When I grabbed it he noticed the book again.
“What’s with the book?” he asked.
“The Sun Also Rises.”
“The same book you found when you were going through Helen’s stuff?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d thumb through it and see if there’s anything written inside.”
“Files first,” he suggested.
I nodded, tucked the book between my thigh and the arm of the chair, and opened Ethel’s file. I had no way of proving it, but the handwriting appeared to be the same as what I’d seen in Helen’s copy of The Sun Also Rises. It looked like I’d found Helen’s Hank.
The fact we’d found a file on Ruth Havarette proved Henry Greeley had a professional relationship with all three women. There was nothing else of use in any of the reports. No indication the women knew each other, no indication that any of the women, including Helen, had a relationship with Greeley. No indication that Greeley would have wanted to hurt any of the girls.
When we’d gone through them I asked, “Did Helen say anything about me?”
“Do you really want to invade her privacy in that respect?” Ed asked.
I very much did. “No,” I said.
Ed gathered the files and looked up. “Find anything in the Hemingway book?”
“Let’s see.” The book had slid down alongside the seat cushion, so I shifted my weight and pulled it up while Ed leaned forward in his chair for a better look.
There was something stuck between the pages, and when I opened the book I saw that it was a train boarding pass. Ed grabbed it before I could.
“Don’t lose the page,” he said. “If he’s using this as a bookmark we want to put it back where he left it.” Ed held it up and angled it toward the light. “Looks like the doctor is going on vacation.”
“Where to?”
“Key West.”
“Florida?”
Ed threw a pained look my way. “No, Key West, Minnesota.”
“Sorry,” I said.
He handed me back the ticket. “Go ahead and flip through the book and see if there’s anything else of interest, then let’s get the hell out of here.”
I stuck the ticket back in place, opened the book to the title page, and let out a little whistle.
“What?” Ed asked.
“Listen to this,” I said, and then I began to read: “Dear Hank, Thank you for your letter. I’m sorry but I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting you in France, nor do I remember you telling me your story. Let me assure you, Jake Barnes is in no way modeled after you or your story. I’m sure if you re-read the book you will see that the similarities are minor.” I looked up and added, “It’s signed by Ernest Hemingway.”
“You read the book?” Ed said.
“I’ve started it. I don’t think Hank Greeley believes Mr. Hemingway. I turned the book so Ed could read the inscription. Hank Greeley had written across Hemingway’s note, LIAR—LIAR—LIAR.
Ed let out a little snort. “Looks like our Doctor Greeley needs a psychiatrist himself.”
“It appears that he’s a bit obsessive about this book,” I said. “You know, I’ve heard Hemingway lives down in the Keys somewhere?”
I turned the book back around and opened it to the train ticket. I read the date and looked back up at Ed. “Greeley leaves August fifteenth.”
“Two days from now,” Ed said. “Think it’s a coincidence that he’s going down to where Hemingway lives?”
“I don’t pretend to understand Greeley.”
“Maybe someone should call the guy,” Ed said.
“Who, Hemingway? And tell him what? We broke into this doctor’s office and found a ticket to Key West. We think he may try to kill you while he’s there. And by the way, we think he killed three actresses. Hemingway will want to know what the police are doing about it, and I can tell him they’re planning to arrest me.”
“It was just a thought,” Ed said.
“Maybe we have enough to convince Boyle I’m innocent now. If Boyle starts investigating Greeley then he could stop him from leaving town.”
Ed looked as skeptical as I felt. I was beginning to believe the only way to convince Boyle of my innocence was to have the killer walk up, tap him on the shoulder, and admit his guilt.
I closed the book and stood. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next morning I was up before seven. I threw on my robe and hurried down the hall, but the guy who lives across from me, Dave Jennings, stood in front of the bathroom door reading the paper while waiting for whoever was inside to finish up. He looked up from his paper when he heard me coming. “Sorry to hear about your sister.”
I thanked him and he went back to reading his paper. Ten minutes later Howard Burns from down the hall came out, and Dave went in. It was almost seven-thirty by the time I got in. There was no hot water and the place smelled like a barn. After a cold bath and a shave, I headed off to work. I wanted to go over the files I’d asked Betty to pull.
As I walked past Lava’s Gun Shop a car pulled to the curb. The door opened and Frank Belcher climbed out. He wore his trademark blue suit and I paused as he hustled around the car.
“You here to arrest me again?”
He shook his head. “We need to talk. How ‘bout we get a cup a joe?”
I realized I was hungry and thought what the hell. “If you want to stop by Molly’s Diner for breakfast, I’ll buy.”
Belcher headed back toward his car, calling out over his shoulder, “Hop in.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I moved to the passenger door and opened it. I didn’t quite trust the man. He was Boyle’s partner, and I knew where his loyalties lie.
Molly’s was only two blocks from the Daily Post building and catered almost exclusively to newspaper workers. A pug-faced woman with big hips and a stomach that hung over her apron, Molly had a flair for cooking good simple food.
The place was crawling with reporters, pressmen and circulation managers. I nodded my greeting to those I knew while working my way through the crowd to an empty table I’d spotted in the back of the diner. I sat down and Belcher slid into the chair across from me.
A thin woman with brittle hair, a high squeaky voice, and hollow eyes that suggested she’d lived a hard life walked over carrying a half-empty coffee pot and two cups. She set a cup in front of each of us, filled them, and looked at Belcher. “What’ll it be today?”
“Just coffee, thanks,” he said.
I ordered bacon and eggs with toast and jam. After she turned away, I pulled out my Luckies and offered the pack to Belcher. He took one, tapped it on the table, and placed it between his lips while I lit one for myself. I waited until Belcher had his going, then asked, “Where’s Boyle?”
“Some people at the station are asking that same question. He’s made himself scarce. The Captain’s been asking about him too. He keeps it up, he’s gonna get canned.”
“You’re not expecting me to shed any tears at that news, are you?”
Belcher rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward me. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last night. He followed me home from the Coaster Club.”
“He’s fixated on you. The Captain wants your sister’s and Ila Quinn’ murder cases closed. Mike’s pissed he doesn’t have enough evidence to hang it on you.”
The waitress appeared with my breakfast, and I waited until she topped off our coffee and left the table to reply.
“That’s because I’m innocent on both counts.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“You saying you believe me?”
“I’m saying maybe I believe you.”
I pushed my plate to the side. This was the first time a copper had admitted I might not have killed Helen. Of course, it might all be a con. Boyle could have sent Belcher in to see if he could lower my defenses. Catch me in a lie.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” I asked.
; “Like I said, Boyle’s made himself scarce. When a call came in for him from a detective in Boston, the desk sergeant transferred it to me.”
“Joe Slater?”
Belcher reached across the table and snatched a piece of bacon from my plate. He nodded, broke the bacon in two, and shoved it into his mouth. He waited until he’d finished chewing, took a sip of his coffee, and went on.
“Guy wanted to know why Boyle hadn’t gotten back to him. Seems he wanted details on your sister’s murder. When I mentioned Ila Quinn, he told me he’d talked to her and she said no way were you the man she saw coming out of your sister’s apartment.”
“Why didn’t Boyle get back to Slater?”
“Boyle hasn’t been totally upfront with me. He never told me he’d talked to this Slater guy.”
I didn’t know what to do. Ed and I had discussed whether we should go to Boyle with what we found the night before. We’d finally agreed that if we told Boyle we broke into Greeley’s office, he’d use the information as an excuse to arrest me. I was tempted to lay it all out for Belcher, but I still wasn’t sure I could trust him. Instead, I decided to give him the information I’d found through my legitimate research.
While we drank coffee and Belcher snacked on my bacon, I told him about Ethel Bloomberg and Ruth Havarette. I told him about my meeting with Henry Greeley and how I was convinced his relationship with my sister was much more personal than he’d let on. Finally, I wondered aloud if Greeley had been dating either of the other girls.
When I finished, he leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been busy.”
“I was having nightmares of ‘Old Sparky’. I figured if I didn’t want to become intimate with him, I’d better do something myself.”
“Who else you tell about this?”
“No one,” I lied. “I didn’t want to get anyone else involved.”
“What about Granger or your lady mouthpiece?”
“No one,” I repeated.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Belcher said, “at least until I can take a look at this Greeley guy and talk to Mike.”
“Why bring Boyle into this? He’s convinced I’m guilty.”
“He’s still my partner.”
“He’s a bad copper,” I said.
Belcher pushed his chair away from the table. “I’m trying to help you, Locke, but Mike’s always had my back. I don’t understand why he’s acting like a bulldog on this one. I figure he’s got his reasons. I’m going to talk to him and see if we can’t approach this thing from another angle, but I’m not gonna turn on him.”
My enthusiasm followed Belcher out the door, and I sat and drank a pot of coffee and smoked half a pack of cigarettes before heading out. Despite Belcher’s assertions, something told me Boyle wasn’t going to be easy to convince. This meant I needed to continue my own investigation. It was time to get back to work.
***
Betty sat at her desk working a crossword puzzle. When I walked in, she looked up and pointed with her pencil to the same office I’d used the last time I was there. I went in, closed the door, and picked up the top folder. It was the file holding newspaper clippings about Henry Greeley. Because of his war record the paper had done several stories on the man.
Greeley was only five or six years older than me, but it was enough to make a difference in the direction our lives took. In April of 1917 the United States entered the war and Henry Greeley was drafted into the army. At the time I was only seventeen years old and still playing baseball with my friends. After basic training he was shipped to Europe along with thousands of other young American men.
In July of the following year, during the Second Battle of the Marne, Greeley was injured when he took out a machine gun nest. Then, despite his own injuries, he dragged three wounded soldiers back to safety. In the process of rescuing the third soldier Greeley was shot several more times. For his actions, the army awarded Greeley the Distinguished Service Cross.
This information gave me reason to pause. It was hard to believe a man who had been awarded the nation’s second highest military honor would go around killing young women. I knew that if I found this hard to believe, Belcher would find it even more difficult to buy into. Not to mention how it would play out if Greeley went to court and this information was presented to a jury of his peers.
There were several other articles about Greeley’s remarkable bravery and his recovery, and at the bottom of the file was an article from the society page. It was an engagement announcement dated three days before he shipped out that told of the future nuptials between Lieutenant Henry Greeley and Anna Molinaro. There was a picture with Greeley in his uniform and a beautiful young woman in a flowing gown. She couldn’t have been eighteen years old.
Something kept nagging at the back of my brain. When it hit me, my jaw dropped. I grabbed my notebook and flipped back to the page where I’d written information from the files I’d requested several days earlier. Sure enough, the woman who discovered Patrick and Anna Ingerson’s bodies was Elinore Molinaro, Anna’s mother.
I jumped up, ran over to the door, and threw it open. Betty looked up with an annoyed expression on her face.
“Betty, would you mind pulling the file on the Ingerson murder?”
“You mean the one you told me you were finished with.”
I met her gaze and refused to let her intimidate me. “That would be the one.”
She looked at her puzzle and said, “Five letters having to do with birds?”
I gave it some thought. “A-v-i-a-n.”
Betty scratched the letters onto her puzzle, and then pushed herself away from the desk. “Go back to whatever you’re doing and I’ll bring it to you. Since I just put it back, I know exactly where it is.”
Betty disappeared into the back room and I returned to the desk. By the time she appeared with the file, I’d gotten up from my chair and walked over to the door to look for her at least a half dozen times.
After she handed me the file I took out one of the pictures of Anna Ingerson. Then I grabbed the engagement announcement from Greeley’s file and held the pictures side-by-side. There was no doubt left in my mind. Anna Ingerson and Anna Molinaro were the same woman. It seemed that while her fiancé was off defending his country, Anna Molinaro fell in love with someone else.
By the time I finished reading the article my hands were shaking. I took several deep breaths and considered the implications. I could now trace Hank Greeley to every one of the four dead actresses. I reached for the phone and called Frank Belcher.
“I haven’t been to see Greeley yet,” he said. “I didn’t think because I said I’d look into things you’d think we’d become best friends, Locke. I’ll talk to the doctor soon as I get a chance. Now buzz off, I’ve got work to do.”
“I’ve found another connection.” I proceeded to tell him what I’d learned about Anna Molinaro, but held back the information about Greeley being a war hero. It didn’t seem relevant.
“That connects four different murdered women and Greeley,” I said. “All actresses and all hacked up in one way or another.” I thought about Greeley’s reaction when I’d confronted him the previous afternoon and added, “He carries a sword cane. I don’t know if it’s the murder weapon, but it shows he likes blades.”
I heard a sigh on the other side of the line. “You still haven’t told anyone, have you?”
“No,” I said.
“Good. Hold off until tomorrow. I’m going out to see your doctor friend this afternoon. Maybe with what you’ve given me I can get a confession out of him.”
“If I hold this back from my editor, I’m gonna need some assurance that I’ll get an exclusive on Greeley.”
“Don’t push your luck, Locke.”
“Come on Belcher. I’ve got to answer to Otis and the paper.”
“Do I have your word that you’ll say nothing to anyone before tomorrow morning?” Belcher asked. “I don’t want Boyle learning about this in the papers.”
&nb
sp; “And I get the exclusive.”
“Agreed,” Belcher said. “Call me in the morning and I’ll give you the go ahead.” He hung up the phone before I could have a change of heart.
I might hold back from Otis, but I had to tell Ed and Mary what was going on. I tried calling Ed but there was no answer. Mary I planned to tell in person. I gathered up the rest of the files and carried them to Betty’s desk. As usual, the ashtray in front of her was overflowing. She smoked more than any woman I’d ever met.
“Find what you were looking for?” she asked.
“Every little bit helps put the puzzle together.” I felt bad that I couldn’t let her know how helpful she’d been, but I didn’t want her saying anything to Otis. If he found out I’d held off on giving him the story, he’d fire me.
I had to keep my mouth shut. I knew Otis would never hold off on printing a story like this. If the paper ran the story before Belcher gave me the okay, the copper would screw me over. On top of that, I’m a little bit superstitious. I didn’t want to jinx things.
***
Mary worked for a small firm, Bender and Schultz, who had their offices at the top of an eight story building two blocks from the Flatiron Building. The elevator opened into the law firm’s reception area. There was a closed door to my left, and four comfortable looking tan chairs spread out two on either side of the room’s only window. Across from the elevator a young woman in a black and white polka dot dress sat behind a counter working the switchboard. She looked up and smiled when she heard the elevator door open.
“Can I help you sir?”
“I’d like to see Miss Rutledge.”
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“I don’t,” I said, “But I need to speak with her.”
The girl’s smile faltered. It was obvious she didn’t get a lot of walk-in customers. “I’ll have to check and see if she’s available. Could I have your name, please?”
I gave it to her, and while she placed her call to Mary I walked over to the window. The room might have had a view at one time in the past, but that was years ago.
The Storm Killer Page 13
