Murder Knocks Twice

by Susanna Calkins

  “Hey, Papa,” she called out. “How about we go for a walk? Get some fresh air?”

  “Sure thing,” he replied, coming to stand in the doorway of the kitchen. “So long as you aren’t walking me to the church. The next time I go to church, it’ll be to have my Last Rites administered. Even then, I’m not so sure.”

  “Not to worry,” she said, trying not to shiver at his macabre joke. They hadn’t gone to church regularly in quite some time, and attending service was the last thing she felt she could do. “I thought I’d get the newspaper. Give us something to read.”

  “Oh yeah?” her father said, his tone more hopeful. He missed getting the newspaper every day, but that was one of the first things Gina had cut when she had taken over the family budget six months ago.

  After she helped her father pull on his winter layers, they set out into the cold. Without even discussing it, they walked toward their usual drugstore, which was several blocks past the one owned by Big Mike and the Signora. For the first time, she wondered about that.

  “Hey, Papa, you ever been to Mr. Rosenstein’s pharmacy?” she asked. “Over on Harrison.”

  Her father frowned slightly. “No.”

  She would have asked more, but their attention was caught by a woman still dressed in full evening garb, complete with ostrich-feather headband, teetering down the street. Her wrap was hardly warm enough for the weather, and when it parted, they could clearly see she was with child.

  “Not so hot to trot, is she?” her father said.

  Hearing her father’s words, a flush of shame flooded her own cheeks. There had been a time once, a few years ago, when she’d thought she was pregnant. Hearing the news, her guy had dutifully proposed, but he had been scarce after that, living up his “final days” as a bachelor in style. She could still remember how, when she’d discovered her mistake a few weeks later, he had crowed over their “near miss” and promptly broken off their engagement. There had been other men since David, but she’d found ways to protect her body and heart from ever being so vulnerable again. Love and marriage were for chumps; she knew that to be true.

  Uneasily, she watched the woman. Probably coming home from an all-night bender or a tryst. There were lots of men who wouldn’t care that she was already knocked up. Surely this weather wouldn’t be good for the baby.

  To her surprise, another woman, clad head to toe in black, approached the pregnant woman then, and after a brief exchange, the two walked away together. Gina was fairly certain that the woman had been one of the temperance workers who had been shouting outside the tea room the day before.

  “She’s from Hull House, I bet you anything,” her father commented, referring to the woman in black. “Miss Addams will help that girl get a real job, take care of that baby.”

  Gina nodded. Her father was referring to the settlement house that had been established a few blocks away by Jane Addams four decades before. The women who worked there were all bent on social reform, trying to improve the lot of the people around them. “Make us lofty,” some of her neighbors had sniffed over the music and art programs. “Do-gooders,” others said. Gina just knew that though Addams had fought staunchly for women’s suffrage, she was also a strong proponent of the temperance movement and Prohibition.

  Her father had firsthand knowledge of the place, having been one of the first boys to take classes there as an orphan, after his mother had died of pneumonia, when the house opened in the 1890s. He didn’t speak of that time much, but she knew it was there he had learned to spar, alongside the Greeks in the gymnasium. No wonder he had wanted to box and work for Big Mike’s father when he got older.

  When they reached the drugstore, Gina quickly paid for the newspaper. She had to resist tearing through it, seeking news of Marty’s death, but she could tell that a storm was on its way. In her haste to leave, she had forgotten an umbrella.

  Sure enough, it soon began to rain—large, heavy drops that pelted her face. Gina felt a violent chill overcome her, and she could see that her father had begun to shiver. Fortunately, they both wore hats, but the last thing she needed was for either of them to get sick. “Let’s hurry, Papa,” she urged him.

  Sticking the newspaper inside her coat, she urged her father to walk a little more quickly, which wasn’t easy. Hearing her father’s deep sigh made her feel guilty. These walks were probably a bit too hard on him.

  When they finally returned home, she settled her father into his favorite cushioned chair in the living room, a cup of tea beside him on a lace-covered table. She sat in a matching chair on the other side of the small table, rushing as quickly as she could through the newspaper. Page after page she turned, from the front to the last, and there was nothing there.

  Gina went through the newspaper again, this time more slowly, looking closely at all the sections, running her fingers down each obituary in turn, in case she had overlooked his name. But no mention of a Doyle. There were also no John Does or any stabbing victims listed at all.

  For Chicago, it looked to have been a remarkably violence-free evening. Except for the missing body.

  * * *

  Monday morning, Gina decided to check the newspaper again. There had to be news by now.

  “Just the paper, please,” Gina said, laying down the coins at the same drugstore she had visited with her papa the day before. This time, she could not wait to walk back to her flat to read through the pages and sat down on a freezing metal park bench.

  “Waste of money,” she said out loud, disgruntled. There was still nothing about Marty’s death on the front page or even buried within.

  She did see another headline, though, that was somewhat shocking. BEERING HEIRESS FOUND DEAD. Underneath was a gorgeous picture of Genevieve Beering, looking vibrant and full of life on the front page of the Tribune. Apparently she had missed several social engagements; questions were raised over her absence, and in due time her death was discovered by her companion. No cause of death was listed.

  * * *

  The heiress’s death was very much on the tips of everyone’s tongues when Gina arrived at the Third Door the following Tuesday evening. “Bet you anything it was suicide,” Faye said.

  “Why would you think she did that?” Lulu kept asking. “She had everything. Money, looks, connections. I don’t get it!”

  “Maybe that just wasn’t enough,” Ned pointed out. “Some people need more out of life.” His voice was edgy, and once again Gina noted how haggard he had become.

  “Well, that’s suicide for you,” Faye said, with a disdainful twitch of her nose. “No thought to anyone but herself.”

  “Did she leave a note?” Gina asked. “An explanation?”

  “Doesn’t seem to have,” Jade said. “That’s the way of it, I suppose.”

  “Or there was more to it,” Ned replied before turning back to his music.

  “Or nothing to it all,” Lulu said. “Could have been an accident. Or she took sick. Influenza, maybe. We all know that’s been going around again.”

  “But why not just say so?” Faye asked.

  Lulu shrugged. “Didn’t want to start a panic?” It was true; they could all remember when the Spanish flu had struck without mercy ten years ago. Since then there had been cases, but nothing with the virulence that Chicago had seen during the Great War.

  Gina had just put her cigarette tray on when she heard a sharp whistle from Billy. The Signora was standing there.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice calm and authoritative, “I have just received a call that the police will be paying us a visit in short order.”

  The few customers who were already there looked up in alarm.

  “No need to worry,” the Signora said soothingly. “Lulu here will take you upstairs to the drugstore, where your lemonade and Cokes will be refreshed. Others of you”—here she looked meaningfully at the only man who looked openly drunk—“may wish to leave. Faye will show you out.”

  Quickly, Gina found herself whisking
away all the remnants of the cocktails, while Billy poured out lemonade and iced tea. Several customers, after their initial confusion, followed Lulu up the stairs to the drugstore and the tea room, so that they could exit onto Harrison. Others were shepherded by Faye up the stairs to the alley, where they were expected to quietly disperse either to Halsted or Morgan. No one would want to be caught in the alley by the entrance to the speakeasy. Little Johnny led a few of the men to the tunnel. None of the women went that direction, though, Gina vaguely noted. A moment later she learned why.

  “Too dirty!” one of the women hissed to her male companion. “I’ll take my chances in the tea room, thank you very much.”

  Within a matter of moments, all of the customers had departed the premises. Billy and Gooch then performed one of the most amazing feats that Gina had ever seen—they pushed the bar directly against the mirrored back wall and then swung the entire wall around, so that the bar, with all its bottles, disappeared from view. They then locked the rotated wall into place.

  “Follow me,” Billy called to Gina, disappearing through another door to the room on the other side of the dance floor, where the bar was now hiding. Jade and Gooch were both moving the liquor to a small storeroom. “Get a move on, toots,” Billy said. “Gotta lock this door before the Drys come.”

  “Will they come down here?” Gina asked.

  “They might,” he said. “Just in case they have a warrant to search the whole premises.”

  Picking up a bottle in each hand, Gina walked quickly to the storeroom. “Where do I put them? Anywhere?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Be careful,” Jade warned. “The last thing we need is to break a bottle.”

  With all of them working together, they quickly finished hiding the bottles and returned to the main area. Gooch and Big Mike had hidden all the tables and chairs somewhere as well. Ned was still sitting at the piano, singing along loudly as he played one of the great choruses of the Temperance brigade, “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”

  When the Signora glared at him, he stopped and sheepishly stood up. “Thought it might convey the proper mood,” he muttered.

  Gina hid a smile.

  “Everyone upstairs. Some to the tea room, others to the drugstore,” Big Mike called out. He had several brown envelopes in one hand. “They’ll be here any minute.”

  They went up the stairs, and Little Johnny flipped the lights off behind him. As she’d been told, Gina pulled on a blue sweater and tied a white apron about her waist. To her chagrin, when she entered the drugstore, she realized she’d forgotten to put her own patent leather shoes back on and was still wearing the pumps. Hopefully no one would say anything about her mismatched apparel. She went behind the counter, where Benny handed her a white towel with a wink. He went off to stack some cans on a shelf.

  Gina edged over to Ned, who had seated himself on a tall stool at the long counter by the soda fountains. “What happens now?” she murmured, setting a cup of lukewarm coffee in front of him.

  He opened a Tribune to the middle section. “We just need to sit tight. No big deal. Big Mike’s got an inside man at the police station. Sometimes, the coppers come back later for a drink—after they’ve filed an official report with Prohibition agents, that is, dutifully stating that no bootleg alcohol has been discovered here.” He pointed to the sign above the fountain that read: IN COMPLIANCE WITH THE 18TH AMENDMENT, NO INTOXICATING LIQUOR ALLOWED ON THE PREMISES.

  Although most of the customers had fled, with promises to come back later “if they don’t go and dump out your booze,” a few had remained. Whether out of loyalty or curiosity, Gina couldn’t say. She was annoyed to see that Roark was one of the customers who had taken a seat at the soda counter.

  “Can I get you something, sir?” she asked.

  He looked up at her. “Do you even know how to operate any of the equipment here? Or are you planning to figure it out as you go?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do know.” Without waiting for him to answer, she banged a saucer and a cup of coffee down in front of him. “This should suffice, I think.” Lulu slipped in, wearing a regular day dress. How she’d gotten enough time to change, Gina had no idea. She picked up one of the little baskets and began to place a few cans and supplies inside it, posing as a regular employee of the store.

  A few seconds later, two Chicago cops dressed in sharp blue uniforms entered the drugstore, glancing up at the bell above the door as it announced their presence. They looked around skeptically at the customers seated on stools, browsing the shelves, standing in line. One of the cops, a middle-aged man with graying hair showing under his blue hat, was holding a manila folder in his right hand. His name, O’Neill, could be read over his left breast pocket. He looked around, seeming to be taking everything in. His eyes fell on Roark, Gina noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Crowded tonight,” the younger one, whose badge named him as Dawson, commented.

  O’Neill nodded but did not reply.

  “Good evening, Officers,” the Signora greeted them, practically purring. She had slipped on a dark jacket over her evening gown, looking more like the proprietress of a high-end boutique than a two-bit drugstore. “Captain O’Neill, may I offer you a phosphate?” She gestured to two stools at the end of the counter. A brown envelope lay on each one. “How about an egg cream or piece of pie?”

  “All right, cut the malarkey,” O’Neill said. “We’re not here on a booze check. We’ll leave that for the Drys.”

  “You’re not?” The Signora blinked. “Then why are you here, Captain O’Neill?”

  The captain opened up the folder and held out a photograph. “This man. He worked at this establishment, didn’t he? I have it on good authority that he did.”

  Big Mike pulled out his glasses and, along with the Signora, viewed the photograph. The others shuffled their feet. Clearly this was not what anyone expected.

  Gina felt a qualm as she realized what was coming. Feeling her face flush, she began wiping down the counter vigorously, hoping to hide her rising distress.

  To her surprise, Ned grabbed her hand. “Relax,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’ll give it all away.”

  Jerking away her hand, Gina stared at him. Did he know? Then she realized he meant the larger show.

  She watched the Signora take the photo and then blanch to a deathly pallor. “Oh, no!” she cried. “That’s not … Marty, is it?” Her question was faint as she clutched her husband’s arm for support.

  “Marty?! Marty?!” everyone around them began to murmur.

  Gina felt Roark stiffen in his chair, clearly listening. She glanced at him, and to her surprise, he was staring at her full on.

  She looked away.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is.” Big Mike looked down at the photograph with distaste. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s dead,” Captain O’Neill said. “Stabbed. At least two, three days ago.” Then, taking in their stunned faces, he added, “I’m sorry.”

  Lulu shrieked and staggered back against a display of soaps, knocking them over and falling full-length on the floor. Taking advantage of the distraction, Gina began to edge from behind the counter.

  Roark glanced at her again before looking away, his fingers tapping the rim of his cup. His eyes were unreadable, but he seemed to be taking in everyone’s movements and reactions. A few more customers took the opportunity to leave the drugstore, and Gina could see that he had noted that as well.

  Captain O’Neill looked around at those who remained, mostly Third Door employees now. “When was the last time any of you saw Mr. Doyle?”

  At first, they were all silent, looking to the Signora for guidance. Her face was pale, though, and she seemed genuinely disturbed. Seeing this, her husband helped her to a chair. For her part, Gina was frantically thinking about when exactly she had seen Marty alive inside the walls of the Third Door, in case anyone thought to ask her. A growing sense of unease was overcoming her, and she felt l
ike she might faint.

  “Saturday night,” the Signora said finally. “He was working. Taking pictures. It was Saturday night. Isn’t that right?” She looked to the others for confirmation.

  Gina found herself nodding along with the others.

  The Signora’s look was guarded when she turned back to the captain. “Where was he killed?”

  “Well, that’s an interesting question. His body was found a few blocks from here, but I’m not at liberty to provide more details than that.” Pausing, he glanced at Officer Dawson before continuing. “The coroner is fairly certain, however, that the body was moved after death.”

  There was a general hubbub in the room, and Gina closed her eyes.

  She opened them when someone touched her shoulder. It was Ned. “You’re looking a little green, Gina,” he whispered. “Why don’t you get some fresh air?”

  Gina looked around. Captain O’Neill had pulled up one of the cushioned chairs to speak with the Signora and Big Mike. Officer Dawson was asking the staff members questions. This seemed to be a good time to slip away. She nodded at Ned.

  “Go ahead,” Ned murmured. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” He pressed her arm lightly as he moved past her. “Don’t go too far. You don’t want the Signora or Big Mike questioning your loyalty. You understand? The coppers may have questions for you, too.” The look he gave her then was definitely one of warning. “Take some time to think about your answers.”

  He knows I know something, she realized. She remembered the splash of blood she’d washed off her forehead that night. The blood on her dress. Had he seen it?

  * * *

  When Gina went out the drugstore’s only exit onto Harrison Street, she wasn’t quite sure where to go. Her heart was pounding hard, like a drummer with a story to tell.

  Without thinking, Gina found herself walking down the gangway toward the alley, past the door she’d slipped out on Saturday night and up to the barrel where she’d sat, chewing her Wrigley’s gum. Her half-empty pack was still there, exactly where she’d left it.