Elizabeth took the tissue, dabbed the corner of one eye, and took a smaller sip of coffee. She cleared her throat. “Yes, thanks.”
Alice leaned across the table. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Jen is very private. I mean, she’s sociable when she’s teaching or helping customers. But she keeps things to herself.”
I’ll say. “You said the day Ben was killed that you thought he was tense about something. Is the breakup what it was?”
Alice leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I think so. I didn’t know about it before Ben died, but it makes sense.”
“Jen told you afterwards?”
“At first not directly. But the day after he died she kept going to the back of the store. She said she was trying to find some copies of Harper Lee’s new book, you know, Go Set a Watchman. Jen insisted we had more copies.”
Alice blew her nose and then inhaled loudly. “I went back to help her, when we didn’t have any customers. She was crying.”
“And she told you?”
Alice nodded. “Not at first. I had kind of wondered, because Jen had supper at the diner a lot. But it didn’t have to mean they were dating, of course.”
Elizabeth tried to keep frustration from her tone. “But she told you later.”
“Yes. When I went to our little bathroom to get her more tissues, I saw the trash can had about twenty used ones. That’s even more than I used.”
“I’ll need to talk to Jen again. She may know things about Ben that no one else does.”
Alice put her head in her hands and her witch’s cap slid onto Elizabeth’s desk. “Don’t tell her I told you!”
Elizabeth used a firm tone. “Sit up, please, Alice. This is a murder investigation, not a social club.”
Alice spread her fingers a bit so she could peer at Elizabeth. “Do you have to say I told you about Ben?”
Elizabeth stifled a sigh. “Probably, but if I can avoid it, I will.”
Alice sat back in her chair. Tears had dampened her cheeks, and she had finger marks on her green face paint. “Thank you.”
“No promises. Now, Alice, I need to know three things. First, was tonight’s card game a regular one? Second, did any of the other poker players gamble at Ben’s?”
“Sort of, and mostly no.”
Elizabeth arched her eyebrows.
“I mean, a few of us played poker at the frat house. Now and then. Tonight there were five, and I think another table was going to start at midnight.”
“Great.” Elizabeth wanted to let this go, but she couldn’t. “Third, did people pay to play?”
Alice’s eyes widened. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
She swallowed. “Usually no. Maybe we’d bring pizza to share or something. But, uh, tonight it cost fifty dollars to enter. You know, like poker tournaments on television.”
Before Elizabeth could ask another question, her phone buzzed. She picked it up. “What?”
“Chief. Calderone here.”
“What’s up?”
“The Sweathog, I mean Illinois Ag College president is on the phone.”
“Sheesh. Put him on.”
The rumbling voice of Stanley Dodd came on the line. “Chief Friedman. I understand our boys were rowdier than usual tonight.”
“Your ‘boys’ were setting off illegal fireworks and running a gambling operation on the second floor.”
Silence.
“President Dodd?”
In a weaker voice, he said, “It is homecoming weekend.”
“Sir, if the school gets a permit, fireworks are great. Same with bingo. When neighbors call to complain about boomers waking their kids at almost eleven, we check it out.”
His sigh was loud. “Okay. Please tell me the drunken ones were over twenty-one.”
“No idea. Not all were students.”
“Oh dear, alumni?”
“I don’t know yet. All we intended to do was confiscate the fireworks. We found a couple rooms of poker and craps. The ones we caught are the only ones we brought in.”
Dodd’s tone sounded hopeful. “Friendly games?”
“The organizers, whoever they were, charged fifty dollars to play.”
Not only had Alice told her the amount, some well-organized soul, probably Blake Wessley, had a list of expected attendees. Next to each person he had checked off who paid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FRAT HOUSE RAIDED!
The Logland Press had a proverbial field day with the story that showed up on the paper’s web page on Sunday. A print copy was not needed to fuel conversation all over town.
While police are occasionally called to the KIZZ fraternity at Southern Illinois Agricultural College, Saturday night’s homecoming costume party was the first discovery of illegal gambling.
As Logland Police Chief Elizabeth Friedman explained, the situation was not one of “friends making twenty-five cent wagers in a poker game.” Rather, the poker and dice games had a substantial entry fee and far higher betting levels.
Even those twenty-five cent bets are illegal in Illinois, where wagering is permissible at casinos, racetracks, lottery sales sites and, more recently video gaming parlors. Businesses may not want their employees creating pools for the Super Bowl or NCAA basketball, but most look the other way as long as wagers aren’t substantial.
However, on college campuses throughout the state, any form of illegal gambling would be stopped – especially something like the fee-to-play operation at KIZZ last Saturday.
Fraternity president Blake Wessley and other officers remain unavailable despite numerous attempts to contact them. University officials have promised a statement today.
The article described the fireworks that brought the police to the frat house, and said names of the gamblers “were not all known at this time” but appeared to include townspeople and college students.
The paper noted it was odd no one had been arrested for underage drinking, but speculated this was because the students could run faster than members of the Logland Police Department.
Elizabeth placed the paper on her desk. She was seeking some of those fraternity members. She didn’t give a damn about the fireworks. Heck, if she arrested everyone who brought Roman candles and fizzing cones up from Missouri, where they were legal, half the Chamber of Commerce would need to be bailed out.
She’d also have way too much paperwork. She glanced at the left side of her desk. She was already working on paperwork associated with the pay-to-play games at the frat house. She hoped to hell the prosecutor didn’t want to pursue any charges about the fireworks. She’d have to tell him the runaway ghost did it.
Elizabeth picked up her office phone and buzzed Hammer. "You guys went to the frat house this morning. Any word from Blake Wessley?"
"Sorry, chief, no. He's from out of state, and his family in Ohio hasn't heard from him either."
She hung up the phone. Elizabeth wanted to use the fraternity gambling as a starting point to bargain with Wessley, and possibly others, to tell her more about what went on at the diner. Despite what everyone said, someone had to have been seen or heard something relevant the last few weeks.
Elizabeth only knew of a few people in the diner the night Ben died, and no one else had come forward. If frat brothers didn’t want to admit being in the diner because they would lose scholarships, she had a counter argument. Those scholarships were likely long gone. Helping the police might avoid expulsion.
And she wanted info on who supplied the kegs for the frat parties. They weren’t purchased locally. The buyers might have gone out of town because they were underage. She would pursue that later.
So far, no one at the paper had asked her about the sports betting at the Bully Pulpit. That had to mean Jerry at the Press knew about it, and regretted not writing about it previously. Or maybe he bet with Ben, though Elizabeth hadn’t heard that.
Her phone buzzed. “Chief, Hammer here. Can you talk to G
ordon Beals?”
“He out there or on the phone?”
“Out here.”
“Send him back.”
In the hall, Hammer led Beals to her office and returned to the main room.
Gordon entered and scrutinized her space. Elizabeth imagined he was considering the difference between his fancy office and her metal file cabinets, scuffed tile floor, and poor lighting.
“Have a seat, Gordon.”
“Thanks.” He sat, and looked at her directly. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
He hadn’t said that last night, but she’d barely spoken to him. Her focus had been on Alice.
“I appreciate you saying so.” Elizabeth regarded the bags under his eyes and glum expression. He still wore an expensive suit and what might be a diamond in his tie clasp, but he was not the jaunty man of earlier interviews.
“What will happen now?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I probably have to turn over some information to the county prosecuting attorney to evaluate for charges.”
Beals winced.
“On the other hand, I didn’t see anyone playing. If somebody hadn’t made that list of attendees and marked people ‘paid’ it would be a lot easier for you.”
“No way to keep my name out of it?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I can’t play favorites. If you or Alice had told me you were playing, I could have asked you to be my eyes and ears.”
He frowned. “And you were looking for…?”
“Information about anybody Ben owed money to, or who didn’t seem sorry he was dead. That kind of thing.”
Beals nodded. “I have an idea. To help you figure out who killed Ben.”
Elizabeth frowned. “An idea you might have shared earlier?”
He shook his head. “No. Last couple days, a few of us have been comparing what we bet on the Cardinals and Cubs game.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
He spoke hurriedly. “You said you didn’t want to pin anything on us. Ben kept his own records, so I can’t say exactly, but we figure it could have been as much as $900. And we don’t know who all bet, for sure. And he hadn’t paid out that money yet.”
Elizabeth didn’t tell him she knew Ben’s cash box held more than twelve hundred dollars, though she didn’t know if it had all come in with that game. “Did you hear speculation about someone wanting some of that money back?”
Gordon shook his head. “I wish I had. I mean, I’d tell you.”
Elizabeth took a sip of her coffee. “One of the food servers said Ben sometimes took cash upstairs to count or hide. He apparently didn’t want it all downstairs. Do you know where he kept it?”
He shook his head. “I never went upstairs. Or to the apartment he had before he moved above the Bully Pulpit.”
“When he paid you, was it in envelopes or just cash? Where did he keep the money before he paid you?”
“Cash. He’d pull it out of his order book, and it’d be paper clipped together. Or he had it in a pocket of that half apron he wore sometimes.”
“This kind of specific info would have been good earlier.”
He nodded. “I just…didn’t want to appear so involved. But I’m beginning to think some people perhaps…bet more than they really should risk. Were sometimes angry about losing.”
Elizabeth tapped her pen on her desk. “I’ve had pieces of this mentioned to me. Any names?”
He almost wrung his hands. “I don’t know anything. Not one shred of real information. Just a…theory.”
Elizabeth stared at him until he looked away. “If it’s more than a wild guess, I need to hear it.”
He shook his head. “It’s all conjecture, honest. Can’t you check into it without a name?”
She gave him a look that was half frown, half shrug. “I can’t Gordon, and I don’t have time for guesses.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry. I just figure someone was after the money. Ben’s wake is tonight. Can’t some of your people spread the word that you didn’t find any money when you searched, and you heard that Ben had a stash of oh, five thousand dollars?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You know, smoke ‘em out. Maybe they’d go back and search for it.”
Elizabeth almost smiled. Everyone was a detective if they thought there was something to be gained by it. “What makes you think a murderer would go back there?”
Beals raised his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. “I don’t know one way or the other. But the longer it goes without finding out who killed him, the more it bothers me. Maybe people even start thinking it was somebody who, you know, ate at the diner a lot.”
“Nice euphemism. Why are you mentioning this now?”
“Like I said, I never really knew anything. I was kind of hoping if I had a good idea it might, well, help me. You know, maybe not be any formal charges.”
“I don’t make those decisions. I’m not going to advocate that people face extensive charges.”
Gordon hung his head. “Or lose their jobs?”
AT THREE-THIRTY SUNDAY afternoon, Blake Wessley showed up at the police station and asked for a cup of coffee before he spoke to the chief. Sullenness had replaced his usual smugness. It may have had something to do with his unshaven appearance and pants that were soaked to the knee.
Elizabeth sat across from him in the station's conference room. She held his insolent gaze. "So, Mr. Wessley, where have you been since last night?"
"Taking a walk."
"In a swamp?"
Mahan sniggered, and Elizabeth sent him a quelling look.
Wessley lifted the hot coffee to his lips and sipped. "I needed to think."
"How often did those cozy games take place on the frat house's second floor?"
He seemed to weigh his response for a moment. "Rarely."
Elizabeth opened her notebook. "As in only on Halloween, or twice each month?"
He placed the cup on the conference table. "What do I get?"
"For helping the police? Might be more apt to consider what happens if you don't."
"We didn't hurt anyone. And we only had the townies because they couldn't go to the diner."
"Are you saying they played poker and craps at the diner?"
He shifted in his chair. "I wouldn't know."
Elizabeth almost sighed in exasperation. "Were people trying to make back some of the money they bet on last week's baseball game? Because Ben couldn't pay the winners?"
"We were just having a good time!"
She tapped her pencil's eraser on the table. "Are you sure you have no idea who was in the diner from the early morning hours until Ben Addison was found at seven AM?"
"Okay!" He pronounced the word in the drawn-out way a three-year old might when caught in a fib. "Monty and I went by to see if Ben would fork over what we won. But he said he hadn't 'figured it all out,' so we left."
"Left on your own?"
"More or less. Ben didn't seem to have the money in his apron or in a spot under the counter. Sometimes he had an envelope for us under the salt shakers. Wasn't much point in staying."
"Were those the only places he kept cash he needed to pay to winners?"
"I'm no expert on his hiding places, but one night I saw him take some from under the toaster. Ben said we had to buy more than coffee or leave. He said he'd pay us about noon last Monday."
This was the first Elizabeth had heard of a timeframe. "Why noon?"
He shrugged. "It was a double header, game wasn't over until after ten. I guess he hadn't done the numbers. You know, who was owed what."
Mahan asked, "Monty give Ben a hard time?"
Wessley shook his head. "No, but he's not going to remember. When he drinks a lot now, he smokes sometimes, so he stays calmer."
"Jeez," Mahan said.
"Why should I believe Monty won't remember?" Elizabeth asked.
"You can ask him yourself." He took a long sip of coffee. "Like I told you the other day, his parents a
re making him go to rehab or something. He's been pretty out of it all week."
"Getting ready to get sober?" Mahan asked.
"Getting ready to go where his parents tell him so he doesn't get kicked out of his house. They don't..." He stopped.
He had begun to shred his Styrofoam cup, so Elizabeth reached across the table and took it. "They don't what?"
Wessley shrugged. "Like to be embarrassed."
Elizabeth glanced at her notebook. "So, you argued with Ben the night he was killed?"
Wessley shook his head, firmly. "No. We hassled him a little, or I did. I was pissed he didn't have our money, but arguing never helped with Ben. He just told you to leave and not place any more bets."
"So, if Ben didn't pay you off, where do you think the money is?"
Wessley's eyebrows went up and he glanced from Mahan to Elizabeth. "You don't know?"
"Nope. Not sure if the killer took it or it's hidden in the diner."
Wessley's gaze focused on a spot to the left of Elizabeth. "So, what happens if you find it?"
Mahan spoke. "That's one for the lawyers."
Wessley yawned. "Are you going to arrest me, or can I go back to KIZZ?"
Elizabeth frowned. "I'm not a vice expert. I'll turn all the information we have over to the county prosecuting attorney, and he'll figure out how much more to investigate or who to charge with what."
Wessley sat up straight and his eyes darted from Elizabeth to Mahan. "But I'm helping you!"
"Not so much.
His whiney tone returned. "But I can't tell you what I don't know! I have no idea who killed Ben. I don't know anybody who does."
Elizabeth shut her notebook. "You might want to get some sleep. In case somebody does decide to arrest you."
"Can I go?"
Mahan stood. "I'll lead you out."
Elizabeth watched the two men leave the conference room, and then strode back to her office. She'd give half a week's pay to take a nap under her desk.
Calderone and Mahan came in. She gestured to the two chairs opposite her desk, and spoke to Calderone. "Find Monty?"
Tip a Hat to Murder Page 15
