Border City Blues 3-Book Bundle

by Michael Januska

  “Jack gave me all the details,” he said. “At first he didn’t want to, but I made him. I’ll tell Lapointe’s folks, right after we’re done here.”

  Shorty was sensing something in that. “What exactly are you going to tell them?”

  Thom turned his attention to the window. It would be a long drive back out to LaSalle. Truth was, he didn’t know what he was going to tell them. He also knew Shorty had his reasons for asking.

  “They’re going to see his body. I can’t dress that part of the story up any.” He turned back to his cold cup of coffee, and then faced Shorty. “I’ll tell them it’s still under investigation.…”

  “What else?” Shorty was trying to remain as sensitive as possible, but he knew what was coming and that he would be the one that would have to brief McCloskey.

  “It was Lapointe’s dad got him into this business, you know. He had a few close calls himself.”

  “Nothing like this, Thom.”

  “No, nothing like this. He got gun-shy after one encounter a couple summers ago and started scaling back his activities. Lapointe got his taste of it, though, and wanted more. More of what exactly, I don’t know.”

  Thom paused to gather his thoughts and Shorty didn’t rush him.

  “You hungry?” asked Shorty.

  “No. I couldn’t eat.”

  Shorty signalled the waitress, and when she noticed, he pointed at his empty cup. She came right over with the carafe.

  “Thanks.”

  She gave Thom another good look while he was staring blankly out the window. Not only did Thom look like he hadn’t slept all night, he also looked as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in a couple of days.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you boys anything?”

  Shorty held his hand up. “Thanks, angel, we’re fine.”

  Without taking his eyes off whatever he was looking at, Thom said, “I was actually born in the city, did I ever tell you that? Lost my older brother in the war. I always remember my father being old. I don’t think he saw my tenth birthday. Mother died of cancer. I held her hand at Hotel Dieu until it got cold.”

  Thom was speaking as if he were in some kind of dream state. Shorty let him talk.

  “That’s when I got shipped off to my ma’s parents’ pig farm in the county. It sure was different. I guess I got bored. I met Lapointe at a church social one Sunday. That’s where you went to meet people. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, nothing else to do. Lapointe, he wasn’t bored. He told me what kinds of things he and his family were up to. They lived right on the river, where there was always something to do, always something to get yourself into. I never told my grandparents about any of it. It was easy to keep it from them. But I’ll have to break the news to them as well that Lapointe is dead. There’ll be questions. I’ll have time to arrange all the lies in my head while I’m driving out to their place.”

  “Thom, the police have probably already told Lapointe’s family, told them everything.”

  Thom looked at Shorty. There was a slight look of panic on his face, and then he seemed to resign himself.

  “I want to see him.”

  “No,” said Shorty. “He’s still with the coroner.”

  “Three Fingers too?”

  “Yeah.”

  Thom looked around the diner. “Who’s next, Shorty? Huh?”

  “It’s not like that, Thom.”

  “Is that what you’re going to tell Mud and Gorski? Of course it’s like that, Shorty. Of course it’s like that.”

  “Thom, keep it down.”

  “It’s the key, and that cursed —”

  “Dammit, Thom, don’t make it any —”

  “I’m out, Shorty, I’m out.”

  That’s what Shorty was waiting for. They both leaned back in their seats, and both took a pause in the action to watch the snow now blowing and swirling through Pitt Street.

  “There’s nothing you can say that can make me change my mind.”

  Shorty already knew that. This wasn’t the kind of thing guys like Lapointe and Irish Thom signed up for. Actually, it wasn’t the kind of thing that any of them signed up for.

  “I’m sorry I’m letting you and Jack down.”

  Shorty was shaking his head. “Thom, you didn’t —”

  “Don’t, Shorty, just don’t.”

  “Thom, we’ll call on you when all of this blows over.”

  Thom smiled, almost chuckled a little.

  “No, I’m headed back to the hog farm for good. It was because of Lapointe that I got into all of this.”

  “All right, Thom.”

  “Well, I should go.”

  “I’ll walk you to your truck. Where are you?”

  “Around the corner, on Goyeau.”

  Shorty threw some coin on the table. The donned their hats, bundled up, and headed out.

  Fields waited until he heard Shorty say his thanks and goodbyes to the waitress before he turned to try and get a look at them, and then he waited until they passed the window to get an even better look.

  He was sitting in the next booth, his back to Thom. He didn’t move or so much as clink his spoon against the inside of his coffee cup. He didn’t want to miss a word of what they had to say. He had found what the Guard was looking for over a coffee at White’s Lunch.

  — Chapter 32 —

  PUNCHING AIR

  Late afternoon

  McCloskey had just come off a solid workout at the gym, and, feeling good, he thought he’d drop by the office and see if he still liked how he and the movers had arranged the furniture that was installed this morning.

  “And at what number should I tell him to contact you, Mr. … what was that name again?”

  “Upthegrove, Martin Upthegrove at Seneca 1008. You sure you’ve got that now? It’s important.”

  “Got it. He’ll get right back to you.”

  McCloskey could hear Campbell bounding up the stairs, and he met him at the door.

  “You got my message?” asked Campbell.

  “No, I didn’t,” said McCloskey and he closed the door behind the detective, locking it.

  “I left you a couple messages at the B-A.”

  “Well, all right, but —”

  “What’s this about then?”

  “I just got here about a half hour ago, I haven’t … no one has been here since I was here this morning with the movers, but when I got here a short while ago … I found this.”

  McCloskey walked to the middle of the hardwood, still mostly exposed since not all of the furniture had been installed yet, and pointed to a crudely drawn outline of something scratched into the floor. It had to be ten feet long.

  “A key,” said Campbell. “Who did this? What does it mean?”

  McCloskey started pacing.

  “All right, McCloskey, time for full disclosure, or like I said, I’ll just hand you and what’s left of your gang over to Morrison.”

  McCloskey had his back to Campbell. The detective could see McCloskey reaching in his pocket for something. McCloskey turned, holding up the key.

  “This, this is what they, whoever they are, are after.”

  He handed it to Campbell.

  “A key? Is that what all this has been about?”

  “There’s more to it.”

  “Where did you get it? Did you steal it from someone?”

  “No, well, not exactly. Let me explain, we … you’re going to think this is crazy.”

  “Oh no, I won’t. Now start your allocution.”

  “What?”

  “Start talking — first, tell me how you came to be in possession of this key. Wait — let’s stay on point and not get into any of your peripheral activities. Let me put it this way, was it in someone’s possession?”

  McCloskey had to think about that carefully; he understood what Campbell was doing. “No, it was not,” he said.

  “Good. Was it taken from a private property? Was it burgled in any way?”

  “No on both cou
nts. It was recovered from the river.”

  “When?”

  “Last Sunday.”

  Campbell held his hand up. “Stop there. Now, there are people after this key. We can agree on that now. Do you still not know who they are?”

  “We don’t know their names, and none of us has ever seen them.”

  “But they want it. Why?”

  “We’re not sure.”

  Campbell studied it some more under the nearest ceiling light. “Perhaps it has some sort of intrinsic or historical value. It looks quite old and doesn’t look like it’s ever been used to open a lock. Why not just sell it? Why have you been hanging on to it?”

  McCloskey was hesitating again and Campbell started slapping the key on the palm of his hand.

  “C’mon, McCloskey.”

  “A few of the boys had an idea, they had heard rumours …”

  “About?”

  “Shit, Campbell, you’re making things awful complicated if you want to keep throwing up all these, what do they call them? Chinese walls.”

  “You haven’t tried to fence it. I’m not convinced it’s meant to open any kind of lock. I think your boys had it backwards. I think you should have just taken it to an auction house in Detroit and —”

  “We’re fairly certain it belonged to Richard Davies and the boys thought it was a key to unlock some lost fortune of his. Those were the rumours they had heard, rumours that have been going around since last summer.”

  “Ah-ha. And he’s dead. So who’s after this thing?”

  “You might hear some people call them the Guard.”

  “You found this last Sunday?”

  “The boys did.”

  “Hm. Tell me, honestly, do you know anything about those two bootleggers that got thrown off the train outside the city last Sunday evening — just a yes or no.”

  “No.”

  Campbell returned to the carving on the floor and, holding the key, compared the two. “Almost an exact likeness, the proportions at least. So, they know you have it.”

  “It sure looks like it.”

  “McCloskey, I’ve seen Three Fingers’s body, spoken to Laforet about his preliminary examination, and this morning arrived in his lab just in time to catch Lapointe’s autopsy while it was still in progress. Laforet and I are still trying to come to terms with what we are looking at. So far we have no rational or scientific explanation for any of it. I don’t need to go into any of the details with you. You just need to know that what was done to them was done without a hand or weapon laid on either of them.”

  “What?”

  “Just that.”

  It was Campbell’s turn to start pacing, but unlike McCloskey, he walked in circles.

  “I’m taking possession of the key. Consider it police property.”

  McCloskey surprised himself when he didn’t protest. He was glad it was out of his hands now.

  “Are you sure you want it?”

  Campbell tucked it in his inside suit pocket. “I’ve brought someone outside of law enforcement into this case. I’d like us all to meet tomorrow. I’ll contact you in the morning when I’ve arranged a time. Likely in the afternoon, and at her place on Maiden Lane. Can you make yourself available?”

  “Her? Uh, sure.”

  “You know, you may not have the key anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’re out of danger from whatever, or whoever this is.”

  “What do you think it is, Campbell?”

  “I think you’ve stumbled upon something that’s worth a lot of money, something that might not have even belonged to Davies, and whoever it belongs to desperately wants it back and they don’t want to discovered so they are going about it as covertly as possible. And they are very good.”

  “But what you saw … Three Fingers and Lapointe?”

  “I’ll wait to hear Laforet’s conclusions on that front.”

  Campbell turned to leave and then stopped himself. “One more thing, McCloskey, I'll agree to a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy so long as you suspend all of your activities until this matter is resolved. Also, you should continue to contact me only through the department. They will relay any messages to me if I don’t happen to be in my office. I’ll continue to relay messages to you through the British-American. Agreed?”

  “Agreed. Oh — who are we meeting with tomorrow?”

  “Madame Zahra Ostrovskaya.”

  “She just off the boat or something?”

  “I think you’ll like her,” said Campbell.

  — Chapter 33 —

  ONE EXCITING NIGHT

  Evening

  “I know it might not be exactly your cup of tea, Mrs. Cattanach …”

  Vera Maude’s uncle Fred was pitching a movie idea, so to speak, to the woman. A copy of the Border Cities Star was open to the entertainment page on the coffee table between them. She had been lobbying for Peg o’ My Heart, the new version, the one with Laurette Taylor. Fred was of course familiar with it, it having been first a popular song before the war, then a long-running Broadway play starring Miss Taylor, and then its first film adaptation just after the war. This was its newest cinematic incarnation.

  “Does Peg not remind you of Vera Maude?” smiled Mrs. Cattanach. There may not have been a physical resemblance, but they were both definitely the rambunctious, spontaneous little Irish girl and all that.

  “But the Maguires are no stodgy English family,” retorted Fred.

  “I know, but ...”

  They each took another sip of their tea.

  “So this is one of those gangster pictures?” she said.

  “Mostly, yes.”

  Mrs. Cattanach glanced down at the newspaper. “I saw the advertisement, and I wasn’t sure.” She read out a few lines. “‘Brimful of love, laughter, and sensations. A frantic search for a half-million dollars. Stealthy figures and peering eyes. The funniest black-face comedian possible.’” She peered over the rim of her glasses at the man seated across from her. “Really, Fred.” She read on. “‘A tremendous storm scene as a gorgeous dynamic climax.’ Goes on to say it will make me laugh, cry, happy, sad, good, bad, sleep, dream, shudder, and scream.” She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, but whatever it is, it sounds exhausting.”

  “But it’s a Griffith picture, so it must be good. See,” he said, tapping the line in the advertisement, “‘smashing all records everywhere.’”

  Fred, fearing he might lose the battle and end up spending the evening with Laurette Taylor, put down his tea, leaned closer to the edge of the chesterfield, and gave Mrs. Cattanach a quick synopsis, hoping it might help her appreciate what he felt looked to be a work of cinematic genius.

  “It’s got everything — drama, mystery, and comedy. An orphan girl — from South Africa, I think it is — is adopted by this wealthy, old Southern family in America. Her adoptive mother arranges a marriage to this Rockmaine fellow when she really loves another — Fairfax. Now that sounds interesting, doesn’t it? Now Fairfax invites the girl, the mother, and Rockmaine to stay at his country estate — big and fancy, but it’s been empty for a while —”

  “Why, if it’s so big and fancy, is it empty?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Maybe he’s been travelling abroad, like the other family. You know what those folks are like. Anyway, but this is the thing, this is where it gets really interesting: these bootleggers have been hiding out there, and just before Fairfax arrives with his guests, the gang’s leader is killed and a huge sum of money is hidden away.”

  “What about the body?”

  “What body?”

  “The gang leader’s.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I was going to ask you if you saw this movie.”

  “No, I haven’t. Honest. It was John next door saw it. I won’t give away the rest, save to say a detective comes along to investigate the mysterious goings-on and, well, let me just say mysteries are solved and truths are revealed.”

  Fred rel
axed and waited for Mrs. Cattanach’s verdict. And she made him wait while she slowly sipped her tea.

  “All right, this one it is. But if we do this again, I get to choose the picture.”

  Fred smiled, but not too much. He knew what a sacrifice the woman was making. He just wanted to see the picture before it left town.

  “Right then.” He picked up the tea things. It was the least he could do. “If we leave now, we might be able to catch the vaudeville.”

  Mrs. Cattanach folded up the paper and was already plotting her revenge. She noticed an ad for an upcoming picture. Miss Lulu Bett. She had read the book and was now anxious to see Fred squirm through the film adaptation.

  Fred came back in the room.

  Mrs. Cattanach was checking her watch. “And where’s Vera Maude?” she asked without looking up from it.

  “Oh — she telephoned to say she was running a little late. Had to help Copeland sort a shipment of special orders, or something like that. We’ll probably just miss her.”

  “Well, I don’t have anything for her.”

  “She’ll manage. Let me get your coat.”

  In truth, Vera Maude was talking advantage of her uncle being out so that she could continue her search for Jack McCloskey. As soon as her shift was done, she headed straight up to Lanspeary’s, where she was now enjoying a ham sandwich with a hot chocolate on the side. She also grabbed some reading material from the magazine rack — the latest edition of Black Mask.

  She remembered the name of the police detective McCloskey was with in the store today: Campbell. Her plan, so far, was to take a walk over to police headquarters and ask to speak with the detective. What she hadn’t figured out yet was under what pretense she should be asking for a bit of his time. She thought she might get inspired along the way.

  When she was finished, she wrapped herself back up again, pulled her gloves out of her coat pockets, and stuffed the rolled-up magazine into one of them.

  There was a light snow, pretty in the streetlights. Lots of swell-looking people coming in and out of the Prince Edward Hotel, people for whom the dark, the cold, and the snow meant little as they climbed in and out of their big cars. Vera Maude crossed the Avenue and continued along Park Street toward police headquarters.