“What night was it?” she asked.
“Last Tuesday.”
“Oh, I was out that night. Oliver took me to dinner and then out dancing. It was quite a nice time. One of the big touring bands was in town. They were magnificent. Count Basie, I think.”
“So, you’re saying you weren’t even here when the police showed up?”
“Right. My husband and I were out on the town.
“Then who called the police?”
She paused a moment that barely registered. “Perhaps one of the neighbors?”
“What about Randolph? He looks like he’s smart enough to use a phone.”
The fire in her eyes all but scorched me. “You will leave my butler or anyone else in my employ out of your so-called investigation. If you have any questions, you will only speak to me or my husband.”
Gardner said, “Your neighbors. Y’all ever get together and gossip, talk about the other neighbors?”
She cooled a bit and gave Gardner her eyes. “I play bridge with three of the women on the street, but we had to postpone our game last Thursday on account of sickness. One of the ladies caught a cold.”
Convenient, I thought.
Gardner said, “When y’all got back from your night on the town, did you happen to notice all the police cars? Maybe even the flashing lights?”
“There were no police cars in the area when we got home. It was just as dark as it always is.”
“Your husband. He at work?”
“He is, and I bet he wouldn’t be too happy with your line of questioning.”
“Probably not,” I agreed, “but we have to ask.”
“True, but I don’t have to answer. And I’d like to have you both leave now.”
“But we’re not finished,” Gardner said. “There’s still too much left to ask.”
I grabbed his shoulders and turned him toward the door. There was clearly nothing more to learn from her. She was either covering for someone or, in the more unlikely case, she truly didn’t know.
Chapter Nine
We took most of the rest of the day to talk with all the rich folks on the one side of the West 18th Street extension. As expected, not all of Aldridge’s neighbors were home the night of the burglary. Those who remembered it got vague when pressed for details. The long and short of it was that we got nothing consequential in the way of leads.
The only thing close to forward movement in this case came when Gardner and I paid a visit to the farmers on the other side of the Smith farm. Over glasses of just about the best lemonade I had ever tasted, Otis and Aileen Johnson told us about the police chasing some dark figure near their land. When Otis went to fetch his shotgun, the family heard the footsteps cross their land and out to FM 476. A few seconds later, the sound of a car engine filled the silence and the car raced away.
Satisfied with the confirmation that someone was definitely fleeing the police but coming up short on every other front, Gardner and I drove back to town. We talked about the war in Europe, the likelihood that the U.S. would get in it, and the other news, much of which pretty much dealt with the war. When sovereign nations are fighting each other and their colonies around the world are being threatened and taking up arms, that kind of thing tends to dominate all discussion.
I dropped Gardner off in front of the news building and sat in the car a few moments. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the Smith case and the clock was ticking. Something had to break, and fast.
Remembering the punch I had taken from Peete that day at lunch, I touched my sore jaw. The two things had to have a connection, right? Clara’s suddenly getting a new man in her life and this chicken-slaughter order.
Throwing the car in gear, I circled the block for an open meter. I fed a dime into the machine and walked half a block to a pay phone. After a nickel found a new home, the HPD dispatcher answered the call.
“Leroy Dwight, please.”
The dispatcher relayed the call. A few moments later, my old police pal answered the phone.
“Leroy, it’s Wade.”
“Wade, you old son of a gun. What the hell you doing calling me? I heard about your little visit today.”
“Yeah. Well, I needed to verify something and Burman did exactly that. You still staying out of trouble?”
“Sure am, a fact you’d know if you actually gave a damn during times when you didn’t want something. That’s why you’re calling, isn’t it? You want something.”
The bitterness in his voice was palpable. During the times when the internal investigation was ongoing and my time as a Houston police officer was coming to an end, Leroy Dwight was one of the few friends who stuck with me. He deflected all the crap that got thrown his way, letting it roll off his shoulders. He defended me to anyone who’d listen. It didn’t matter that I had to resign, he still believed in me.
And I continually abused that relationship from time to time. He was still on the force, moving up to the detective ranks. He was good, too. Bulldog-like. But we found ourselves on opposite sides of the equation more often than not. The only thing that helped was when I got him out of a jam. With me being a PI, I was able to do things and go places he couldn’t. I helped him and he felt he owed me. I didn’t disabuse him of that notion, but I got to thinking that my welcome was wearing thin.
“Look, Leroy, I know you stuck with me back then, but I figured you’d best be served by not being seen with me.”
“I can do my own living, Wade. That includes the people with whom I choose to spend time.” He was always a proper grammar kind of guy. “I wish you’d come around more often. Rosemary does, too.”
His wife was a dandy gal. We both saw her at a dance one night. Their eyes locked on each other and I just vanished from the scene.
“I’ll make a note to come by and play gin rummy and drink cocktails.”
“Right. When you’re darkening my door, I’ll believe it. What do you want?”
“I’m on a case right now…”
“Same one?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I’m not sure, but I think two cases might have a link. You ever heard of a man named Amos Peete?”
The short bark of a laugh came through loud and clear through the phone. “Of course I know him. I’ve even busted him.”
My pulse quickened. “What can you tell me about him?”
There was some silence on Leroy’s end of the line. “I’m not sure I should talk here about him.”
“Why?”
“Someone might hear.”
I frowned, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “Why would somebody care if you were talking about Peete?”
“Because of who he is and what he’s done.”
“Leroy, spill at least something to me. What’s he done?”
“He’s a killer, Wade. A hired killer.”
The bottom of my stomach just went a little deeper. I started to wonder if Clara had the name correct. Maybe it was another guy name Amos Peete. Unlikely, I thought. Not with the kind of behavior he showed that morning. “Talk to me, Leroy. Give me some details.”
More silence from his end. “Listen, I’m off in a half hour. Meet me outside Foley’s. We’ll talk face to face.”
“Why all the hush-hush?”
“Just meet me, okay?” He hung up.
Curiosity got the better of me. That, and something else. A protective quality seeped through me.
On a whim, I threw another nickel into the phone and dialed the health department. A woman answered. “May I speak to Clara Milbanks, please?”
There was an awkward pause. The woman didn’t know what to do with a caller who wanted to speak to a receptionist. “One moment, please.”
I lit a cigarette waiting for Clara to come on the line. When she did, I told her who I was. “Listen, do you have a friend you can stay with?”
“I have a few, but none I’m close enough to ask that kind of question. Why?”
I hesitated, then spoke a version of the truth. “I just wan
t to make sure you’re safe. What’s your home telephone number?”
“You trying to pick me up, Mr. Wade?”
“No, I’m trying to protect you while I look into this deeper. Am I the only one you’ve told?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I need your home number, in case I need to contact you.”
“Mohawk 4-7217.”
“And your address.”
A slight pause. “3921 Spruce Street. Say, what’s all this about?”
“Not entirely sure, but I’m about to meet a guy with some more answers. I’ll talk to you later. But listen, watch your back. I’ll see if I can stop by later on.”
I could hear the smile in her tone. “Mr. Wade, I do think you’re trying to pick me up.”
“Suit yourself.” I hung up.
I hopped back into my car and drove to Foley’s. Finding yet another meter, I got out and leaned against a light pole. I only had to wait for two cigarettes.
A little after five, Leroy Dwight, dressed in his plain clothes that just screamed cop, sauntered up to me.
“Thanks for meeting me,” I said.
“No problem. Just wanna give you the whole story. Bum a cigarette?”
I gave him one and lit it. He exhaled his first puff. “Tell me how you’ve come to know Peete.”
I told him about my two cases and how one of the persons of interest had had some contact with Peete. I even gave him the rundown on my own contact with the killer. I had the bruised jaw to prove it.
“You’re lucky he only punched you in the jaw. He’s gutted other folks.”
“How do you know this?”
“Rumor, mostly. The criminals in this town are a tight bunch. They tend to keep to themselves, even if they’re in rival groups. Word spreads when a man of Peete’s talent shows up in the dugout.”
“What’s his specialty?”
“He’s a knife man.”
I shook my head. I’d almost prefer a gun man. Then I’d be on the same level. A knife man preferred everything close and personal. That didn’t bode well for Clara Milbanks. Or for me.
Leroy gave me a serious look. “Wade, as your friend, I have to tell you to watch yourself. If Peete has it out for someone, chances are he’ll get’em. You get in the way, well….” He shrugged.
Chapter Ten
Later that evening, I took Leroy up on his gin rummy offer. I showed up at his house, bottle of wine in hand. Rosemary had made a nice, home-cooked meal of roast beef and carrots. I don’t mind cooking and do more than I eat out, but there’s something about a woman’s touch in the kitchen that a bachelor like me just doesn’t have.
The evening was fine, and I even enjoyed Leroy’s two kids, Leroy III and Rebecca. I went home and spent lots of waking time staring at the ceiling as lit by the streetlamp knifing through my Venetian blind.
The next morning, after a breakfast of ham and eggs and coffee, I found myself back in my office interviewing possible secretaries. I was itching to get back out on the pavement and do something, but a couple of things stopped me. The first was Stella, my sister. She had agreed to spearhead the search for a new secretary by lining up a few women for me to interview. Not sure where she got them, but most of them were not what I was looking for. Sure, they typed well enough, but all were slower than Martha from the day before.
The more pressing matter was I didn’t know what to do next. I basically kept staring through the women I was supposedly interviewing until I heard a commotion in the main office. The blonde sitting opposite me, the last one on the list I had, turned around as the door to my inner office opened. Martha Weber stood there, hips cocked. She held up her hand and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.
“I left yesterday, Wade, and you didn’t pay me the balance you owe me.” Her eyes flicked to the blonde, then back to me. “Five dollars?”
The blonde turned back and gave me a what-the-hell look. I smiled and held up my hand, hoping to stave off any comment. “Just a minute.” I reached around to my wallet.
The blonde asked, “You already hired a secretary? Why am I even here?”
“No, I haven’t hired anyone yet,” I mumbled, unfolding my wallet and stealing a glance inside. With the advance Smith had given me yesterday, the cash I had on hand was substantially greater than it had been yesterday. I partially hid the wallet behind my desk since I didn’t want Martha or the blonde—what was her name?—to see the extra cash.
Pulling out a fiver, I stood and held it out between two fingers. Martha walked over and took it from me. She gave me a little smile and something akin to a wink.
“Thanks for helping out yesterday.”
“You’re welcome,” Martha said. “Any closer to making a hire?”
I scowled. “Not really.”
She looked mildly hurt. The blonde batted her eyelashes, trying to improve her chances. “Well, then, I hope you come to a decision soon. I have other offers, you know, but your job looks like more fun.”
Looking at her face, something tugged at me, but I couldn’t put it in place. I was a little peeved that she had burst into my office like that, but then a thought occurred to me. A big goofy grin spread across my face.
“Thanks,” I said.
“For what?” Martha asked.
“For reminding me what a PI can do.”
Thirty minutes later, I sat in my car, newspaper in hand, and fortified with a fresh pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee. I had parked half a block down from the agriculture office. Martha’s barging into my office bullying me for her payment had given me an idea: I could strong-arm Teague into rescinding the slaughter order.
By the time lunch rolled around, I had read through the entire paper, done the crossword, and emptied the coffee. Teague strolled outside, putting his hat on his head. He looked one way and then the other. Plunging his hands into his pockets, he walked at a brisk pace in my direction. I waited until he passed my car before I opened the door and got out.
It was lunchtime and the streets were crowded. I was trying to figure out how best to corner him and give him some powerful reasons why he needed to cancel the slaughter. I was going to need to get him in an alley so we could talk in “private.”
Sauntering up behind him, I sized up my opportunities. A block and a half away, I saw the perfect place: an alley between tall buildings that would provide enough cover from any looky-loos and long enough to dampen any yell Teague was bound to emit.
I matched his stride on his blind right side. When we had cleared the corner of the alley, I reached over, grabbed his upper arm in my grip and, as nonchalantly as possible, shoved him into the alley.
“Hey.” He turned to see who was moving him.
“Quiet.”
He must have recognized my voice. “You’re that PI dick, aren’t you?”
“Forgot my name already?” I led him deeper into the alley.
Teague slowed his pace and pushed back.
“Look,” I said, “I just want to talk.”
“No you don’t. You’re planning to harass me, knock me around, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t used to having folks guess my moves, especially not pencil-pushers like Teague. With a quick little gesture, he cleared my grip and turned to face me.
“If you’re trying to strong arm me, Mr. Wade,” he said, standing straighter and turning to face me, “it won’t work.”
Involuntarily, I balled my hands into fists. “Why not?”
“Because you have nothing with which to change my mind.”
I showed him one of my mitts. “Wanna bet?”
“It won’t change anything, I assure you.” He shrank a little at my bluster but still retained an air of calm. “You see, there are powerful forces that have already pointed me in the direction I have to take.” He paused and adjusted his tie.
“Who’s doing this? Who’s telling you to kill those chickens?”
A shadow crossed over his countenance and his visibly shuddered. He was answering
my questions internally. “It’s not a “who.” It’s a “they.” And when they speak, you listen and act.”
Frowning, I said, “What kind of a group is that powerful? The government? Aldridge’s cronies?”
“When you deal with this group, it makes those you named seem like amateurs.” He righted his hat and folded his arms. “You can beat me and punch me or do whatever to me because I’m not afraid of you. I am afraid of them and I’m going to damn well do what they say. Yes, they’re paying me, but that’s just business.” He paused, giving me a funny look. “So, are you going to do me harm? Or are you too chicken to try anything?”
I wanted to, very much. But now my curiosity was aroused. “What is this group?”
“I am not at liberty to divulge that information. Suffice it to say their influence is greater than that of any other organization I’ve ever known. I respect them, but I fear them more. And that’s why I’ll do exactly what they say.”
“And that’s to kill my client’s chickens?”
He nodded.
Stupidly, I realized my fists were still hanging in the air. I lowered them, defeated.
Teague nodded once. “Good day, Mr. Wade.”
Chapter Eleven
I spent the lunch hour downing iced tea and a hot dog from a street vendor. I tried to reconstruct my confidence after Teague’s seemingly fearless face in front of my fists. The longer I sat, the more I realized there was still one other option to follow: Danielle Bowie.
Killing the afternoon in my office by reviewing all the resumes for the women who wanted to be my secretary, I drove back to the health inspector’s office a half hour before closing time.
The more I thought about it, the more something nagged at me. I couldn’t help wondering about Danielle and the stranger who had come to Teague’s office to threaten Teague. He had thought Clara was Danielle. Why? And why did that make a difference?
All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery Page 5
