“What did the doctor say to your husband?”
“Daniel no tell me.”
“You don’t remember the doctor’s name?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Havarette, if I gave you my phone number would you ask your husband to call me? I need to find out the name of that doctor.”
“Daniel will be very angry if I tell him I talk with you.”
I knew the woman was hurting and I felt bad pushing her, but I needed answers more than I needed to be kind.
“This is very important, Mrs. Havarette. I know you don’t want this man killing another young girl, do you?”
“This doctor, he kill my Ruth?”
“I don’t know who killed your daughter,” I said. “But I would like to talk to him. See if he knows anything.”
“Daniel will not like this.”
I understood her hesitation. Her husband was the boss and he expected her to obey. I trusted that her love for her daughter would outweigh her fear of her husband.
“Please, Mrs. Havarette. You didn’t know my sister. She was a good person and she didn’t deserve to die like she did. Won’t you please help me find this killer?”
“Give me your number,” she said. “I give to Daniel.”
I rattled off the number twice to make sure she got it right, and hung up. I sat with my elbows resting on the table and massaged my temples. I found it hard to believe that someone would kill several women just because they were actresses. It made even less sense to me that the killer had gone to the trouble of following his victims to different cities.
I knew there were crazy people out there. I was aware of Jack the Ripper and how he’d murdered five prostitutes for no apparent reason over a four month period. I gave up trying to climb into the mind of Helen’s killer and reached for the phonebook.
I wished now that I’d taken Greeley’s card when he tried to give it to me at the cemetery. I remembered him saying his number was in the phonebook, and there was only one listing for a Doctor Greeley. I jotted it down in my notebook before calling his office.
Greeley answered on the third ring and I identified myself. “Is your offer still open for me to come in and talk with you about my sister? Her death is bothering me a lot more than I thought it would.” As I said the words I realized there was some truth to the statement. If I didn’t suspect the doctor of killing Helen, I might have been tempted to see the man anyway.
“I’m glad you called, Jim. You don’t mind if I call you Jim, do you?”
I did mind, very much so. Over the years it’s been my experience that salesmen and con artists are most successful in relieving you of your money when they can make you feel like they’re close friends. I wondered what Greeley was trying to sell and if I hadn’t wanted something myself I might have snapped at him. Instead, I bit back a nasty retort. “Jim’s fine. You don’t mind if I call you Hank, do you?”
“Some of my close friends call me Hank,” he said. “My patients call me Doctor Greeley.”
I didn’t like the inference that I was crazy enough to see him as a patient, but I was too ecstatic to call him on it. My speculations were correct. The son-of-a-bitch went by Hank. Now my job was to prove he was the same Hank who’d been seeing Helen.
When I didn’t say anything he continued. “Did you want to talk to me about your sister’s death and about your feelings toward her?”
It wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to know about his relationship with my sister and with Ethel Bloomberg. I wanted to make sure he was the Hank who had signed Helen’s book. I wanted to know if this man was capable of killing two or three or four women. If he was, I wanted to know why. Still, if I wanted answers to those questions I was going to have to play his game.
“That’s exactly what I’d like to see you about,” I said. “This whole thing is tearing me up. The sooner you can see me the better.”
“If you can make it by eleven this morning I have an opening in my schedule, otherwise I can see you tomorrow afternoon at two. What works best for you, Jim?”
“I’ll be there at eleven.” I wrote down the address he gave me, and hung up the phone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hank Greeley kept his office in a building six blocks from the theater where Helen was working when she was murdered. For the first time since I’d found out about Helen’s murder, I was beginning to feel like I was closing in on some answers.
Greeley’s office was located between a gun shop and a police uniform shop on the ground floor of six story building that had been old at the turn of the century. There was a Polish restaurant on the other side of the uniform shop and my mouth began to water as the smell of steamed cabbage and fried kielbasa wafted down the street.
There were no signs indicating Greeley’s profession, just the address number set over the doorway. The windows showed streaks in the sunlight as if someone had been in a hurry when they cleaned them. That same person must have slapped a coat of paint on the door, because he’d missed several spots.
I tried the door but it was locked. I knocked and waited with my hands clasped behind my back. Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door, and when it was thrown open Greeley was standing there in a gray three piece suit, and carried his cane in his right hand. He seemed bulkier than when I’d first met him.
Stepping aside, he waved his hand for me to enter. “I’m glad you could come. Since I work by appointment, I keep the door locked. A couple of young toughs burst in one day demanding money and I didn’t want a repeat visit.”
“They hurt you?” I asked.
He held the cane out in front of him like he was holding a ball bat and made a casual swing toward the floor. “Actually, they suffered much more than I did.”
“I’m impressed that you were able to scare them off by yourself. Since you did, I wouldn’t expect them to come back.”
He smiled and ran the palm of his left hand across the grain of the cane like he was petting a dog. A thick knot of scar tissue ran from beneath the sleeve of his shirt across the back of his hand down to the knuckles. When he noticed me staring at it he dropped his hand to his side and turned it away from me.
Greely tilted his head to the side and smiled. “I’m a pragmatist. The boys didn’t expect me to fight back. I keep the door locked because I no longer have the element of surprise. The only way I could be sure they wouldn’t return would be to kill them, but the law frowns on that. It is amazing though how much damage you can inflict on someone when they aren’t expecting it.”
I got the feeling he’d enjoyed beating up the kids, and that he was disappointed they’d run away. My scalp prickled and I decided not to turn my back on the man.
While Greeley relocked the door, I looked around. The room I’d entered was perhaps fifteen by fifteen feet, and held a small desk, a leather chair, and two file cabinets. The wood floor was scuffed from years of use and needed refinishing. The walls must have been painted white recently because the scent of fresh paint lingered.
I followed Greeley across the office and through a door behind the desk. I noticed he didn’t use the cane, and despite his limp I had to push myself to keep up with him. It made me wonder if the cane was more of a prop to bring attention to his wounded leg and garner sympathy.
The room he led me into was much more comfortable than the outer office. It was about the same size, and wallpapered with a textured ivory and rose floral pattern paper. A large red and gold oriental carpet covered most of the room and two burgundy Queen Anne style wing back chairs sat in the center of the carpet. A matching sofa and another wing back chair were situated in the far corner.
The center chairs were angled so whoever sat in them would be forced to look at each other. There was a pad of paper and a pencil lying on one of the chairs. Greeley pointed to the other with his cane. “Have a seat.”
Once I’d obeyed, he rested his cane against the arm of the chair, picked up the paper and pencil, and sat across from me.
&
nbsp; “You’re very close to the theater district,” I said. “I would think it would be easier for clients if you were located closer to Wall Street.”
“I own this building. Inherited it from my father. Psychiatry is still a fairly new science. I’ve had good luck working with actors and actresses. I’ve even got a few writers for clients.”
“I’m not sure you can help me, Doctor Greeley. Maybe you can tell me why you chose psychiatry?”
“I wanted to be a surgeon. When The Great War began I was drafted into the army.” Greeley lifted his left hand and made a fist and I could tell by the grimace on his face that it pained him to do so. “I was left handed. I taught myself to write with my other hand. I can do almost everything with it now, but I can’t control a scalpel. I can’t sew a fine suture. I had to give up my dream of becoming a surgeon.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“The doctors told me I was one of the lucky ones because I lived. It wasn’t my idea of luck. My fiancée left me. Becoming a surgeon was out of the question. I was ready to give up on living. Then, while recuperating I met a good many fellow soldiers who were suffering from shell shock. Some of them seemed much worse off than me. I found the phenomena interesting.
“Here I was badly wounded in the war, and these boys who hadn’t suffered so much as a scratch came back and couldn’t function in society. I began to read books on psychiatry and I found my path in life. But we’re not here to talk about me.”
I shrugged. “I’m just trying to get a grip on this whole idea. I’m not sure I believe in what you do. Do you enjoy delving into people’s minds?”
“You’re not here to talk about me, Jim. Why don’t you tell me how you felt when you first found out your sister had been murdered and you couldn’t do a thing about it?”
I ignored the question and pulled my Luckies from my pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t. I suffer from asthma. Smoke makes it worse for me. I don’t allow it in the office.”
Tough shit, I thought. Whoever heard of stopping a man from smoking? I almost lit up anyway, but I figured irritating the doctor wasn’t going to get me the answers I wanted, so I put them back. Leaning forward in my chair, I rested my elbows on my knees. “Do you mind if I ask a few more questions before we begin?”
“The way this works,” Greeley said with an exaggerated sigh, “Is I ask the questions, and you talk while I listen.”
I plowed ahead. “Helen call you Hank?”
“She most certainly did not.”
“Were you and my sister lovers?”
His eyes darted away from me and he shifted his gaze down to his hands. “You called and asked to talk to me. We can do this my way, or you can leave.”
“I found a book among her things,” I said. “It was signed by a man named Hank. The man and my sister seemed to be more than just friends. Did you give her the book?”
“Your sister was my client, nothing more.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Greeley used the arms of his chair to lever himself to his feet. “Then we’re through with this charade. It’s obvious you didn’t come here for my help.”
I watched his face. “I think the problem is that we each have our own ideas about what will be helpful to me. I understand Ethel Bloomberg was also a patient of yours.”
He started walking toward the outer office. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave.”
“What about Ruth Havarette?”
“Never heard of her.”
“Anna Ingerson?”
Greeley spun around, grabbed his cane, and I jumped up from my seat. I thought he was going to take a swing at my head. Instead, he held it between us and snapped it sharply toward the floor. The motion caused the bottom eight inches of wood to separate from the cane, revealing a wicked three-sided blade.
Pointing the blade toward my stomach he made a circular motion with it. “I want you out of here. Now!” His hand began to tremble and I took a deep breath. Edging around the chair I shuffled backward across the room and into the outer office. When my back brushed against the outside door, I reached behind me, felt for the doorknob, and swung the door open. Greeley stood in the other room watching me. He looked as if he was in a trance, and I half-expected him to come charging across the room at any minute.
On the way out I slammed the door, took a deep breath, and willed my heartbeat to slow. Any lingering doubt I might have concerning Hank Greeley’s ability to commit murder had vanished when he pulled the sword on me. He hadn’t tried to skewer me, but the eyes don’t lie, and his said I was a dead man.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
My visit with Doctor Greeley shook me up more than I liked to admit. I felt out of my element and unsure of what to do next. I wasn’t ready to bet my last dollar Hank Greeley had killed Helen, but the facts were beginning to point in his direction.
Since all I’d had for breakfast was a cup of coffee I decided to stop at the Polish restaurant two doors down from Greeley’s office for a plate of pierogi with fried onions.
Pierogi are boiled dumplings stuffed with farmer’s cheese, sauerkraut, or mashed potatoes. I like them fried in butter and topped with sour cream. I’d been introduced to this delicacy by a Polish maiden I’d dated for awhile the previous year. They turned out to be the most memorable aspect of our relationship.
When I finished eating I paid my bill, tossed two bits on the counter, and asked the waitress to change it for nickels. I left two of them on the table for the girl and stopped at the pay phone on my way out.
I called the newspaper and when the operator connected me to the morgue I asked Betty to add Doctor Greely to her search list and told her I’d be in early the following morning. After I hung up I dropped another nickel in the box and called Mary. I invited her to join me at The Coaster Club that night. She said she had to work late and gave me the bum’s rush.
I had hoped Mary could act as the voice of reason when I sat down with Ed and explained what was going on. If I wanted to bounce the details of the case off someone with little or no regard for the law, Ed Granger was the one close friend I had who fit that bill.
After Ed’s father opened his first speakeasy he’d tried to get Ed to go to college. Ed lasted one year, then he’d gone to work for his father. He’d spent his entire adult life dealing with gangsters, crooked coppers, and politicians. He couldn’t help it if some of the dark side of life rubbed off on him.
I was pretty sure he’d tracked down and beat his father’s killer to death. I’d seen him drag more than one high spirited customer out of his speak, and I knew of at least one gunfight he’d been involved in. If you got on his wrong side, Ed could be a scary guy, but if he counted you as a friend, he’d do anything for you.
***
The club opened to the public at five, and I arrived a little before four. I walked around the building and let myself into the storeroom with a key Ed had given me when the place first opened. Locking the door behind me, I squeezed past cases of liquor stacked to the ceiling and stepped over several barrels of beer before I got to the hall leading past the kitchen. As I made my way toward the lounge I could hear piano music in the distance, and someone singing.
I was surprised to discover that the singer was the hatcheck girl, Alice. She sang “Stormy Weather” while Ed accompanied her at the piano.
Alice’s strong, smoky voice carried easily across the room. It put a little smile on my face and lightened my step. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The morning I woke up in Alice’s bed I’d told her Ed had a soft spot for actresses and singers. What I forgot to mention to her was that he also had a keen eye for talent. He’d known Helen would make it in a big way before I recognized her talent.
When Alice finished singing, I clapped and called out, “Bravo.”
She smiled in my direction, waved, and ran toward me. She reminded me of a wood sprite bounding through the forest of tables and chairs. I was shocked when she threw he
r arms around my neck and planted a big kiss on my cheek.
“Mister Granger said I could sing a couple of songs this weekend, during the band’s break.”
My face felt warm as I disengaged from her embrace. “You sound good, Alice. Real good.”
“You’re not just saying that to be nice, are you?”
Ed joined us. “Jim never says anything just to be nice.” He’d removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. When he shook my hand the muscles in his forearm bulged from years of lifting cases of hooch and rolling beer barrels from one place to another.
“And Ed’s full of shit,” I said. “I heard Ethel Waters sing “Stormy Weather” last year and she had nothing on you.”
Her smile widened and she playfully slapped my arm. “Now I know you’re full of it, but thanks.” She looked around the room and added, “Look, I’m going to change for work. Someone’s got to check hats. I’ll see you later, okay.”
I nodded in agreement and turned to Ed. “I need a drink.”
“I didn’t know you two were so close.”
“We’re not. She’s a nice kid, but not for me.”
“Someone should tell her. She’s got a thing for you, Jim.”
I changed the subject. “She’s got a hell of a voice.”
“Indeed she does,” Ed said.
“Does she even have a clue as to how talented she is?”
“She’ll know soon enough. Eva’s not going to be happy when she hears that girl sing.”
Eva was the house band’s singer and had been with Ed for several years. Her voice was nice enough, but once she heard Alice, she’d know her time in the limelight was nearing an end.
Ed pointed toward the bar. “Come on. Let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”
Joe Marks was behind the bar getting ready for business. As we sat down he said, “She’s got great pipes, boss.”
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