked by Bob’s car. Ida thought maybe she could slide across the hood of the car on a good day. Not now. Now was a flash of agony in her back every time she moved. She went up the stairs instead, Bader on his way after her.

  ***

  Bob was sure he had counted four shots. Pretty sure anyway. He was also fairly certain that Pointe had been holding a revolver, not an automatic. So call it maybe two more shots before Pointe had to reload.

  He dived behind the car. Heard one of the men going up the stairs after Ida.

  He peeked over the rim of the car’s window. Another shot missed his head by a hair. One shot left, maybe.

  He heard Pointe come forward, slip and curse as he tried to climb over the front hood of the car.

  Bob tried to go out the hole he had created. But the car was flush with the edges.

  Pointe stopped his climb.

  Bob tried looking over the edge again, this time through the car’s back windows.

  Pointe swung open the passenger side door and started to clamber through.

  Bob jumped for the front door. Got his hand on the handle.

  Pointe let loose with his last shot. It hit Bob in the upper left shoulder, tore a nice chunk out of him. Spun him around. It was like getting finger-punched by God. On the plus side, he was pretty sure Pointe was out of bullets.

  Pointe had evidently come to the same conclusion. Lying across the front seat, he popped the cylinder, shook out the spent shells.

  Bob forgot the door. He was sick of being scared all the time. He charged forward, grabbed Pointe by his hair, dragged him out of the car and dropped him on his face on the floor.

  ***

  Ida made her way along the upstairs hallway. Tried to, anyway. It was not going well. She was starting to feel faint. She felt her blood soaking the back of her legs. She looked back, her blood had carpeted the floor.

  Bader came into view. He was holding his face with one hand. Blood trickled out between his fingers. He was still holding the scalpel in the other hand.

  She pushed into a bedroom, slammed the door shut. There was a keyhole but the door was distinctly lacking in keys. She put her shoulder against the far side of a mirrored dresser and gave it a push. It barely moved. She gave it everything she had left. The dresser wobbled, toppled, blocked the door.

  Bader banged on the far side of the door. Over and over. Then another noise. It took Ida a moment to understand he was slashing at the door, frantic, mewling, grunting.

  Ida went to the window. It overlooked the back yard. What the hell? It had been a fairly bad night, a two-story drop didn’t even really matter at this point, did it? She leaned forward, looking to ease her way to a hanging position, the plan being to follow the hanging position with a relatively short drop to the bricked patio below.

  Her blood loss and agony had something different to say about it though and she dropped hard to the ground below, doing something awful to her ankle that made her forget all about her back for a moment.

  ***

  Bob and Pointe were on the floor, wrestling for the gun. Pointe jammed his thumb into the gaping wound in Bob’s shoulder. Bob thrashed, saw red, saw black, lost his grip on the gun and reality in general.

  Pointe pushed away. Reached into his pocket, pulled out a fresh bullet. Slid it home.

  Bob rolled his eyes towards Pointe. “It’s too late for you.”

  Pointe shook his head. “No. No. This can be saved. This situation can be redeemed.”

  Sirens wailed up in the distance. Still a ways away, but getting louder. Bob waved a finger in their general direction. “Don’t think so.”

  “I’ll spin it.” Pointe snapped the cylinder home. Aimed at Bob on the floor.

  “I sent it.”

  “Sent what?”

  “Clemp.” Bob’s head thumped back on the floor.

  “What?” Pointe shuffled closer, listening. “What did you say?”

  Bob raised his head again. “I saw his stash about Clemp. You, Clemp, Fortier, Pileggi. Bader had the whole confession from Clemp written out and signed.”

  “Where is it?”

  Bob’s eyes closed. His head sank back down.

  Pointe straddled him. Grabbed the front of his shirt. Shook him. “Where is the information?”

  “I sent it in the mail. To the Clarion.”

  Pointe jerked up. Looked out. Squinted, looking for a mail box.

  “You won’t make it in time.” Bob rolled his head, listening to the approaching sirens. “They’re too close.”

  “Damn! Damn damn damn!” Pointe paced. Aimed his gun at Bob. Shook his head. Paced again. Aimed at Bobby again.

  “I think maybe there’s only one way you’re going to get any leverage on this.”

  Pointe stopped. Looked down at him. “How?”

  “Bader. Kill Bader. Spin it - you came to your senses. Came to save me and... me and Bly. Cop... cop redeeming his lost soul.”

  Pointe stood up straight. Considered it. Wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Stiffened and jerked his arms as Bader slid his scalpel into his spine.

  ***

  Ida was really not enjoying her night.

  Her back was fire and slickness. She was pretty sure she had broken her ankle in the fall from the window. And now she was looking through a window, seeing Bader stabbing Pointe in the back with Bob Tree probably next on the menu, and she felt compelled to try to help him.

  She tried the back door. She was surprised to find that it was now unlocked. What a lucky break, hooray.

  In she went. Hobbling. Into the entry area decorated with a car and murder. She bet the other fancy people on this block didn’t have cars and horrible deaths in their foyers. Bader was going to be the envy of the jet-set crowd.

  Bader was standing over Bob. Bader’s arm was up in the air, sweaty and vein-y and stressed. Bader’s hand was covered with blood. So was the scalpel in Bader’s hand.

  �
�Hey Doc.”

  Bader spun around, his face a snarling grimace. He started towards her.

  “I get that you were mad at Myrna.”

  There were maybe ten steps between them. And Bader had those very long legs. Nine steps.

  Ida stood her ground. “Lying about losing a baby to make you like her, that was gross. It was a sin.”

  Seven steps. Maybe six.

  “But when you killed her you also killed one of the last people on this planet that knew the story of your family.”

  Bader’s gait slowed at five steps. The fourth came slower than the last.

  “And listen to those beautiful sirens. They’re almost here.” She nodded at Bob on the floor. “Even with me and useless there...”

  Bob, weak: “Hey!”

  “Even with us gone, you’re not talking your way out of this one.”

  Bob shifted. “She makes a good point. And I mailed your blackmail packet to the Clarion.” Bader looked back at him. Bob nodded at Pointe’s body. “Even if you somehow did manage to weasel your way out of this, that envelope full of goodies will sink you for sure.”

  The sirens were close now. Piercing.

  Ida looked from one man to the other. “What was in it?”

  Bob coughed. “Clemp. Clemp, Pointe, and Detectives Pileggi and Fortier, they tracked the gang that got away with the First Southern California Bank robbery. Clemp was friends with a security guard at the bank that was the inside man for the heist. They slaughtered the gang up at Buck Lake, took the money for themselves.”

  Bader twisted between them.

  Ida: “Lemme guess, Clemp got greedy.”

  Bob shrugged. “Or maybe he didn’t like that they killed his friend. Whatever. He snatched more than his fair share.”

  “The others didn’t like it. The shoot-out at Skid Row...”

  “During the blockade raid.” Bob tried to raise a hand. He was too weak. He let it drop. “But Clemp survived. He knew Bader somehow. He couldn’t go to a hospital, so he came to our medical friend here to save him, which he did right there in that very study. But not before Bader took pictures of him and had him write out a confession.”

  Bob looked up at Bader. “But then you didn’t help him, did you? You let him die with the bullets and buckshot from the others’ guns still in his body for ballistics to match. And then you hid his body. You had them by the balls.”

  “Handy if you need to cover up something horrific.” Ida looked up at Bader. “Excuse me old boy, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out. I’m going to take a seat.” She slid down the wall on her side, avoiding touching it with her back. She eyed the scalpel in Bader’s hand. “So here we are. Thing is, you’re for sure getting executed for Myrna. Me, I think they should revive you and kill you over and over again for all the other girls you took samples from back in Germany or wherever. But your family, your wife and kids, for that I am truly sorry. When you die, a lot of them dies with you. But they don’t have to fade out completely. Not if you have someone around who is able to tell their story. And hey, wouldn’t you know it? I’m an ace reporter.”

  From Bobby, weaker still: “Hey!”

  Ida shrugged. “I’ll let the war hero get my coffee.”

  Bob summoned his remaining strength, lifted his hand, and flipped her the bird.

  Ida saluted him right back.

  ***

  Two squad cars skidded right onto the lawn. Four uniformed officers hopped out, eyes bugging. In this kind of fancy neighbourhood, you almost never saw a car smashed through the front of a house.

  That was just the appetizer. Inside was the main course. Assistant Chief Pointe dead on the floor in a pool of blood.

  That famous war hero guy Bob Tree lying against one wall with what looked like a bullet wound in his shoulder.

  That famous reporter lady with the scar on her face lying against the opposite wall, pale, looking like she had been tortured.

  Doctor Vincent Bader, that famous celebrity surgeon who did volunteer work with the lunatics at Camarillo State Hospital standing between them, a bloody scalpel on the floor by his feet.

  They called in multiple ambulances.

  The first one got there in eight minutes flat.

  Snipped from the front page of The Los Angeles Clarion: September 30, 1947

  Celebrity Doctor Arrested For Skid Row Murder

  By IDA BLY and BOB TREE

  Feature Writers

  LOS ANGELES – Los Angeles residents and readers around the world will have little trouble remembering the heinous murder of Myrna Hodges in June of this year. Brian Lagercrantz, a resident of the Camarillo State Mental Hospital, was arrested for that crime. By the end of August Lagercrantz was dead, killed in a prison altercation. As it turns out, and despite his violent tendencies, Lagercrantz had nothing to do with the death of Miss Hodges. In fact, he was still a resident of the State Hospital at the time of the crime.

  In tracking the murder, these reporters made multiple mistakes which we would like to now publicly apologize for. We will explain our errors in judgment and follow their consequences in detail below.

  These reporters, along with the now-deceased Sergeant Detective George Schuttman of the L.A.P.D., uncovered a conspiracy and cover-up involving Assistant Chief Theodore Pointe, Homicide Detective Charles “Chuck” Pileggi, Homicide Detective Wallace Clemp, and Robbery Detective Herbert Fortier that traces back to the biggest recorded bank robbery in history, ending with the arrest of Doctor Vincent Bader as the true murderer of Myrna Hodges and possibly more women over a period of years...

  Snipped from the front page of The Los Angeles Clarion: October 12, 1947

  Doctor Vincent Bader Pens Full Confession

  By BOB TREE

  Feature Writer

  LOS ANGELES – Once famed for his volunteer efforts in furthering the understanding and treatment of the mentally unstable, Doctor Vincent Bader has now written a full confession that inside police sources say includes the torture-murder of Myrna Hodges, the murder of long-time Skid Row resident Theresa Fetherling, and multiple women in his hometown of Munich, Germany.

  Unlike the residents under his study and care at the Camarillo State Hospital, Doctor Bader (originally von Bader) would have appeared as a normal and stable man. In fact, many of his colleagues and acquaintances referred to him as “charming” and “caring”. He had always maintained a stable work life, and had a picture perfect marriage during his time in Germany.

  Born in Munich April 3, 1894, Bader displayed a quick and agile mind at an early age. He would go on to earn his medical degree at the prestigious Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität Münchenthe, located in the heart of Munich. During his student years he met Agnes Weber. They would marry on August 15, 1918.

  Agnes was a student of classic Greek literature, showing promising grades in her early attempts at translations of such works as...

  Snipped from the front page of The Los Angeles Clarion: October 15, 1947

  Police Chief Announces “Integrity Inquest”

  By IDA BLY

  Feature Writer

  LOS ANGELES – Los Angeles Police Department Chief Clemence B. Horrall announced today that the department’s Professional Standards Bureau would be given “carte blanche” after the revelations of police corruption highlighted in the confession of Skid Row murderer Doctor Vincent Bader.

  Doctor Bader was responsible for the death of Myrna Hodges in June of this year. In his penned confession, parts of which were released earlier this week to the public, Doctor Bader wrote that he had in his possession “documents and photographs that allowed [him] to hold considerable power over certain members of the police department.”

  Bader stated that the members of the department that he named in his confession were deeply embedded in the Myrna Hodges investigation, and were in position to “triage” incoming phone tips from the public. Any tips that they felt might have merit and lead back to the doctor were hidden away, or assigned to themselves so that
they wouldn’t be followed up in a proper manner. It is believed at this time that the detective originally placed in charge of the case, the late Sergeant Detective George Schuttman, would never have even known about these tips.

  While Chief Horrall refused to name any of the department members accused in the confession, this reporter can name names – Homicide Detective Chuck Pileggi, Robbery Detective Herbert Fortier, and Assistant Chief Theodore Pointe, who died at the hands of Doctor Bader in late September.

  The police department cabal, which included a fourth member, Homicide Detective Wallace “Wally” Clemp. can be traced back to the record-breaking bank heist of the First Southern California Bank that took place near the beginning of this year.

  Now kept in isolation at San Quentin Prison, Detective Fortier told this reporter that, “The funny thing is, I never got to spend more than a thousand bucks of that haul. We were gonna let the money cool for a bit, then split it up. But I guess Clemp, ah, Wally that is, I guess he got greedy or something and decided to grab it all for himself. All this worry, all the things they made me do, for a thousand lousy bucks. Ain’t that a kick in the head?”

  The money has yet to be found.

  In June of this year the L.A.P.D. organized and ran a blockade raid of Skid Row in order to rid Los Angeles of a major source of crime. Immediately behind their lines, at the exact same time, the four police department members mentioned above were having a running gun battle with illegally obtained weapons...

  Snipped from the front page of The Los Angeles Clarion: October 30, 1947

  Detective Herbert Fortier Agrees To Testify

  By IDA BLY

  Feature Writer

  LOS ANGELES – Accused of obstruction of justice, the murder of bank robbery gang members associated with the Southern California First’s bank heist, and participating in the planned death of fellow L.A.P.D. member Detective Sergeant George Schuttman, ex-Robbery Detective Herbert Fortier has agreed to testify against ex-Homicide Detective Chuck Pileggi and the deceased Assistant Chief Theodore Pointe...