Kalorama Shakedown (A Harry Reese Mystery)

by Robert Bruce Stewart

  “What a silly girl,” the countess said.

  “I think she felt she was being used.”

  “What purpose did she have for entering my service but to use me? If she wishes to play the game, she must learn to do it with poise. What upsets her is that I have continually gotten the better of her. But now she is in love, and will retire from the field.”

  “Retire to where?”

  “I have no idea. I merely made a guess that there is some reason she wishes for it to be a secret. And I was right,” she smiled. “Honestly, a week or two in jail would have done her some good.”

  “And Emmie, too?”

  “Yes, Miss Slyboots, too.”

  “So it was you who alerted the police after sending them to the Sachses’?”

  “You figured that out, Harry,” she smiled. “I think Emmie has as well, but she has a little more finesse than her friend.”

  “Was this to get even for Emmie’s outwitting you on that trip to Baltimore?”

  “Don’t use that word. It may be true, but it pains me to hear it. Yes, I did want my revenge on Emmie. But I’ve decided to forgive her. I was even considering making her my acolyte.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go to all that trouble. Maybe you shouldn’t forgive her….”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But she can be quite amusing.”

  “So people tell me.”

  I had sat down in the chair Emmie had been in previously and was discreetly probing the cushions.

  “Find it?” the countess asked. “It’s the book I was telling you about. You may borrow it, but I insist it be returned before you leave town. And quit blushing, for God’s sake.”

  I made no reply, but tucked the book away in my jacket.

  “You should be satisfied, Harry. Emmie showed me the jewelry you both brought home. And I suppose you know where I was last evening?”

  “Playing your role as Glinda?”

  “Yes, and I must say, my performance was very well received.” She pointed toward a small table. “In that drawer.”

  I opened it and found three bundles. The first two were mine and Emmie’s, and the third contained the jewelry Easterly had claimed. I put all three in my pocket.

  “How did you persuade Sesbania to tell you where the jewelry was? She clung pretty firmly to the winged monkey story when I asked her about it.”

  “We went on a treasure hunt.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “Why did you do this for me?”

  “I could tell you it was because you were friendly to me. Escorting me to Mrs. Spinks’, and so on.”

  “Yes, you could tell me that.”

  “But you wouldn’t believe it? Let’s say it was simply for the joy of the game.”

  That seemed a little closer to the truth, but I had a feeling it was something a little more mercenary. Emmie rejoined us and announced that Elizabeth was taking a bath.

  “She seems much calmer. Were you serious about dismissing her?”

  “Yes, I won’t need her after tomorrow. Besides, I wanted to dismiss her before she had the effrontery to resign her post.”

  Emmie and I exchanged looks, and the countess laughed. Then she picked up a stack of papers. “Have you read these, Harry?”

  “Read what?”

  “These letters. Emmie found them in your uniform from last night.”

  “Mrs. Merrill’s correspondence,” I said. “She seems to have multiple admirers. I glanced through them. They reminded me of The Dolly Dialogues, only with more feeling. I was thinking of giving them to Emmie for Christmas.”

  “You’ll have to buy her something, I’m afraid. But you might be glad I took the time to read them.”

  She paged through the stack and handed me one. It was on Alice Sachs’ stationery and dated October 21st.

  My Dear,

  I suppose you might know what the brute has done now, but if you don’t, I will tell you.

  The Boucheron brooch, the one treasure of my mother’s I have remaining, has been sent to a jeweler in New York named Pomerleau. It is to be sold and I’ve been given a cheap copy in its stead. He honestly seemed fool enough to think I wouldn’t notice the switch.

  He’s bent on ruining us. Always a new scheme to make up for the losses from the last venture. And always some new sacrifice from me to finance it. But this is just too much. I thoroughly despise him.

  I’m determined to get my legacy returned to me, whatever the cost, but I may need your assistance. Can I depend on you?

  Yours, Alice

  When I finished, I folded it up and put it in my pocket.

  “What do you think of it, Harry?” the countess asked.

  “Well, we know the general needed to raise money for a real-estate deal.”

  “Yes, Emmie told me about this French purchase.”

  “I also knew he had hired a jeweler in New York, Pomerleau, to make a replica. Ever hear of him?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I assume the general wanted the replica so he could sell the original. But apparently Alice intended to go to New York to get it back.”

  “But why would Alice Sachs be asking for Mrs. Merrill’s help?” Emmie asked.

  “She wasn’t,” the countess said. “Nor were any of these love letters sent to her. If you had listened closely, you’d have noted that all the others we’ve read begin with some generic endearment.”

  “What are you getting at?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Merrill is agreeable-looking, and no doubt an able seductress, but I don’t think this is a collection of her personal correspondence. All the letters go far enough to compromise the sender. These aren’t mere flirtations.”

  “You think she was blackmailing the authors of the letters?” Emmie asked.

  “And the recipients, no doubt.”

  “But the letter from Alice Sachs wouldn’t be useful as blackmail,” Emmie said. “I’m sure her father was well aware she disliked him.”

  “It may not have been the subject of the letter, but who it was written to,” the countess pointed out. She flipped through the stack of letters as she spoke. “And here’s a companion to that one.”

  She handed me a letter written on the stationery of M. Pomerleau & Son and dated November 12th.

  Doctor,

  In spite of recent developments, I am still awaiting payment for my work for General Sachs. As he will not respond to my requests for a resolution, I must insist you yourself make payment. I remind you that I am still in possession of the promissory note you signed and will make use of it if the payment of $500 is not soon forthcoming.

  Georges Pomerleau

  I handed it to Emmie to read. When she handed it back, I put it in my pocket with the other.

  “Who’s the doctor?” she asked.

  “There’s a Dr. Gillette, the general’s physician. He was at the house this morning. An odd character.”

  “In what way?” the countess asked.

  “Nervous. He may have some other connection to the affair as well. I’ve seen him at Mrs. Spinks’ place a couple times. You met him on your first visit—he was talking to Easterly and myself.”

  “Yes, I remember now. I believe he was also the man I saw escorting Alice Sachs the evening she was wearing the genuine Boucheron.”

  “How would Amanda Merrill have acquired all these letters?” Emmie asked.

  “Servants, usually,” the countess told her. “They are underpaid and underappreciated.”

  “Did I see her last night?” Emmie asked the countess.

  “Let me think.” She leaned her head back and gazed at the ceiling for a moment or two. “Yes, remember when you and I had our conference on the terrace? General Sachs came out and handed a drink to a Marie Antoinette. That was Mrs. Merrill.”

  “The lady who dropped her handkerchief.”

  “If she had this other source of income, I wonder why they bothered with the insurance claim?” I asked. Emmie and the countess both laughed.
/>
  “You don’t suppose she shares the fruit of her labor with her husband, do you?” the countess asked. Then, as was her way, she hinted that our audience was over. Emmie had had our costumes cleaned and they were stacked on a chair near the door, with two policeman’s helmets on the floor beside it.

  “The other helmet turned up?” I asked.

  “Yes. How did you come to have two?”

  “It’s a long story. But I need to return one.”

  I determined which was Officer McDonald’s and put it under my arm. Then we went off to the hotel for lunch.

  “Did you pick up the rest of the letters, Harry?”

  “No, the countess secreted them away when she thought she was unobserved.”

  “Oh. That’s probably just as well.”

  “I doubt those who sent them would agree with that sentiment.”

  “You think she’ll take to blackmailing them?”

  “I know I’d prefer she didn’t hold any of my compromising correspondence. Just how graphic did they get? Can you give me a taste?”

  “Oh, some were quite graphic. I don’t remember the details….”

  She was blushing uncontrollably. I came to her rescue by changing the subject to that of the morning’s events at the Sachses’. Including the doctor’s discovery of the head wound.

  “So the general may have been killed?”

  “Lacy thinks so. He’s arranging for an autopsy. He thinks Richard Cole came by to seek revenge for losing his position.”

  “He didn’t seem the type to do that, did he?”

  “No. Lacy just seems to enjoy hounding the poor fellow.”

  “But someone else may have done in the general just the same.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “What will you be doing this afternoon?” she asked.

  “Going to see a man about a helmet. And you?”

  “I was thinking of attending mass somewhere.”

  That she could maintain a serious mien while uttering these words frightened me. Emmie hadn’t been to mass since her mother visited us the previous Easter. But there was no use pursuing the subject further. We left the hotel together and I went off to the third precinct, over on K Street, and asked for McDonald.

  “Off.”

  “Know where he lives?”

  “Sure. Why do you want to see him?”

  “To return his helmet.” I held up Exhibit A.

  “He’s on 25th Street.”

  He gave me the house number and I went off. A child came to the door and informed me that Officer McDonald was enjoying Sunday dinner with his family. When his father arrived, his eyes fixed on the helmet.

  “I’ve come to return your helmet.” I handed it to him.

  He looked inside and saw his name. “How’d you get it?”

  “It’s a long, sordid story and someday I’ll come by and share it with you. I just wanted to make amends.”

  “I don’t see how you’ve done that.”

  “By returning it.”

  “I already had to buy a new one.”

  “Well, I was just trying to be helpful.”

  “Then give me the eight dollars. That would be helpful. Where’d you find it?”

  “I purchased it from a lad.”

  “That’s receiving stolen goods!”

  His interpretation of the law had the ring of truth to it. I gave him eight dollars. He softened a little and so I proceeded to the primary reason for my visit.

  “Coincidentally, I’m investigating the burglary at General Sachs’ last night.”

  “For who?”

  “The insurance company. There seems to be some question about the position of the general’s body. The doctor didn’t notice the wound on his head until this morning.”

  “What wound on his head?”

  “Right up on the back of the head.” I illustrated.

  “I didn’t see any wound.”

  “But you found him face down?”

  “I didn’t find him. His daughter did. I was looking about the scene of the burglary, and she calls me from across the hall. She was trying to turn the old man over, to see if he was all right. When I came in, she asked me to put him in bed. I laid him on the bed and could tell right away he was dead. She could tell too, by then. Then I asked her to send for the doctor.”

  “Did you see any blood at all?”

  “No. Doctor said it was heart failure.”

  “Did you get any blood on your sleeve when you were lifting him up?”

  He went and got his uniform jacket and we both examined the sleeves.

  “Nothing. It was raining last night, but I don’t think that’d wash off blood,” he said.

  I agreed that was unlikely and left him to finish his dinner.

  21

  When I returned to the hotel there was a message from Lacy. He’d apprehended Richard Cole and had him at headquarters. I took a car and found the sergeant in his office just finishing a phone call.

  “The autopsy will be tomorrow morning at nine,” he said.

  “All right, where do I go?”

  “The morgue, across from the B&O depot.”

  “Any luck finding a weapon at the Sachses’?” I asked.

  “No, nothing. Not a trace of blood anywhere. Cole must have taken it away with him.”

  “What’s he told you?”

  “He’s being shrewd. Wants to see his lawyer. He’s on his way.”

  “There’s something I didn’t mention yesterday. I exchanged wires with the man who made that replica brooch. A jeweler in New York. He said it was finished in October. Before the original was stolen.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure, but I thought I should tell you.”

  “Puzzling.”

  A uniformed man came in and told Lacy that Patterson, Cole’s lawyer, had arrived.

  “Where is he?”

  “In with the prisoner.”

  “In with the prisoner?” Lacy leaped up and charged out.

  I followed him down a hall to a small room. There was a fellow on guard outside and inside Patterson and Cole were speaking quickly, obviously trying to finish some conversation before we’d hear.

  “You were called to be present during questioning, not to be given the opportunity to instruct your client how to obfuscate matters.”

  “My apologies, Sergeant.” Patterson had risen and put out his hand. Lacy ignored it.

  “Sit down. Where were you last night, Cole?”

  “Cabin John.”

  “What if I were to tell you I have witnesses seeing you leave the Sachses’ home just after midnight?”

  “I’d say they’re wrong. I was at Cabin John, until the last car.”

  “And who’d you see there?”

  Cole carefully recited a list of three names.

  “Saturday night, and you only saw three people up there?”

  “I saw a lot of people, only three I know.”

  Lacy turned to Patterson. “You mucked things up for me again. Well, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  He marched out and the officer took Cole back to his cell. Patterson was picking up his things.

  “What’s Cabin John?”

  “A little village up the river, in Maryland. A street car runs out there, and there’s a saloon that offers various entertainments. A busy place.”

  “So, easy to find a witness he was there?”

  “Easy enough,” he smiled.

  We walked out of the building together.

  “Look,” I said. “It’s obvious Cole had nothing to do with it. Why go through the subterfuge?”

  “It’s obvious to you Cole had nothing to do with it.”

  “Doesn’t he have a real alibi?”

  “Oh, yes. He was in bed with another man’s wife.”

  “And he doesn’t want to stain her honor?”

  “Nothing that noble. To a man like Lacy, an alibi provided by a colored jezebel is tantamount to an adm
ission of guilt.”

  “And the three gentlemen he named are pillars of the community?”

  “No, hardly. But two of them are white.”

  “How could you come up with them so quickly?”

  “That I can’t divulge.”

  I took a car back to the hotel and a half hour later Emmie showed up.

  “Long mass?”

  She smiled.

  “I had to get back the money I spent yesterday at the Ebbitt.”

  “From the scribblers?”

  “Yes, they were most forthcoming.”

  “Cards?”

  “Poker.”

  “I thought you’d sworn off games of chance, Emmie.”

  “Oh, chance didn’t enter into it.”

  She held up her lucky deck.

  “It’s a curious philosophy that considers cheating morally superior to gambling, Emmie.”

  “But surely it’s the gambler who has morally compromised himself. You might say I’m merely teaching him the error of his ways.”

  “Very admirable. How much did you win?”

  “More than enough. Mrs. Post-Intelligencer is likely to be rather upset when she asks for her allowance this week.”

  “If you turned such a large profit, you can reimburse me for the checks I paid.”

  “I can’t imagine why I’d do that. But I’ll pay back what I borrowed.”

  A while later, we went down to the dining room for dinner.

  “The autopsy is tomorrow morning, if you’d like to come along.”

  “I’ve never attended one. How bad is it?”

  “Pretty bad. The trick is to stare at the wall.”

  “Then what’s the point in going?”

  “To listen, ask questions—and maintain the illusion you’re one of the fraternity.”

  “Hmm. Do you think Alice might have killed her father?”

  “I have the feeling she wouldn’t have found the thought outlandish.”

  “And so she took advantage of the burglary to dispatch him?”

  “It would have taken a cool head, what with the cop just across the hall. And what did she use to dispatch him?”

  “She could have tossed whatever it was under the bed,” she said. “Then removed it later, before the doctor discovered the head wound.”

  “But how could she be sure he wouldn’t find it during his first examination?”