Murder Knocks Twice

by Susanna Calkins

  She bent her head; for the moment, her questions were stilled.

  CHAPTER 17

  Gina removed Marty’s camera from her purse and laid it on the darkroom table. “Today is the day,” she informed it, running her fingers along the scratched brown case. “Today is the day that I learn what secrets you are hiding.”

  She finally felt ready to develop Marty’s last roll of film, which was still safely encased within his camera. That didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous, though. She could feel herself sweating through her dress as she began to set out the equipment, despite the chill in the apartment.

  Carefully she wound the film unto the roll so that it was ready to remove from the camera. Then she turned out the light. “Don’t ruin the film, Gina,” she said to herself through gritted teeth.

  The room now dark, she cracked open the film case, holding her breath until she felt the edge of the film, and cut off the end with her small scissors. Slowly she rolled the film onto the reel, and only when there was nothing left to roll did she take her next breath. Then she began the process of developing the negatives.

  As soon as she’d rinsed off the last of the chemicals and hung the negatives to dry, Gina began to study the images that had emerged, taking care not to touch them. Since she had not yet enlarged them, the details were difficult to decipher. She could make out images of people on a street. Others looked like they might have been taken at the Third Door.

  Gina left the darkroom then and paced around Marty’s flat, trying to think of ways to busy herself while the negatives dried. Since there were no more rattling windows to fix, she contented herself with flipping through a stack of magazines and pulp comics that Marty had seemed to enjoy reading. He seemed particularly fond of Under Fire magazine, especially—judging by the bent corners—those “War and Wing” stories featuring the Great War’s flying aces. She wondered what Marty would have thought of her chance encounter with Amelia Earhart at Hull House the other day. He might have had high praise for the woman who had flown halfway around the world.

  When she returned to the darkroom, she checked that the negatives were dry and took them over to the enlarger. Barely breathing, she placed the photographic paper carefully and then slipped the film carrier with the first strip of negatives into position. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she had to keep wiping her hands on her dress because her palms were sweating so much. What images would emerge? What was it that Marty hadn’t wanted anyone to see?

  The first few images seemed nondescript. Taken outside the Drake Hotel on the Gold Coast, they were shots of pedestrians strolling about, some entering or exiting the hotel. Not surprisingly, most looked well-to-do, in their fur coats and matching hats, their servants following them, their arms laden with wrapped packages. In each, she could see a young man with a cap drawn over his face. In one he was leaning against a streetlight, reading the day’s newspaper; in the second he was lighting a cigarette. In the third he was speaking to a woman with a long fur coat, which almost reached her shoes, and a matching cloche hat. In the fourth, he appeared to be lighting the woman’s cigarette, although her face could not be clearly seen. All rather mundane. Nothing particularly interesting.

  Now that she understood Marty’s notation, she opened the notebook to see what he had written about these images. She realized that he had not provided descriptions for the first five photographs. Maybe when he took pictures on his own time, for his own purposes, he didn’t capture the information in his notebook. Perhaps he only noted the photographs that people might pay for.

  Gina then inserted the second set of negatives into the enlarger, looking at the four images in turn. The fifth exposure on the roll showed the same man, this time staring straight at Marty. His features were hard to make out. The next three images had been taken at the Third Door, the night Marty had died.

  She sighed. None of them seemed particularly noteworthy. The sixth one featured a woman whom Marty’s book referred to as “Clara Bow,” likely because the patron had struck an “It Girl” pose. The seventh was of two young couples mugging for the camera. In the background, Gina could see herself sitting at the piano beside Ned. She vaguely remembered their conversation. Had this been when they were discussing Dorrie? The eighth image was of the veterans in the back room, but again, they were all grinning and raising their glasses, cards facedown in front of them or still gripped in their hands. Even Roark had a grin on his face, she noticed. She studied it a bit more, taking in his relaxed demeanor.

  Finally it was time to examine the last strip of negatives. Her hands were shaking a bit as she placed them in the enlarger. There were only three exposures because Marty hadn’t had the chance to use the last one on the roll. Like the others, they had been taken at the Third Door. The ninth was of Clarence Darrow. In the background, she could see the Signora and Gooch watching two men seated at a corner table. The tenth was of Lulu. Behind Lulu, she could see Mimi sitting on Jack’s lap, her hand on Jack’s face, perhaps about to pull him close for a kiss. Jack was turned slightly away, as if he’d been conversing with a man standing near the table. The last was the one Gina had seen Marty take, the one of Mimi and Jack, now seated more decorously in two different chairs, Mimi’s boa wrapped provocatively around her man. Jack’s brow was furrowed, and his lips were tight. His eyes were looking away from Mimi, as if he were trying to distance himself from the woman at his side. Clearly not a married couple, and not even one in love.

  Stepping away from the enlarger, Gina felt a great sense of disappointment sweeping over her. She didn’t know what she had expected the film to reveal, but none of these images seemed to have much to say. The ones from the Third Door had captured everyday shenanigans, and if there was a story behind the ones taken out on the street, it didn’t look particularly interesting.

  A glance at her watch showed her that she was going to be late for work. Since the negatives were dry, she carried them over to Marty’s flat, where she added them to the locked chest under the floorboards.

  On her way out of the flat, she thoughtfully selected two photographs from those Marty had hidden away and placed them in her handbag, after wrapping them in paper. They were the two she thought included Dorrie: the photograph of Ned and the four cocktail waitresses, and the one of the young woman holding a cigarette tray, standing near Roark with a coy smile on her face. On a whim, she grabbed two others from the same stack as well: one of Billy Bottles, with Clarence Darrow and other men seated at the bar in the background, and the other of Lulu posing with two College Joes.

  * * *

  When Gina started her shift a short while later, she spotted Lulu lighting a man’s cigarette on the other side of the room, gazing into his eyes. Looked like a pose she’d picked up from the talkies.

  “Say, Lulu,” she said, when her friend passed by her. “Can I talk to you about something? In private.”

  Lulu raised her eyebrows. “Sure thing, doll,” she said. A few minutes later, she followed Gina into the salon. “What’s up, hon? Something the matter?”

  Silently, Gina pulled the photograph with Lulu and the other three women from her bodice, where she’d stashed them when she changed. She pointed to the fourth woman in the picture. “Is this—?”

  Lulu froze as she looked at the photograph. “Dorrie,” she murmured. Then, more sharply, “Why are you showing this to me?”

  Before Lulu could ask more questions, Gina held out the image of Dorrie and Roark. Behind them, Faye could be seen serving a soldier a drink, and Ned was staring at Dorrie, a dark look on his face. “Look at this one,” Gina said softly. “What do you make of this?”

  After a quick curious glance, Lulu scowled. “I don’t make anything of it. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.” Before Gina could stop her, she crumpled up the photograph and threw it to the ground. Jade and Faye walked in just then, watching with appraising eyes as Lulu stalked past them in a huff.

  Jade lifted
her eyebrow. “What was that about?” she asked.

  Faye, meanwhile, had picked up the photograph and was looking at it. “Where did you get this?” she asked. “Find it in Marty’s place?”

  Jade came to peek over her shoulder. “What were you doing with it?”

  “I found it, and I guess I was just curious,” Gina replied.

  “You’re curious about Dorrie?” Jade curled her lip up in disdain.

  Gina thought quickly. “No, about Ned, actually.” Better to let them think she had a crush on the local sheik than an interest in the deceased waitress.

  Faye smirked, but her eyes looked hard. “Girl, I warned you away from him.”

  “I know, you’re right.” Gina slipped the photographs back inside her bodice and returned to the speakeasy floor before the women could say anything more. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Lulu and Ned were having a heated conversation by the piano.

  Seeing that Billy Bottles was at the other end of the bar, Gina moved next to Mr. Darrow, who was seated alone. On a whim, she decided to show him the photographs as well. “Mr. Darrow, if you have a moment,” she said, “I wanted to show you a picture that Marty took of you. Before Christmas, I’d guess.”

  She pulled them from her bodice and showed him the one of Billy. “It’s not of you, but you’re in the background, just behind Billy.”

  His eyebrows raised slightly, and he took the photograph. “I don’t recall Marty taking this.” He straightened his glasses and looked more closely. “Very interesting,” he said, tapping the other men at the bar in the background.

  “What is it?”

  “Those fellows are O’Banion’s men. I recognize them from one of my trials. I defended one a while back. Successfully, I must immodestly add.” He pulled on his suspenders. “They weren’t there because of me, I hasten to add. I haven’t seen these men for years.” He continued to examine the photograph. “I must say, this is all very interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “I’m no photographer, of course, but I’ve perused many photos from crime scenes and courtrooms over the last few years, and these are different.”

  “What do you mean?” Gina asked.

  “It’s fairly evident. Mr. Doyle was focusing on the background. That is, what was going on behind his subjects, who are in the foreground.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The foregrounded people are slightly out of focus, but in comparison the people in the background are much sharper. I contend that they may have been the actual subjects of his shots.”

  “Why would he do that?” Gina asked.

  He swirled his gin in his glass, causing the ice to clink together. “Why indeed?”

  She turned to the other photographs, this time looking more closely at the one with Lulu and the College Joes. She could see now that there were other men behind these three subjects as well. “What about this one?” she asked quietly, sliding it over.

  He picked it up and grunted. “Same,” he said. “More of O’Banion’s men. Could the Castallazzos be getting in with the North Side Irish? Perhaps Marty was keeping tabs on them.” He handed the photographs back to her.

  She tucked them back inside her dress and moved away thoughtfully.

  Ned walked up to her then. “Take a break,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

  After delivering two drinks to waiting patrons, she followed the piano player out into the salon, which was empty. He took a swig from his ever-present silver flask. “Why are you asking about Dorrie? Lulu told me about the photographs.”

  “I’m sorry. I was curious.”

  “She’s curious,” he muttered, and walked into the long corridor that led to the tunnel away from the speakeasy. “I would give anything to know what happened to Dorrie. Anything, you hear me?”

  Gina scrambled after him. “Where was she going that night? You really don’t know?”

  “I guess she had another guy on the side. Not the first girl to stray, won’t be the last.” His tone was bitter. “What’s this to you? I asked you before. Now I want an answer.” He stepped toward her, causing her to take a step back. “You can’t just stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Say, Ned. Do you think that Marty’s death was—”

  “What? Marty’s death was what? Sad? Disturbing? Uncalled for?”

  “—was connected to Dorrie’s death?”

  Unexpectedly, Ned laughed, sounding genuinely amused. “Been reading that mystery writer, Agatha Christie, have you?”

  “No, it’s just that—“

  He looked down at her and put his face so close that she could practically taste the alcohol on his breath. “You looking to replace Dorrie? You wear her dress, her hairpiece—”

  “Only the first night! I didn’t know. These are my clothes now.”

  Ned wasn’t done. “Serve her drinks, flirt with her men. How else do you want to replace her?” He ran his hand along her hip. When she flinched, he drew back with a harsh laugh—there was nothing of his earlier amusement to be heard.

  “Look, Gina,” he said, running his hand through his blond hair. “I don’t know where she was going that night.”

  “Her mother thought she was supposed to deliver a message.”

  He looked annoyed. “That may be so. If you haven’t figured it out by now, people who ask too many questions don’t last long enough to hear the answers.”

  “Is that what happened to Marty? Did he ask too many questions?”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?”

  A cough behind them caused him to step away.

  It was Roark. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked, looking from one to the other. Gina’s face flushed as she wondered how much of the interplay between her and Ned he had witnessed. She wondered why she cared.

  “Not at all,” Ned said, pushing past them. “I have another set to play.”

  “Like them pretty and drunk, do you?” Roark asked her, watching the pianist slip back into the speakeasy.

  Gina rolled her eyes. “Did you know that Ned and Dorrie were an item?”

  “An item?” Roark seemed to consider. “Yeah, I suppose I could see that. From what I could see there might have been something between them. Why?”

  “I found a picture. He looked plenty jealous.” She handed him the picture that Lulu had crumpled earlier.

  “Ah, Dorrie.” He seemed to be focusing on her smiling face. Then he studied the photograph more closely. “I see what you mean about Ned.”

  Gina swallowed. She remembered what Zosia had told her about seeing Dorrie kissing Ned out on the street. “Was there a reason for him to be jealous? Was his girl two-timing him?”

  “If Dorrie was two-timing him, it wasn’t with me.” He paused. “She wasn’t my type.

  The bigger question is—how mad was Ned, if he found out that Dorrie was canoodling with another man?”

  Gina shivered. There was an answer to his question that she couldn’t bring herself to face.

  * * *

  “Gina, I’d like to see you in my salon.” The Signora’s whisper in her ear was like her dress, velvet and dangerous. Gina had just reentered the main floor. “Now.”

  “Yes, Signora,” she replied, preparing herself for trouble as she followed the Signora back to her private room.

  “I’d like to see the photographs that you just showed our patron Mr. Darrow.” The Signora extended her hand, making it clear that this was not a request.

  Gina felt goosebumps raise across her arms. “The photographs, ma’am?”

  “Yes, Gina. The ones that are currently inside your bodice. Please don’t make me have Gooch retrieve them.”

  “No, ma’am, I’ll give them to you.” Gina pulled the photographs out and handed them to her, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

  The Signora studied them in silence. When she finally spoke, her voice chilled Gina to the bone. “I assume that you found these among M
arty’s belongings.”

  There seemed no point in lying. “Yes, Signora.”

  “Did you find others like these? Taken in my establishment?”

  Suddenly Marty’s dying warning came into Gina’s mind. Hide it, he had told her. Then she thought about how Marty had hidden these images under the floorboards. Why? The Signora knew that Marty took pictures of patrons there. She’d hired him to do so. “No, I didn’t see any,” she lied. “Did he usually give them to you?”

  The Signora’s brow cleared. “Yes, he did. That way, in case anyone wanted to pick up a photograph—a memento of their visit—they could.” Although her words were plausible, Gina sensed a lie. “So if you see any more, please give them to me. We wouldn’t want these photographs to get into the wrong hands, now would we?”

  Gina took a step back. “No, ma’am,” she replied.

  “Then you may return to your duties now. I don’t want my customers kept waiting.”

  * * *

  As the servers were changing for their next set, Gina noticed a woman sitting at the end of the bar. She’d placed her purple sequined handbag on the stool beside her, probably to keep unwanted companions at bay. She was sipping a gin and tonic.

  Billy Bottles was watching the woman uneasily. Catching Gina’s eye, he nodded for her to come over.

  “Take care of that, will you?” he muttered, flicking a finger toward the woman. “The Signora don’t like that kind of thing. And Gooch is too busy right now to handle it.”

  Gina looked over. She could see now that the woman was crying, black marks from her mascara streaking down her cheeks. Then she recognized who it was. Greta Van der Veer. Glancing around, she saw Gooch standing over two obviously intoxicated college boys in a menacing way. The phonograph was playing a record while Ned was taking his break.

  “Oh, of course,” she said. After handing Billy the empty glasses on her tray, she slid over to the woman. “Miss Van der Veer,” she said, “may I help you, please?’”