Hearing the click of high heels on the tile floor, I spun around to face Mary. Her black silk crepe dress accentuated her figure. It surprised me a little that after all these years, just seeing her standing in front of me still took my breath away.
“They tell me this window used to have a hell of a view,” she said, as if she’d read my mind.
“You look beautiful, you know?”
Mary blushed, took my hand, and gave it a little squeeze. She led me back across the reception area and through the door I’d noticed when I arrived. At that point she dropped my hand and I followed her down a hallway lined with offices. Hers was the last door on the right.
The office was decorated with a green and yellow floral print. The floor was carpeted and a large, black lacquered desk dominated the room. The desk was clear except for a platinum cigarette box with a matching lighter and an ornate glass ashtray. Rows of law books lined the wall behind the desk, and the other walls each held several oil paintings.
“Nice office.”
“I doubt you stopped by to compliment me on my office.”
“True. I stopped by to let you know that I’ll no longer need your services.”
She sat down behind her desk and pointed to the stuffed armchair across from her. “Why’s that?”
I sat and filled her in on what I’d been up to over the last two days. When I started describing the connection I’d found between Hank Greeley and the four dead actresses, she took a pad of paper and a pen from the upper desk drawer and began making notes.
At one point she said, “This is great, Jim, but you shouldn’t get your hopes too high. Still, if we have to go to court, this information will help. Add in the testimony from the Boston cop, and it should go a long way toward proving your innocence.”
“I sure as hell hope so,” I said, then continued on. When I got to the part about how Ed Granger and I broke into Hank Greeley’s office, she jumped from her chair and slammed her hands on the desk.
“Are you nuts?” she asked. “Don’t you have enough problems without adding burglary to the mix?”
“I couldn’t stand around and do nothing. Besides, everything’s working out.”
“You trust Belcher?”
“Not a hundred percent.”
Mary glanced at her watch. “Good, keep it that way. I hate to rush you out of here, Jim, but I’ve got an appointment in twenty minutes. An actual paying customer in fact.”
“I expect you to bill me.”
“It was a joke, Jim. I’m glad to help and I’m not going to charge you anything.”
“How about dinner tonight, then? As a token of my appreciation.”
She chewed on her lip and then looked at her watch again. “I won’t be out of here until after five. Let’s meet at Billy the Oysterman’s on West 47th Street. Say seven o’clock?”
I got out of there before she could change her mind.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I beat Mary to the restaurant so I took a seat at the bar where I drank Coca-Cola and smoked while I waited for her. I appeared to have weathered the proverbial storm. I would have liked a drink, but decided against it.
Maybe it was my renewed feelings for Mary that drove away the cravings. Maybe it was what happened to Helen. Maybe it was the horror I felt when I thought about being confined to a cell. Whatever the reason, I was enjoying my sobriety.
It was almost 7:30 when the Maitre d’ approached and told me my date had arrived and been seated. I followed him to a table along the front window and smiled when I saw Mary. It was worth the wait.
In the shadowy light of the restaurant she could have been the twenty-year-old girl I’d once fallen in love with. When she looked up and caught my eyes, I suspected she was thinking something along similar lines.
We ordered lobster, which came with potatoes and shrimp bisque, and our waiter suggested a white wine to have with our meal. “Bring a glass for the lady, please,” I said. “I’ll have coffee.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have coffee too.”
“I don’t mind if you have a drink.”
“Really, all I want is coffee.”
When the waiter left, Mary reached out and took my hand. She ran her thumb along the back of my hand, and then she turned it face up and appeared to study the palm. “When you and I were dating, Helen took me to see a palm reader.”
“You never told me.”
“You would have laughed at me.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed. “What did she tell you?”
“She said true love was as fragile as the wings of a butterfly, and if you try too hard to hold onto love, you’ll crush those wings and the butterfly won’t be able to do what it was created to do.”
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“Roam the world in ever widening circles.”
“I hope you demanded your money back.”
Mary shook her head. “She was right. It’s why I broke up with you.”
“You broke up with me because I drank too much.”
“I broke up with you because I thought I was the reason you drank. I felt like I was holding you back and keeping you from exploring those ever-widening circles. I wasn’t going to hold you back from what you needed to do then, and I won’t do it now. If the only reason you’ve quit drinking is because you think it will make me happy, it’s not a good enough reason.”
“I quit because I needed to.”
“I’m glad,” she said.
Before I could say anything else the waiter arrived with our food. I suddenly felt tongue-tied and throughout most of the meal I answered her questions with one or two syllable replies.
After dinner I offered to get her a cab, but when we stepped outside Mary took my hand. “Let’s walk for awhile,” she said.
We strolled up to Broadway, turned right and walked toward Times Square. We were still two blocks from the Times building when we saw the day’s headlines spelled out in moving letters: U.S. neutrality vote halts bills in congress. This was followed by: Gehrig gets record homer-17th with bases full passes Ruth’s mark.
To the north, a wall of light and color urged us to chew Wrigley’s Double Mint Gum, buy Krueger beer in the new cans, and drive a Packard. The lights were so bright they reflected off the clouds and reminded me of the one time I’d seen the Northern Lights.
At the corner of West 41st and Broadway we flagged down a cab and climbed in. Mary gave the driver directions to her apartment, and then leaned up against me and laid her head on my shoulder. When we reached her building Mary pulled away from me, opened the door, and got out without saying a word.
I fought to hide my disappointment. “Not even a good night kiss?” I asked.
Mary flashed me a hesitant smile. “I thought we could do that upstairs, if you want to come up that is.”
I paid the fare, added in a nice tip, and joined her at the curb.
Mary nodded to the doorman who appeared when we neared the building. “Good evening, George.”
“Miss Rutledge.” The man touched the brim of his hat and gave me a curious look when Mary took my hand and started across the lobby. The elevator boy was reading the Daily Racing Form, which he quickly folded and set on the seat when he saw us.
“Evening Miss Rutledge.”
“Evening Leo. You picked out tomorrow’s winners?”
The boy turned red. “I don’t play the ponies no more, Ma’am. Mr. Riley happened to leave the paper here and I was just looking through it. For old times’ sake. Know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” she said.
I thought he doth protest too much, but then who was I to criticize someone for having a weakness; or two, or three for that matter.
Unlike my own building, the hallway was well-lit and smelled of cleaning fluids. When Mary took her key from her purse she handed it to me. I almost dropped it. I had mixed feelings about following her into the apartment. I was excited, and a little bit afraid. I didn’t want to blow i
t with her this time and I felt like anything I said or did might bring up the past.
I considered handing her back the key and running away, but I knew that wouldn’t solve any of the issues standing between us. Instead, I unlocked the door, pushed it open, and let her enter first.
The vestibule was wide and airy and uncluttered. I hung my hat on the rack and Mary switched on a light.
The Mary I used to know had been a slob. There was no sign of that Mary in this apartment. The room held a sofa, two arm chairs, two end tables, and a dining room table with four chairs, a small bar, a desk, and a tombstone style Crosley radio. Everything looked new and expensive.
“Being a lawyer has done you well,” I said.
“It has.” Mary walked through the room switching on additional lights. She stopped in front of the bar, tossed her purse down, then took off her earrings and set them next to the purse. “Funny thing is Alan Bender had to talk Amos Schultz into hiring me. Amos didn’t think anyone would want to hire a woman lawyer.”
“I’m guessing Schultz was wrong?”
“Turns out there are quite a few independent women in New York who only feel comfortable talking to another woman. Divorcees, widows, married women who want to become divorcees.”
“I’m glad.” I moved alongside of her and rested the open palm of my hand on her back. “About a lot of things.”
I felt a shiver run along her spine, and I used my hand to guide her in close to me. Her eyes flew open and her body tensed as she placed her hands on my chest. For a moment I feared she was going to push me away. Instead, she brushed her fingers up along my chest, then wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. My skin tingled, my heart beat fast, and when Mary pulled away I would have sworn we’d stepped back in time. Maybe we could start over again.
My mouth went dry and it took all of my will power not to reach out and grab her. I licked my lips and took a faltering step toward the door. I wanted nothing more than to make love to this woman, but my life was a tangled mess. I didn’t want to drag Mary any further into my troubles than she already was.
“I should go,” I said.
Mary’s face fell and she looked as if she might cry. “I thought maybe you would spend the night.”
My palms felt damp and I wiped them along my pants legs. When I spoke I chose my words carefully. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Mary took my hand and squeezed it. “Then don’t.”
“What if this whole thing doesn’t go away? I could end up in jail, or worse. It’s not fair to you.”
“I’m a big girl now, Jim. Besides, you’ve convinced me this Doctor Greeley is the killer. I feel confident that with the evidence you’ve uncovered we can convince a jury you’re innocent.”
“But…”
Mary pressed a finger to my lips. “No buts.” She gave my hand a gentle tug and my feet moved of their own volition as she led me across the room.
Her bedroom smelled of gardenias, and once we were inside she dropped my hand and turned to a small vanity. There was a jewelry box, an ashtray, an atomizer, and a fat white candle on the table. Mary opened the top of the jewelry box and took something out; I wasn’t sure what until I heard the scratch of a match on the striker and smelled sulfur.
The candle flickered to life and I stood watching her reflection in the mirror. It was mesmerizing.
“Close the door, Jim.”
I didn’t ask why. I reached behind me and pushed the edge of the door. It closed with a gentle click, and in the candlelight I watched as Mary sat on the vanity stool and began removing her stockings.
The flickering light made her appear to move in slow motion. I stood transfixed, staring while she shed her clothes. It wasn’t until she was standing in front of me naked that I realized I was still dressed. I reached up to undo my tie but Mary caught my hands and whispered, “Let me.”
She moved with agonizing slowness, removing first my tie and then my jacket. I was going crazy with anticipation and I reached for her. Again she stopped me. I dropped my hands to my side and caught my breath as she moved along from the top button of my shirt to bottom.
When she began to tug my shirttails from my pants I couldn’t stand it any longer and this time when I reached out for her she came to me.
I swear I saw sparks in the mirror when her breasts met my chest. We kissed and it was like an explosion of pent up emotions. Neither of us wanted to move apart from each other, but my clothes had to go. While I threw off my shirt, Mary unbuckled my belt and pushed my pants down.
My shoes got tangled in my pant legs and I took three hops backwards toward the bed, dragging Mary with me. When we bumped up against the mattress Mary put her hands against my chest and pushed, sending me flying backwards.
She let out a laugh and tugged off my shoes and pants before throwing herself on top of me. We both laughed like kids and I kissed her like I had never kissed a woman before.
We made love that first time like there would never be another. It was wild and unfettered and everything I’d dreamed of all those years ago. Mary was more aggressive than any woman I’d ever been with and when she rolled away from me it was as if I experienced a loss.
I tried to drag her back on top of me but she playfully slapped my hand. “We’ve got all night,” she said.
“Don’t you have to work in the morning?”
“I took the day off.” Mary reached across me and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off the table next to my side of the bed. She dropped them on my chest and added, “Light us up a couple will you?” It was 3 A.M. before we fell asleep.
We made love again when we woke up, and afterward I rolled on my side and looked Mary in the eyes. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
Mary blushed and gave me a quick kiss. “Drunk or sober, you’re still the biggest bull-shitter I’ve ever known.”
“Not even the most handsome bull-shitter?”
She laughed. “Now that’s a loaded question. If I say yes your head will swell and might burst right there on my pillow. What a mess that would be. If I say no, you’ll lay there and pout and I’ll never get breakfast.”
“You really took the day off work?” I asked.
“I did.”
I took the covers and threw them over Mary. Tucking the edge under her body, I slid out of bed, and grabbed my glasses. “In that case, I’ll stop begging for compliments and I’ll race you to the bathroom.”
“You shit,” Mary cried out, and while she struggled to shake off the cocoon of blankets that trapped her body, I ran to the bathroom.
It was almost noon by the time we both showered and dressed. Mary put on a simple white cotton dress that once again showed off her figure, and I wore the same clothes I’d worn the day before.
Leo the elevator boy had been replaced by a stooped old man with a white walrus mustache who smelled of onions and mothballs. He grunted when I greeted him and avoided eye contact with Mary. The entire way down he kept glancing at me. As we headed across the lobby, he ran over to the payphone in the far corner of the room. The daytime doorman nodded to Mary, but when he looked at me his eyes bulged and I thought he was going to choke on his, “Good morning.”
I looked at Mary as we walked away. “Either my clothes reek, or those two are unhappy you let a man stay over.”
“I don’t understand it.” She took my hand and we started strolling down the street. “I guarantee you though; I’m going to talk to both of them when I get home today.”
Mary wanted to eat at a small grill near the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-Second Street so we walked and enjoyed the morning sun as it beat on our faces. Neither of us spoke, we just basked in each other’s company. Traffic was heavy, the air smelled of tar and exhaust fumes, and somewhere down the street a truck or bus grated its gears. None of it mattered. We could have been walking through a garden or an orchard.
We were making our way through the hordes of shoppers, businessmen, and stenographe
rs rushing to lunch when someone walked up behind me and whispered, “You shouldn’t ought to be out here like this, Mister Locke.”
I recognized Whitey Krevitz, a local tough. Short and stocky, Whitey walked with a swagger and acted like the world owed him a favor. I’d once convinced a record store owner not to call the police when he caught Whitey trying to steal a Jack Teagarden record. From that day on, Whitey had been a reliable source of street information.
“What’s going on, Whitey?”
“You ain’t read the Post this morning, have you, Mister Locke?”
I shook my head no and he said, “Keep walking, I’ll be right back.”
I watched him zigzag between traffic and scoot around a streetcar. He stopped next to a newsstand, stood there until the owner turned to talk to a customer, then he grabbed a paper and took off running back across the street.
“What’s that all about?” Mary asked.
I shrugged. “Damned if I know.”
Whitey reached the sidewalk about ten feet in front of us. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was chasing him, and then shuffled through the crowd until he was next to me.
I stopped, but he gave me a gentle push forward and shoved the paper into my hand. “Keep walking, Mr. Locke,” he said. “There’s coppers all over the street looking for you. It ain’t true, is it Mr. Locke?”
“What’s not true?”
Whitey slapped the paper with his hand and I brought it up in front of me and opened it. The headline read: Police Detective Murdered; Journalist Sought.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mary looked over my shoulder and dug her fingers into my arm. “What’s the article say?”
I stared at my picture beneath the headline and skimmed the first line. Too stunned to answer, I folded the paper and tucked it under my arm.
It took Whitey tugging at my sleeve to shake me out of my stupor. “It ain’t true, is it, Mr. Locke?”
“No, Whitey.” I glanced over at Mary and added, “Belcher’s dead. They claim to have a witness who saw me do it.”
The Storm Killer Page 14
