by H. B. Berlow
“I am honored to have you here, Officer Witherspoon. Your presence fills us with admiration.” I didn’t recall ever introducing or announcing myself in any fashion. It scared me to think how completely in control she was. It also made me wonder how much she knew. “Mrs. Roché and her son think very highly of you.”
“It is I who am honored.” I figured I would try playing her game even though I pretty much guessed she had me figured out. I couldn’t match her vocabulary but at this point there was nothing really to lose.
“You have seen Hell, looked into the eyes of Satan, and returned to fight on the side of the Lord. There is nothing you should fear.”
“Except the unknown.”
“Everything is known unto the Lord. Put your faith in him.”
I smiled at her, not for any reason I could figure and perhaps only to buy me the time to think of a response. She apparently knew much about me once, I assume, Deanna Roché told her I would be coming. She must have had a complete collection of agents who could find out all manner of information. This was part of her organization. This was what made her unique and special to her adherents and gave her sway over their opinions. But I knew she didn’t know everything about me. I had the feeling of still being in control.
“Until the Lord guides me to the killer of these women, I will trust in my own instincts.” I made sure my tone sounded challenging and defiant to let her know I did not accept her gospel nor her guidance. I didn’t have to worry Deanna or Ronnie were going to be offended because they knew I was not a believer.
“They will only take you so far, Baron. The righteous have secrets that will set you upon the right path.”
She placed her hands firmly on either side of my head, looked up toward the sky, brought my head down, kissed my forehead firmly, and then lifted my head and kissed me firmly on the lips. Her hands disengaged from my head. She turned and walked out of the room, followed devotionally by Katie Moore who appeared slightly jealous at not being able to offer the same blessing. The sun had set and it was now dark as night. The blessings of Sister Celeste gone, we were once again on our own.
It appeared as though Deanna and Ronnie Roché were slighted as Sister Celeste had said nothing to them. As it was not my intention to take attention away from the truly devoted, it felt awkward in the silence of the room. I knew I had nothing to say. I was not there for any one else’s uplifting. There was a murder investigation in progress. I walked out of the room and hoped they would follow.
The late summer air was humid making me sticky and wet. I was covered in sweat from just standing outside. However, I couldn’t be sure if it wasn’t the strange embrace and kiss by Sister Celeste making me feel put off. An awkward lump stuck in my throat. I needed a glass of cold water or a whiskey.
This time, I sat up front with Ronnie while his mother sat alone in the back seat. It was my hope I could get him to open up and tell me more about Sister Celeste I didn’t already know.
“Her real name is Clara Dietrich. There have been some accusations made about her.” I spoke now as a policeman, trying to shake him out of his dream-like state.
“I know. I’ve known about her for a while. I go for my mother. You understand, don’t you?” There was almost a pleading tone to his voice as though he were expecting me to forgive him. I didn’t know what there was to forgive.
When we got back to the house, I stepped out first, came around to the driver’s side, and opened the door for Deanna. My outstretched hand was a way to show her the respect I felt she did not get from the one place she expected to get it.
“I am honored you joined us at this solemn event,” she said softly, almost whispering. Suddenly, she placed her hands on either side of my head, pulled it down to kiss my forehead, then lifted my head to kiss me on the lips, exactly as Sister Celeste had done. She turned gracefully and walked toward the front door. Ronnie looked like he had just swallowed a bug and followed her. I didn’t mean to be in a position to cause any rift especially since I still needed his help. But I did wonder if Deanna Roché was trying to mimic Sister Celeste or if she had other ideas.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I got to the detectives’ room what I thought was rather early but was extraordinarily surprised to see Detective Rackler sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, and wearing eyeglasses. He took them off immediately upon seeing me. It would have been too easy to make a smart aleck comment. I saved those for when they counted.
Sells came in a moment later carrying a big stack of files. He put half of them on Rackler’s desk and sat down at his with the rest.
“Anything from last night?” I asked.
“We recognized a guy going in, name of Eli Railsback. Claims he’s an anarchist even though the anarchists will have nothing to do with him.” Sells was shaking his head in apparent disgust. “When he came out, he was a little agitated.”
“Agitated? Agitated how?”
“Punching his fist into his hand. Mumbling to himself. We followed him to a bar in Delano. He got drunk and left. Talked to the bartender who told us he gets drunk a lot. He’s got no record to speak of. If he is an anarchist, he’s an awfully bad one.”
“What are all these?” my head nodding toward the stack of files.
“Every stabbing death in Wichita in the last twenty years. Figured maybe we could find a pattern.”
“No.” Rackler’s comment was expelled with a frustrated gasp. “I have learned one thing.”
“Oh?”
“It’s amazing how many ways you can get stabbed.”
I understood their frustration, the same as I saw in Cleveland. Those tasked to protect the public feeling themselves handcuffed. Unable to do their jobs due to pressure beyond their control. However, this was the only way to get it done, keep reviewing every case, every file, every incident, think beyond what you knew even as bizarre as it might sound. This perpetrator was only logical within his own mind. It would take a great deal for any one of us to think in the same manner.
“We’re missing something.” I blurted it out without thinking about.
“You’re damned right we are.” I tried picturing Rackler saying that with his glasses to prevent me from starting an argument.
“I’m going back and talking with those witnesses again.”
“Who? The pimp and the madam?”
“And the rest.”
“You want me to go with you?” I wasn’t sure if Sells’ interest in joining me was to see what I was thinking about, to avoid the endless files, or to get away from Rackler for a day or two.
“No. I’m changing out of my uniform and just going as a citizen. I think someone knows something and just doesn’t feel right saying it.”
I saw Officer Roché round the corner and head toward the detectives’ room as I left. I just wasn’t ready to face him and discuss his mother. I also needed to be able to speak to some of these folks as confidentially as possible. Ronnie Roché came across as awkward even though he was well meaning. At this point in the investigation, I needed to be on my own.
The young black maid at Miss Becky’s house indicated she was not yet awake. I moved on to the theater and tracked down Melinda Malone. She said it was okay to talk with her as long as I was able to follow and keep up with her.
“Life in the theater moves fast, Officer Witherspoon. We need to keep up with it.”
“Were there any strange men who approached Ms. Delsin, either before, during, or after any shows?”
“Strange men and pretty dancers go hand in hand. In her case she attracted men about your age, more than likely married, but with enough charm to convince her they could offer her the moon.”
“Any one in particular stand out?”
“They all seemed the same to me.”
Malone saw all young women as sex-starved kittens and all men as Lotharios. It was as though all of her life was a theater.
Shep Breckman was in his dressing room gargling with something smelling of pine tar. He held u
p a finger to advise me to wait as he finished his last spit.
“Got to keep the pipes loose. Old timer from back in the day recommended it. It’s a combination of…”
“It’s quite all right.” Knowing what it was would probably have made me sicker than watching him gargle with it. “I’m trying to determine if Valeria had any regular visitors.”
“Visitors? Great word. I like that. No, more like customers, officer. The girl had long since given up the notion of success and was looking for, what’s the expression, a sugar daddy?” I nodded and started to walk off. “Wait. There was this one guy. Never did anything more than stand in the shadows in the alley behind the theater. I think she was talking to him one night when I came out. Then I heard him run off.”
Miss Becky was awake by noon and graciously granted me an audience while she drank her coffee from a China cup and had her three-minute soft boiled eggs and toast. Her morning gown was still elegant with pearls sewn into the fabric and she herself made up for the evening despite the fact it was still daylight.
“I know I asked you about the night Angela and Aurora were killed. What I’d like to know is if either one of them might have had a regular client. Someone lacking confidence and only comfortable around them. Someone who may have tried to protect them or, better yet, save them.”
“Officer Witherspoon, just between you and I, the pastor at the First United Methodist Church is a frequent guest. He hardly believes there is a need to save my girls.”
“This may be so, Miss Becky. But there might have been someone who didn’t have the pastor’s perspective, shall we say.”
Miss Becky sipped her coffee, bit into her toast with her front teeth like a bunny rabbit and wiped her lips with her cloth napkin.
“Angela did have a young man escort her home from time to time. He would be waiting for her at the corner as she left for the night.”
“Did you ever see his face?”
“No. He always stood in the shadows.”
I managed to locate Tangerine Smith’s old cook, Shaughnessy Burkett, working in a slop house run by one of the churches. They catered to the homeless and poor. Burkett was a rung or two up from those he was helping so he fit right in.
“Shirley Meeks said she remembered Tangerine shooing someone off right before she was killed. You know who it might have been?”
“No, sir. Miss Tangerine took in all kinds, like some people take in stray dogs.”
“You remember anyone in particular?”
“I seen her talking to someone one night, out back of the restaurant. Short feller. He been standing in the shadows.”
When I went back to Delano, I simply stood in the door, not moving, basically blocking it, the same way Montisse blocked the passage to the back room. This time, without my uniform, I didn’t appear official. It didn’t mean I was going to be intimidated. This punk never ran with the North Side Gang, never knew he wasn’t going to push me around.
How Carson Stankey knew to come out from the back was a mystery to me. He walked slowly up to me and stood less than a foot away. Those black eyes looked dead. Suddenly, a slight smile appeared. This surprised me. He nodded for me to follow.
One small table. Two chairs. Two glasses. A bottle of brown amber liquid. The cork had been previously removed. We sat opposite each other.
“Have a drink?”
“I’d like a new bottle.”
He laughed, heartily and loud.
“Do you think I would poison a cop?”
“Without a second thought.”
He laughed again. Then the laughter stopped.
“You don’t need a drink.”
“No.”
He leaned in toward me. I leaned toward him.
“What do you want?”
“To find Chantelle’s killer.”
“Why?”
“Because it disturbs my sense of balance.”
He leaned back. I continued leaning forward.
“Balance?”
“You have your business. It’s not for everyone but it’s here. They make a law to get rid of you, so be it. But killing your girls is not the way to make this business go away. Someone is doing this and it is unsafe for everyone. Even those who are not associated with your business.”
“I have been making inquiries.”
“You wouldn’t know where to begin.” His eyes widened. I pushed him and needed to know when to stop before Montisse did what he did best. “You’re asking other pimps and prostitutes and grifters. That’s not who did this.”
“Who did?”
I finally leaned back. He respected me now, understood I was better suited to this. I could stop pushing.
“The man I’m looking for stands in the shadows and doesn’t want to be seen except by the girls. He wants them to notice him but no one else. He’s gentle. He wants to protect the girls, maybe even save them. He’d rather be their friend than their client.”
“Chantelle would take homeless men to a diner and get them fed. She would do such things. Is this someone who would kill her?”
“Perhaps. Did you see her with anyone…special?”
He shook his head. He may have been looking at me but he was in deep thought trying to remember all the men Chantelle had ever slept with. It wasn’t going to be determined in an hour or even a day. At least, I had gotten him to consider what I was looking for. I stood up and nodded at him, then started to leave.
“If I think of anything, I will send for you.”
I kept walking, my back to him as a sign of trust. There were still no answers. Only a figure in the shadows.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was Friday morning. I was tired. I hadn’t slept much. It was barely a week since I returned to Wichita. I learned a few things but nothing useful enough to catch this killer. It dawned on me I was putting in the majority of the effort for something that was completely out of my jurisdiction. There was no desire to be Eliot Ness or J. Edgar Hoover. I was a small-town cop and I liked it that way in spite of the thrill and excitement of the investigation.
What a funny thought! I was a small-town cop and I liked it that way. I had become a cop in Ark City, Kansas having originally been a student of gangsters. I had been on the path to silk suits and fast cars and women who wanted me because I could treat them well. When Dion O’Banion suggested I go off to war, he would never have imagined I would eventually become a beat cop in a small Kansas burg or be respected by the man who was credited for sending Capone away. There was no telling where the road would lead now.
I had no idea how long Rackler and Sells had been in the office. But at eight a.m. it appeared they had been there overnight. Rackler’s hair looked as though it had been combed by a tractor. Sells swilled his coffee. When they finally realized I was there, they looked up to see an unlikely smile on my face.
“The look of police work.” I had no intention of insulting them but this was the first time they looked bothered by this case beyond the pressure they were getting from the big wigs. This was the way I must have looked trying to figure out who butchered three men in Ark City. This was the way cops were supposed to look.
“Grab a seat. We’ve got more files.” Sells was only too happy to share the misery. However, I nodded my head negatively.
“Heading back.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got my own job to do.” As much as I relished the challenge, a sense of responsibility crept up on me like a cat in a mist.
“This thing’s not solved.” Rackler sounded like a little boy who was told he had to get out of the mud and take a bath.
“It’s funny how it wasn’t too long ago you pretty much told me you could get this thing wrapped up yourself.” Rackler stared at me blankly, blinked his eyes, and looked like he might start bawling. “We’ve made progress but I didn’t sign on for the long haul.”
“You’re right,” Sells said as he stood up, moving slowly over to me on tired old legs. Sells leaned over more, as th
ough there was a heavy burden on his back. He had dark circles under his eyes and a more wrinkled face. This was exactly the kind of case to do that to you. He put his hand out, and I took it. There was a nod of his head, the slightest acknowledgement of his appreciation. I turned and left.
I lost track of time. Maybe I drove slower on purpose to give myself a chance to think. It was just as likely I was trying to clear my head, knowing I had pushed myself further than ever before. Such an effort wasn’t necessary in Ark City. There still may have been some political corruption but it was doubtful with Hallett no longer being a councilman. Gangsters were no longer a factor except for the few families in the county with their secret stills but they weren’t hurting anyone. If the Mob was any kind of influence, you wouldn’t know it. They were more organized than U.S. Steel. Being a beat cop meant keeping the peace for the benefit of the people of our community. I didn’t want it any other way.
Unfortunately, I kept having visions of a man in the shadows, lurking, watching, waiting. Not very tall. Not very imposing. Almost forgettable. Quiet for the most part. Focused on the mission set in his mind. Someone you would not recognize as having these thoughts or intentions largely because he wasn’t evil, only obsessed.
It dawned on me many of the notions of this possible character could have been used to describe me as well.
I got back in the late morning and went directly to Chief Richardson’s office. I went over in detail everything that transpired and what we determined, even though we were no closer to an actual suspect. He agreed I had given the Wichita Police Department an adequate assessment and it was time for my return. I left the receipts for my stay on his desk for reimbursement.
It was a mistake not to get breakfast before leaving Wichita. My stomach was growling like the cowardly lion in the Oz book. There was only one cure: Daisy Mae’s. A seat at the counter beckoned, and Dixie strode up to me like a schoolteacher waiting for me to blurt out my assignment.
