by H. B. Berlow
Everything between us was easy, like floating on air. I didn’t look upon her as something angelic nor as a fallen woman. She had a great deal of intelligence and was working hard to get somewhere in her field. She wasn’t necessarily sure where but she had an admirable determination. I didn’t feel lesser because of it. On the contrary, she actually motivated me.
Being around her was unlike Heather Devore or Natalie Dixon. Heather had the same sharp-as-nails demeanor and could take care of herself, up to a point. Natalie was radiant but hid a dark interior. Jeanette showed me a little of each and yet was someone completely different. I didn’t feel as though I needed to protect her as long as we didn’t have this case.
I was trusting Detectives Voth and Montgomery more than my own instincts and allowing Rackler, who I didn’t have much faith in, to organize the reports and try to determine a pattern for Officer Roché’s movements. Perhaps my thoughts were if I were more aware of my surroundings, Ronnie might not approach Jeanette or might even find someone else as a substitute for her, in essence killing the other girl as a symbol for Jeanette.
It got far too complicated in my mind I started to doubt my original theory. Perhaps even after all Ronnie Roché had gone through in his life this was all just a matter of him trying to prove himself in this world. I knew firsthand what it was like.
The second time I went over to Jeanette’s apartment for coffee was late in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Rehearsals had completed and there was no show until Thursday night. She made a fresh pot of coffee and we sat across from each other at the table in the small kitchen. There was no dining room to speak of and only a sofa, stuffed chair, and a coffee table that passed itself off as a living area. For all the glamour of the entertainment business, her personal life was quiet and withdrawn.
“If you catch him, what happens then?” she asked.
“He’ll go to trial. It’s all up to the lawyers.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant what happens to you?”
What she was really asking was what would happen to us. The real answer was I would go back to Arkansas City, Kansas where I lived and worked as a police officer and continue on my job for the remainder of my life and maybe make a difference to some people. By the same token, the answer might just as well have been I stayed here and worked on the Wichita Police Department so I could be closer to her. Where would that end up? Marriage? A house somewhere? The real Baron Witherspoon might already have settled down with Beth Handy and started a nice family, maybe even become a part of her dad’s business. He might never have become a police officer. No matter what name I used, the man I was now was lost in what appeared to be a Kansas twister, spinning around and not knowing where he was going to land. Not so surprising when you consider Eliot Ness was much the same.
“What about you?” I asked as a way to avoid answering the question.
“I really would like to be a legitimate actress. I know I can do it. I just don’t know if anyone will take me seriously after the so-called career I’ve had.”
“You have to follow your dream.”
“What’s yours, Officer Witherspoon?”
She looked at me in a way no woman ever had before. She saw beyond and through my scars. Maybe she didn’t know Eric Kimble but I felt her inside me as though to say “I don’t care about the past, only the future.”
The sad thing was I didn’t believe in the future. In many ways, I was already dead, living on borrowed time, a second chance I had been trying to prove I had earned for the last twenty years. The world at large didn’t need Eric Kimbles but more Baron Witherspoons. Unfortunately, they were stuck with me.
“I’m still looking for a dream,” was the only thing I could respond. She reached across the table and touched my hand.
“Do you think I could be a part of it?”
I cleared my throat. It was less insensitive than pulling my hand away.
“Perhaps. But right now I’ve got to figure out a way to determine if Officer Roché might consider you a possible victim.” Her eyes widened in surprise. The conversation had definitely gone in a different direction. It also made me think of another plan. “We’re getting engaged.” As wide as her eyes had been, they grew to the size of quarters while her mouth dropped open as well.
“Officer Witherspoon, I had no idea—”
“No. That’s just the story. You represent something Ronnie believes is wrong. As long as we are seeing each other socially, he’ll figure you are just a diversion while I’m on this case. But as soon as he sees you as a danger to me, he’ll come to my rescue.”
She squinted her eyes and her lips pursed. She was staring straight at me completely lost. I needed more than anything now to draw Ronnie out, force him to make a move and show me he was following a course of action intended to rid the city of evil and sin much in the way Sister Celeste had indicated, but not in the way she had intended. He wanted to prove to me he was worthy, and I was going to give him the opportunity.
“Well, I guess I’ll find out what it’s like to be engaged. I’ve never had the experience before. It will be my greatest performance yet.”
I reached back across the table and held both of her hands in mine.
“I appreciate your willingness to help out in this case. We’ve spent a lot of time together, learned a lot about each other—”
“Not everything.”
“No, not everything,” I responded knowingly. “This is not how a couple grows together where one sends the other out into the dark. Perhaps when this is over we can spend some real time together. Maybe there is something for us. I don’t know. But right now, I can’t think about us. There is somebody out there brutally killing women. It doesn’t matter some were prostitutes. Nobody deserves to die like that.”
She nodded her head. Her eyes moistened but, knowing her, she was not going to let herself cry. She slowly removed her hands from mine, got up, and brought the coffee cups to the sink, cleaning them out and placing them on the dish rack. Her back to me, I watched as she lifted her head up and stood there for a moment. She turned toward me looking like she was ready to plow a field or chop down trees.
“Let’s catch this guy.” If nothing else, she was ready to complete the one task before going on to anything else.
Chapter Forty-Four
I was fairly confident of the plan but less so of Rackler’s acting abilities. We were supposed to have what sounded like a normal conversation Ronnie Roché could overhear and perhaps be drawn into. Rackler sounded like he was reading straight from a script.
We were in the detectives’ room when Officer Roché entered with a stack of files he had been asked to retrieve. Rackler and I were in the middle of a discussion.
“It’s the strangest thing really. I never would have expected it. But it looks like Jeanette Ross and I are going to get married once I’m done with this case.”
“Congratulations. I’m happy for you.” Hollywood was definitely not calling on John Rackler.
“You’re getting married to…Miss Ross?” Ronnie tried to make it sound as though he hadn’t quite heard. Knowing him as I did, I could catch a slight warble in his voice like a child about to cry.
“Yes. I was just telling John about it. She’s a very special lady.”
“Are you moving here?” Now his voice sounded hopeful.
“No. We’ll go back to Ark City.”
“What will they think of her?” His tone changed again. Sharp yet direct. It was a question of importance for me to consider.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, folks down there aren’t quite as open-minded as here in Wichita. I mean, after all, she is a fan dancer, right? Probably won’t settle too well in Ark City, will it?”
I stood up and walked over to him, placed my hand on his shoulder like I was an older brother, and looked down at him with a smile of confidence.
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. People have accepted me when I returned from the war,
being all scarred and looking like a monster. Given time, I became accepted.”
He looked at my hand on his shoulder and then back at me.
“There’s a difference between scars and sin. You’ll be giving up your career.”
He placed the files on the table and walked out. I walked softly over to the door and made out his shadow in the hallway. I returned to my seat near Rackler and spoke rather loudly and clearly.
“She’s performing her last show on Friday. Then, no matter what happens with this case, I’m heading back home.”
Later in the afternoon, I was summoned to Captain Merton’s office. Rackler stepped out just as I was going in. It was strange how he didn’t make any eye contact with me, rather just kept walking briskly past.
“Are you certain this will work?” Merton’s entire intention was to determine if I knew what I was doing considering all his other options were limited.
“Assuming our assessment of Officer Roché is accurate, I have placed a specific timeline before him. This woman, as he sees it, is in a position to ruin my career. He will make certain it doesn’t happen.”
“I want to hear the details one more time.”
“I’ll drop off Miss Ross at the theater at her usual time and then leave. Detectives Rackler, Voth, and Montgomery will be strategically placed at the exits to the theater, most notably in the alley behind which is where Officer Roché will likely accost her upon her departure. This is similar to how Valeria Delsin was murdered. I will have left my hotel by the back entrance and made my way down to the theater as well. I will not be wearing my uniform to make it easier to blend in with pedestrians.”
“And you’re certain you’ll be able to stop him before he—”
“Nothing will happen to her, sir.”
He nodded and remained silent. I took it as my cue to leave.
I got in my car and drove, uncertain of where I was going. Detective Ed Sells understood and respected me but he was retired. Detective John Rackler was an incompetent fool who would wind up with all the glory. Officer Ronald Roché at first seemed like a put upon younger officer just looking for a chance but might wind up being a killer. His mother, Deanna Roché, was lost in a world of delusion somewhere between righteousness and damnation. I was alone in a big city without anyone I could trust or rely on. There was only one place to go.
Jeanette Ross answered the door in a silk robe. I couldn’t tell if it was something she wore regularly or if she was expecting me to drop by. Her ice blue eyes had a cool and calm influence.
“Is this a social call?” She smiled.
“Well, we are engaged.” I smiled back. She took a step back and opened the door wider. I walked in feeling like I had gone through the Battle of the Marne.
“Would you like a drink?” I nodded. She poured whiskey straight into a glass. I took a sip, then a bigger one.
“You’re all set with the plan?”
“You escort me to the theater tomorrow. Your men are waiting at the back entrance. I do my regular show. I leave. Your guy tries to kill me. You grab him. Simple, right?”
She tried to sound relaxed but I had gotten to know her well enough to hear in her voice she was relying on her faith in me.
“Everything will be fine.”
“I know. So, why are you really here?”
“I just came over to make him more upset. I’m sure he followed me.” She started to walk over to the window. “Don’t.” She continued and stood there, pulling the curtain aside.
“Come over here,” she said, looking over her shoulder, “and stand in back of me.”
I stood close to her. The sky was thick with stars. Street lights lit up the night like a Broadway show. I looked down at her shoulder, her hips, her backside, a set of shimmering curves in silk. She smelled of lavender and honeysuckle and sweet freshness. She turned around suddenly while I stared down. When I looked up, I saw her tongue swipe across the glossy redness of her lips.
“If you really want to make him upset, you should stay the night.”
I turned and walked back toward the kitchen counter and poured more whiskey. I needed to think but I came here to stop thinking, to just drop the mask and be somebody different for a while. She was making it too easy.
“I’ll sleep on your couch.”
She strutted toward me, everything swaying in perfect rhythm, a Rube Goldberg machine in which all the parts were designed for pleasure. She grabbed the glass from my hand and took a big swig before placing the glass on the counter.
“I want to know you’ll protect me. I need to know I’m something more than cheese in a mousetrap. That won’t happen by you sleeping on my couch.”
She grabbed me by the lapels the same way she took my glass and drew me toward her. Our lips met, locked, melted against each other. My arms came up around her, a hand on the back of her head, the other on the small of her back. I was pressing her to me as closely as it was possible. I did everything I could to make Ronnie Roché envious and upset without him ever knowing about it.
Chapter Forty-Five
The little kitchen wasn’t much but it was enough to cook fried eggs, bacon, and toast. Even the coffee smelled good. This was no Daisy Mae’s and Jeanette certainly wasn’t Dixie. She was a darn sight something else, something more.
My face pulsated. I couldn’t figure if it was from all her kissing or just because I was getting older and this was going to happen according to Dr. Brenz. Maybe it was because I was excited and felt alive again. It was unfortunate I didn’t allow myself to keep those thoughts more often. I just didn’t want to believe in my own happiness.
She placed the plate in front of me, poured a cup of coffee, and refilled hers. She sat down opposite me with a big smile.
“What about you?” I asked.
“I had a roll with butter.”
“Nothing more?”
“How do you think I keep this girlish figure?” Her smile was like the sun on a summer’s day slowly melting away the ice in a glass of lemonade. It was so warm the ice didn’t even mind melting into nothingness. I shoveled forkfuls of food into my mouth like a doughboy in basic training, then looked up to see her watching me. Not staring or judging, just watching. I placed my fork down on the plate, took a sip of coffee before putting the cup down, and then returned her gaze.
“Is this something you could get used to?” I really wanted to know what she was thinking but I didn’t know her as well as I thought.
“I’m taking it for a spin around the block.”
“You trust me, right?”
Her smile faded, and she had the look of a little girl who had just returned home from being lost and who never wanted to get lost again. I had to be her guardian angel. After it was over, then we could determine if I was to be more.
We planned that on Friday, today, I was not to have any contact with Detective Rackler or Captain Merton or even Officer Ronnie Roché. The point was to be alone and a possible target. I left Jeanette’s apartment, went back to my hotel, took a bath and had a shave, and then put on clean clothes. I checked and cleaned my service revolver and made sure to wear a jacket where I could keep it in the side pocket. I went over this plan in my head several times, more than what was necessary. Ronnie Roché was not a physically imposing figure. It would be easy to subdue him. Yet there were so many things I was unsure of it made me doubt, even then, he was the killer.
An alarming thought occurred to me. What if Ronnie Roché was not the killer and the real killer was following me? What if all our attention was focused on Jeanette and the killer was planning his next move elsewhere? I did what I could to stop thinking those thoughts. I had considered everything from several angles. Either I was a hundred percent right or dead wrong.
I took to reading the newspaper to pass the time. It seemed the Wichita Beacon had more national news than the Traveler could muster. There was a piece in the gossip column about Eliot Ness involved with a fashion illustrator named Evaline Michelow and they were t
he talk of the town. After burning down Kingsbury Run and catching heck for it and then getting a divorce, Eliot looked to have come out clean as a whistle.
The first show of the evening was at 7:00 p.m. Jeanette liked to get to the theater two hours early. I picked her up at 4:30 p.m. She was dressed in a simple gown, not overly fancy but still elegant. She took me by the arm, and I escorted her to my car. We gazed at each other almost the entire time, stopping only to make our way down the steps without tripping over our feet.
We drove slowly and in silence. As she had told me before, she was going over her jokes and songs in her mind and retracing the dance steps and motion of her arms. It really was an impressive performance, the illusion of being completely nude behind those feathers. I was fortunate enough to have been able to see beyond the illusion.
I let her out of the car and gave her a peck on the cheek. I started to walk off. She grabbed me by the hands and pulled me close, her lips up to my ear.
“I’ve never been in love with anyone before. Is this what it feels like?” There was a slight trill in her voice.
“I guess we’ll both find out together.” I pulled away from her and watched her walk into the theater. Now was the time to trust Rackler, Voth, and Montgomery.
Each show was about ninety minutes. The first one ended about 8:30 p.m. The performers got thirty minutes to freshen up before the next show started at 9:00 p.m. Figuring Jeanette would remove her make-up and change, I planned to meet her at the back entrance by about 11:00 p.m. It would be six hours of doing nothing but waiting. I would have to spend a good portion of the time in the hotel just in case Ronnie was watching me and wondering what I was doing. I’m sure I realized all of this when we were putting this plan together but it didn’t hit me until now just how much time had to pass in order to allow this thing play out. I didn’t want to take a nap and get some shut eye in case I overslept.
In the lobby of the hotel, there was a newsstand. I grabbed a copy of Modern Screen and Popular Detective. I don’t know what impulse caused me to reach for those two until I realized each one reminded me of Jeanette and myself. I sat in my room and laughed to myself at the foolishness of both of these rags.
