The Parlor City Boys

by Arno B. Zimmer

  “It is difficult to always predict what a grand jury will do, Miss Crimmons, assuming that the District Attorney elects to bring charges now or in the future. But if you are allowed to return to Boston, it is my belief that we will be seeing each other again back here in Parlor City. And when we do, you will not be so arrogant” concluded Meacham, still looking down on Stella. But the beguiling blonde bombshell said nothing so Meacham turned and left the room, leaving Whipple to escort her out.

  Fogarty drove Stella back to the motel with the reminder that the same travel restrictions were in place. Until a decision was made that afternoon on Stella’s status, Fogarty was once more ensconced in the motel parking lot.

  “ Meach” Whipple began after Stella departed. But before he could talk further, Meacham interrupted. “No harm, Whip, she wasn’t going to crack. I sympathize with you. That girl could seduce the fuzz off a peach but it is your job to be on guard. Speaking of which, since you are such a sociable guy, maybe I should recommend to the Chief that you get ‘Officer Friendly’ duty for a month. You could warn all the school children about the dangers of skinny dipping up at the dam. No, on second thought, I’ll just find the right moment to embarrass you some day with this story” chuckled Meacham as he waived Whipple off with a gentle shove.

  The Chief was to huddle with the DA in an hour so Meacham and Whipple briefed him on the futile follow-up interview with Stella. By noon, it was decided that charges would not be levelled at this time and that she was free to return to Boston. No one was happy with this outcome and the Chief, confirming Meacham’s suspicions, summed it up best when he said, “My gut tells me she is knee-deep with Siebert in this sordid affair but it is far from certain that she knows his real name. Mark my words, those two will be back together before long.”

  That afternoon, Meacham visited the ladies at the motel and reminded Stella that she might be obligated to return to Parlor City. As he was leaving, Stella said, “Don’t be offended, Detective, but I can’t imagine that we will ever meet again.” And with that, she closed the door.

  ***

  In no mood to go back to the station, Meacham decided to go by his Mother’s house and found her outside puttering around the garden singing ‘ Mother MaCree’. And like the lyrics suggested, he did remember sitting on her lap as a young boy as she sang her favorite song, soothing him after some mishap. She smiled warmly and immediately asked, almost pleadingly, that he stay for dinner. “Sure, but it’ll have to be an early one, Mom. My team plays at 7”.

  Meacham had the urge to tell his Mother about his conversations with the Mayor and the Chief but didn’t want another tense exchange on an already troubling day. As it turned out, his Mother decided she wanted to talk and had obviously been thinking about their previous tete - a- tete.

  “ I know you’ve heard it before, Billy, that both sets of your great-grandparents come over here from Upperchurch in Tipperary. Luckily, made it to Dublin before the great famine, then across the Irish Sea to Liverpool and finally in steerage all the way to America. When they migrated here from Boston, they got stuck with the worst land to farm – that’s how it was for the Irish – but they struggled without complaining. Their ticket to a decent future happened to be the police force and that wasn’t easy back then either. But what they did, it was done honorably so I won’t listen to any talk that suggests otherwise, begorra. We may not be exactly ‘lace curtain Irish’ but we’ve done pretty well.

  “So before you get your Irish up, don’t forget how it was in the old days when an Irish lass married a cop. Remember, Grandpa McCue was on the force over in Princeville for thirty years and my Mother never said a word about his work, not once - at least in my presence. I grew up with it and married into it with your Father. Now, he wasn’t a perfect man but he was a very good one and I wouldn’t have anyone else. My Mother would have told you that I was stubborn on that score. Anyway, there is nothing I want to hear about your Father that I don’t already know, praise or condemnation. I wouldn’t change a darn thing in our life together – except for the end. I harped on him about those evil Camels and don’t expect me to stop badgering you, my dear boy.”

  They were standing on the edge of the garden and Mrs. Meacham took off her gardening gloves and stretched out her arms. As they hugged, Meacham knew nothing else could or need be said between Mother and son.

  ***

  That night, Meacham’s little league team lost again and the Coach tried to console himself with the fact that he was missing his starting shortstop in Woody and his best clutch hitter in Buddy DeLong. He prayed that they would both be back for the next game.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  FRIDAY, JULY 22, 1955

  After a frenetic few days, Meacham was enjoying the relative calm in the station the next morning. His thoughts drifted to that night’s dinner and what he would say to Gwen. Or would she have some announcement to make about the minister? He also thought about his Mother’s heartfelt little speech. He felt bad about keeping the sale of his sports car a secret and knew he would have to be explain his reasons to her sooner or later.

  The state lab results had come back on the hobo and, as expected, there was no fingerprint match in the system. It was generally agreed that he was most likely a drifter who, for whatever reason, hopped off in Parlor City and decided to set up a temporary camp by the creek. Had he lived, no doubt he would have eventually disappeared like the others before him as soon as the weather started to turn cold. Since there were no outward signs of a struggle or fight, the coroner had not completed an autopsy. The sooner the body is buried, the better. At least the town could put one troublesome event behind it, thought Meacham.

  Whipple went to lunch with Meacham and tried to make small talk, asking if he’d seen the news that the Chi-Reds had finally released some US pilots downed in Korea a few years back. And once again he tried to apologize for his indiscretion with Stella. “Let it go, Whip. You’ve already admitted it was foolish so don’t beat yourself up any longer” said Meacham and, changing the subject, asked “So what’s next with the hobo – how long before he’s buried in Potter’s Field?”

  “I need to check with the morgue this afternoon to confirm next steps. It’s not like we get a lot of unidentified corpses around here. What do we do with his duffel bag – do we have to keep it in the evidence room for a certain period of time?”

  Meacham was surprised and disappointed in the sergeant’s lackadaisical approach to proper department procedures. First the incident with Stella and now it seemed like protocol didn’t matter because they were dealing with a bum. “So exactly what were the contents of the bag, Whip? Just some dirty clothes?” asked Meacham with a more serious tone that did not go unnoticed by the sergeant.

  Whipple hesitated before saying “Well, we didn’t actually empty out the contents. Just sort of moved items around and looked for a weapon. The odor was pretty over-powering, Meach. So, yeah, pretty sure it was just dirty clothes.”

  Meacham tried to hide his disappointment but Whipple could tell by the knitted brow that he was not pleased. “Hmm, we need to be thorough here like any other case. You need to dump everything out as soon as we get back and lay it out for inspection. If there is any clue to his identity and he has a family out there wondering what happened to him, they deserve to know. If you need nose plugs to do your job, then get them.”

  Whipple felt the sting but used discretion in not responding. Not another word was spoken during the short ride back to the station.

  ***

  Meacham was in the Chief’s office learning that former Mayor Wattle had already retreated to his lakeside cabin about thirty miles from Parlor City. “I wonder how many embalmings he performed to pay for that getaway” asked Meacham. “Or more likely, how many envelopes from Hawkins – and his predecessors - stuffed with cash, Billy” quipped the Chief.

  Just then Whipple burst into the Chief’s office, eyes bulging and waiving his gloved hands. Almost gasping, he said “You wil
l both want to see this!”

  In the evidence room, Whipple had carefully laid out the entire contents of the hobo’s bag on a long table. Whipple said nothing but stepped back and pointed at the display as if inviting the Chief and Meacham to marvel at what he had belatedly done.

  As they slowly moved down the table, they saw assorted soiled clothing items spread out. At the end of the table, were a few scraps of paper lying next to a small but expensive-looking leather wallet with some faded initials in ornate script carved on the outside flap. Meacham’s first thought was that the hobo had robbed someone, perhaps even a local resident. If so, the situation could take an interesting turn.

  “The wallet flips open, Meach” said Whipple, handing him a pencil. “You are not going to believe what you see.”

  Meacham felt a twinge of excitement mixed with alarm and looked at the Chief who motioned for his to proceed. Flipping open the wallet with the pencil head, he found himself staring at a picture of Tommy and Gwen Braun with a young Woody on their lap.

  Meacham said nothing while slowly shaking his head sideways in disbelief. He then looked closely at the papers. One was a note most likely intended for Woody which read ‘Thanks for the donuts, boy. Take good care of your Mother.’ The other was a train schedule for the East Coast Champion that ran freight and passengers daily from Miami to various northern cities.

  “I looked through the wallet carefully. Nothing inside except for the picture. Being he was a hobo, it never occurred to me that he would have any valuable possessions so I didn’t check the bag that closely when we brought him in” said Whipple apologetically, adding, “it was zipped into a side pocket and I missed it.”

  Both of them ignored Whipple’s excuse and Meacham, looking at the Chief, said solemnly “ I will call the morgue right now and make sure they haven’t buried this guy. Then, I am heading over there to take a very close look at the body. Before we bring his wife – or widow – in to make a positive ID, we need to be reasonably certain that our hobo is Tommy Braun.”

  As they walked out, Meacham pulled the Chief aside and asked, “It was difficult to read the initials on the wallet but did you come to the same conclusion?” The Chief nodded in agreement and said, “Call me from the morgue and think about taking Miss Halliday, assuming you need to go to the Braun’s. Oh, in case you didn’t know, the coroner is Wattle’s brother-in-law.” Meacham scowled but didn’t respond and left the room slightly stooped under the burden he was carrying with him.

  ***

  Meacham’s mood darkened further when he walked into the morgue. He had called ahead and was informed by a clerk, almost blithely, that “yes, the hobo was still a guest in the cooler.” The coroner was out but his assistant was expecting Meacham.

  “We follow strict procedures here, detective. When the body was brought in, it was placed on a gurney and then rolled onto the scales for weighing. In these cases, a quick physical inspection didn’t reveal foul play, or anything suspicious, so he was zipped into our standard dark gray body bag and put in the cold room. I can check the log if you want to know when he is scheduled for burial. Now we usually have personal possessions which are kept in a paper bag with the corpse but nothing came in with the body. So, ready to have him rolled out?” Meacham nodded yes.

  In a minute, the gurney was in front of him and the assistant was slowly unzipping the bag as Meacham watched from the other side. The hair had been matted down and pushed back so Meacham could get a full view of the face, impeded only by the straggling beard. Meacham had known Tommy Braun casually and the hobo certainly looked like him but he couldn’t be sure. The physical deterioration that had taken place over the last several years had distorted his features. It would be up to Gwen Braun to make a positive identification and, barring success there, dental records would be the next logical step since fingerprints were now out of the question.

  The assistant seemed eager to display his knowledge and, without prompting from Meacham, started talking authoritatively. “Notice the yellow skin, that’s jaundice. The nose is enlarged at the bottom and you can see the swelling in the fingers. Pretty typical in these cases. Then you have extensive bruising throughout the body. You can definitely say that he was in the late stages for some time, Detective.” Meacham, displeased with the smug tutorial, waived him off but not before saying, almost fiercely, “do not go into this detail when the widow arrives. Is that perfectly clear.”

  Outside in his car, Meacham radioed the station and got immediately connected to the Chief who agreed that Gwen Braun had to be brought to the morgue. “No Chief, unless you are insisting that Halliday accompany me, I will go to her house alone. But if Halliday can be at the morgue when we get there, she might very well be needed.” The Chief agreed and Meacham clicked off.

  ***

  Gwen had arranged to leave work early and was intent on preparing a first rate dinner for Billy Meacham. If he didn’t consider the menu important, she did.

  Woody was over at the Kosinsky’s and it had already been arranged that he would be invited to stay there for dinner, giving Billy and her a chance to talk freely on any topic. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get a call and have to rush out the door on some police emergency.

  Gwen liked Billy Meacham and she was determined to find out what was behind the boyish, self-deprecating charm. She wasn’t afraid of female competition and was more amused than threatened by the girl known as “Big Red.” When she had seen them together at the “Pig & Whistle”, she sensed that he felt awkward, even embarrassed when they walked past her booth. It seemed like an incongruous relationship but, then again, perhaps she didn’t know Billy Meacham well enough to make that judgment. And it never dawned on her that Billy might think she was serious about the Reverend. To her, it was obvious to anyone that they were a romantic mismatch.

  When Gwen heard a car door close, she looked out to see Meacham approaching the house. She glanced at the clock and wondered if he realized he was one hour early. Or, had some emergency really come up and he was bailing on dinner? Gwen felt her heart plunge just enough to take note of its meaning but quickly gained her composure as she opened the door and smiled.

  “You must be very hungry, Detective. You’re an hour early but certainly welcome to come in” said Gwen as light-heartedly as possible. It took but a moment for her to see by the look on Meacham’s face that the visit was not a social one.

  “Something about Woody? What happened?” said Gwen with panic in her voice. Meacham shook his head no and Gwen’s face relaxed.

  “But I do have some potentially shocking news, Gwen, so you may want to sit down first”

  “I am fine right here, Billy” said Gwen firmly, facing Meacham about three feet away.

  Looking at her beseechingly, Meacham said softly, “It’s about that hobo that Woody discovered down by the creek. We finally did a thorough examination of his belongings and discovered some items, most importantly a small leather wallet, that seem to have confirmed his identity.”

  Meacham paused and Gwen, looking anxious and perplexed, said “And?”

  “Well, brace yourself, it was an expensive wallet for a hobo to possess and when we opened it, we saw the initials “WTB” carved on the inside.” Meacham had decided not to mention the photograph until it was absolutely necessary.

  Before Meacham could continue, Gwen had fallen forward into him and tightly clasped her arms around his neck. Meacham stood her up straight and enfolded her gently against his body. They stood there, locked together, for what seemed like several minutes to Meacham. Then, he led her to the couch where she leaned back with one arm draped over her eyes. So far, the shock had produced no tears.

  “There is always the chance, Gwen, that your husband was robbed or that the hobo found the wallet somewhere. It would be a very strange coincidence but it is possible so don’t despair yet.”

  “You have examined the body, Billy?” Gwen finally asked in an eerily calm voice. “I have and he does look like Tommy but I can’t be
sure. We do need positive ID by next of kin. I’m sorry, Gwen” Meacham said, almost in a whisper.

  “Before I do so, since you are unsure, I need you to do one thing for me. Tommy has a reddish birthmark on the back of his neck at the hairline. Some people call it a stork bite or an angel kiss when babies are born. They often fade but Tommy’s never did.”

  Without asking, Meacham went over to the telephone and, with his back to Gwen, called the morgue and almost whispered his request. Within a few minutes, the confirmation was made.

  Meacham turned around with a sorrowful look on his face and nodded “yes”. If was then that the flood gates opened and Gwen wept uncontrollably as Meacham looked on helplessly, wishing that he had listened to the Chief and brought Miss Halliday with him.

  ***

  It took almost an hour for Gwen to regain her composure. Meacham had brought her a box of tissues but had said nothing the entire time. Finally, through tear-filled eyes, she sat forward on the couch and said “I couldn’t rest tonight without knowing for sure, Billy. Just give me a few minutes to prepare and then let’s get this ordeal out of the way.” And with that, Gwen disappeared up the stairs and Billy heard a door close.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, the Chief was waiting with Miss Halliday when Meacham and Gwen arrived at the morgue. On the ride over, Meacham had tried as gently as he could to prepare Gwen for the trauma she was about to experience. “It can be a real shock when you walk in, Gwen. And if indeed it is Tommy, you need to keep in mind that he will not look like he did when he left here. His body has absorbed a great deal of abuse in recent years.”

  “I’m a nurse, Billy. We see a lot of human degradation and dead bodies. And don’t forget, I worked at the Institute. I don’t have much hope but pray it’s not Tommy – not this way, for Woody’s sake.”