“Does the victim have a name?” Lane asked from across the room.
The ME turned and picked up a clipboard. As he scanned the information, he smiled grimly.
“What’s up?” the cop asked.
“Nothing funny,” Morelli soberly explained, “just ironic. In all the years I’ve been in this windowless basement room, the one thing I’ve missed more than anything else is the sunshine. I never expected it to come into this room via a victim’s name.”
A suddenly shocked and now very much awake Lane quickly marched over to view the body. It was her! And this time she wasn’t faking a death like she’d staged in the Elrods’ kitchen.
“You know this woman?” the ME asked.
“I saw her just a few hours ago,” the cop explained. “She was at Elrod’s.”
“So,” Morelli observed, “she’s a part of all this, too.”
“I guess she is,” Lane dryly noted.
Picking up the clipboard the cop studied the information written by the investigating officer. As no money was found on Sunshine, the working theory was she’d been murdered in a robbery. Pulling the sheet further down, the cop examined the woman’s right hand. On her pinky was a blue jade ring. Another theory shot down. If it had been a straight robbery they would have taken that, too. Maybe Sunshine knew a lot more than she realized or admitted. Maybe she had been the blonde Garner was supposed to take out.
12
Thursday, December 19, 1946
11:33 A.m.
A little different than eating K-rations while dodging Japanese bullets,” Bret Garner noted as he surveyed the out-of-the-way diner Lane Walker had chosen for lunch. The private eye had turned his attention to an image of a snowman, complete with stovepipe hat and red scarf, painted on the window beside their booth, by the time the cop finally answered.
“In some ways it was easier back then,” the cop mused. Glancing toward the menu posted behind the counter and over the twenty-foot-long mirror, he added, “We didn’t have to choose our food from such a long list. We just ate what was in the cans.”
“My burger was better than anything in a K-ration,” Garner noted, “and I never had fresh potatoes during my entire three years in the Pacific.”
“Yeah,” Lane admitted with a slight nod, “but, even though I don’t miss it, life was easier then, too. I didn’t have to think, just react. Everything was black and white. There were no mysteries to solve or reports to fill out. Each day I knew our only objective was to gain ground. We were told to just keep pushing west until they didn’t push back anymore.”
Garner shook his head, “I don’t miss those days. In fact, I don’t even like to talk about them.” In an attempt to change the course of the conversation, the investigator chimed in with a question. “Now, why did you call me and set up this little meeting? Do you have some new information on the Elrod case? Did you find a connection to Delono? Because I have a feeling the mob is going to be hunting for me very soon. If we can put Delono behind bars that gives me a much better chance of actually seeing another Christmas.”
“I don’t know what I have,” Lane admitted as an attractive, slightly overweight redheaded waitress waltzed toward their booth.
“You gents need anything else?” she asked.
“No,” Garner answered for both of them, “we’re fine. By the way, who did the art on your windows?”
“I did,” she grinned. “I used tempera paint. I think my best one is the big Santa on the window by the cash register.”
The investigator glanced at the waving St. Nick and nodded. “You really captured his smile.” He looked back to the woman and grinned. “You know I think Santa’s other job might be as a cop.”
“Why do you think that?” she asked.
“He looks like he’s eaten a lot of donuts,” Garner quipped.
Her brown eyes lit up as she laughed. “You are the funny one. Sure you don’t need anything else?”
“Just leave the check and we’ll be fine.”
After the woman dropped the paper onto the table, turned, and sauntered off, the investigator looked back at his friend and picked up the conversation where it was dropped a few minutes before. “What is it that you don’t know?”
“You name it,” Lane quickly replied. “I have no leads and no hunches.” The cop paused and when the two men’s eyes met, the homicide team leader posed a question of his own. By his tone, it appeared to be one that he didn’t want to have to ask. “What happened to Sunshine after you finished staging that photo in the kitchen?”
“I gave her a ride,” he quickly replied. “It would have been impossible for her get a cab that time of night in that neighborhood and she’d have frozen before she got to a bus stop. Besides, I wanted to probe her mind and find out what she might know about Delono. It seemed she knew absolutely nothing.”
Lane remained stern, almost as if he was in his full investigative mode as he tossed out another query. “Where did you take her?”
“I dropped her off at the Palmer Hotel.”
“The Palmer?” the look on the cop’s face was priceless. A flashing neon sign couldn’t have spelled out disbelief any more clearly.
“Yeah, the Palmer,” Garner shot back. “She said with all the money she was carrying she wanted the chance to spend a night in luxury.” He paused, took a sip from a six-ounce bottle of Coca-Cola, and shrugged, “Who was I to say no? It was her life.”
“So you just dropped her off?” the cop demanded, his voice becoming more accusing with each new question.
“Yeah, I wanted to get back to my room at the Regis and grab some shut-eye. Now why the third degree?”
Lane licked his lips and lowered his voice. “Someone strangled Sunshine about dawn. They found her body in an alley a block from where you claimed you dropped her off.”
“Are you accusing me?” the investigator demanded.
“You left Elrod’s with her,” Lane noted, “as far as I know you were one of the last people to see her alive. You’d even been hired to kill her. Do I have to go on?”
“You batting .333,” Garner quipped, “but you whiffed on the last two curve balls. Yes, I did leave with her, but I also watched her walk in the front door of the Palmer. That means someone else had to see her after I dropped her off. And, let me make this very clear, I was not hired to kill Sunshine. I was hired to kill the real blonde, whoever that is. You know as well as I do that I was never going to kill her.”
“Why didn’t you take the ring back?” Lane shot back. “She was still wearing it when they brought her into the morgue this morning.”
“Okay, Lane, I’ll admit I forgot it. I staged the photo, gave you the film to have developed, and then took her to where she wanted to go. It was only when I got back to my place I realized she still had the ring. So, on the way over here this morning I dropped by the Palmer to meet with Sunshine and get it back. She wasn’t there. In fact, there was no record of her ever checking in. And believe me, I know how all of this sounds.”
“That doesn’t look good for you,” the cop calmly suggested. “I could arrest you right now. I’ve already got enough to have you spend some time being grilled under a very warm light.”
“This is ridiculous,” Garner complained. “You know me a lot better than that.” As he considered the poor woman’s fate, he studied the few dozen patrons who’d crowded into the mustard yellow booths and were filling the chrome stools in front of the counter. They all seemed to be glowing with the spirit of the season. One man was even going from table to table handing out candy canes. The mood in Bill’s Diner was so festive the investigator figured he could stand up and shout out the news that a streetwalker had died and a minute later everyone would have forgotten. It seemed no one was thinking about anything but joy to the world. Sadly, there was very little joy in his.
“Who’s Bill?” Garner asked as he once more looked deeply into the cop’s eyes.
“You’ll have to be a lot more specific, I know a lot of B
ills.”
“So do I,” the investigator shot back, “a half dozen of the Bills I knew got killed in the war. But what I’m asking is, who is the Bill who runs this place? I mean, it’s called Bill’s Diner.”
Lane shrugged, “I don’t know. Guess I never thought about it.”
“Maybe you need to think a lot more,” Garner snapped. “We were together for three years in the Pacific. We fought, ate, and slept side by side. Now you look back to those days and tell me I could kill a woman.”
“War changes people,” the cop suggested.
“It sure changed you,” came the quick reply. “Now Lane, tell me, how did Sunshine die?”
“She was strangled,” came the blunt explanation. “The method used was the same we learned in our combat training except this person likely looked into her eyes as he killed her.”
“That narrows it down to about a million vets,” the investigator suggested. He paused and added, “Let me explain something to you that you might not understand. I felt sorry for Sunshine. On the trip to the Palmer, she leveled with me. Her parents died when she was kid, she was then placed with an uncle who abused her. So, at fifteen, she ran away. With no skills and no family, she used the one thing she had going for her, her looks, to keep from starving to death. It didn’t take me long to figure out that in her forty-four years she didn’t have a week of real happiness. Her face showed every year and then some. She told me that the money she walked into last night was the very best moment of her life. And,” he raised his eyebrows to emphasize his point, “if I had killed her I would have certainly remembered to take the ring. After all, I need that to make sure I hold onto my skin. The photo’s not enough.”
The cop started to speak, but Garner cut him off. “Listen, I forgot the ring because I felt sorry for the gal. I was so caught up in her sad story, I even dipped into that attaché and gave her some more cash. When I drove away, I felt more like her sad brother than I did a private eye. I don’t care what she did for a living, she was still a human being. I fought a war to save her just like a fought a war to save the Rockefellers.”
“Okay,” Lane replied, “for the time being I’ll buy that you might have a big heart. But let me get this straight, I don’t care if you did save my life on Iwo Jima, if I come up with anything more that ties you to that woman’s death, I’ll use it.” Frowning, he reached into his inside suit pocket. When his hand came out it was holding a white envelope. “Here’s the photo you need and the jade ring.”
Taking the gifts from the cop Garner grimly replied, “Thanks. This will buy me at least a few days.” After slipping both items into his suit coat pocket, he looked back to Lane. “My two weeks inside the organization assured me that the only person who really had the goods on Delono was a Stuart Grogan.”
“He’s dead,” Lane announced, “it’s all over the papers today. Surely, you read it.”
“I saw the headlines,” the investigator replied, “so I’m guessing you have the body.”
“No,” the cop admitted, “We have pieces of it. So far we have a torso and a leg found in the Chicago River. The clothing contained his billfold. Until the ice thaws, we likely aren’t going to find the rest.”
“You sure it’s him?”
“Two witnesses saw Grogan plugged. They watched him fall into the water. They saw someone shoot him.”
“Who were the witnesses to the hit?”
“Now who’s grilling who?” Lane demanded. “Okay, I don’t mind you knowing, but don’t give the information to any reporters and that includes Tiffany. One of the witnesses was a woman, about forty, who lived in the area and was walking her dog. The other was a night watchman. Their stories were solid, they don’t have criminal records, and they easily picked out a photo of Grogan. There’s no reason to doubt them.”
“What did they say about the shooter? How did they describe him?”
“They never saw his face, it was too dark,” the cop explained. “But there was a light at the end of the pier where Grogan fell into the water, so they got a good look at him.”
“So,” Garner noted, “the investigation is dead in the water.”
“If that is a pun,” the cop observed, “it’s a bad one. Sounds like something Morelli would make up.”
“Sorry, didn’t think before I spoke.”
“Ah,” Lane smiled, “now you are sounding a lot like Tiffany.”
“And who’s Morelli?”
“Our ME,” Lane explained. “His sense of humor is a bit dark.”
Garner shrugged. “He lives in a dark world, so that’s to be expected. Since you brought up Tiffany’s name, what’s the tale on you two?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just get the feeling there is much more to the story.”
The cop glanced out the front window. He studied the street scene for a few seconds before deciding to level with his old friend. “Bret, she’s the gal I talked about that night we had leave in Honolulu.”
“I kind of figured she was.”
“Yeah,” Lane replied as their eyes once more met. “Whenever I’m away from Tiffany I want to be with her. But whenever I’m with her, I’m looking for an exit.”
“So you’re not a couple?”
“If, in war terms, you are asking if she is rationed, the answer is no. She and I butt heads too much to ever hold hands for long.” He glanced across the diner to an empty phone booth. “Speaking of Tiffany, I need to catch her up on the case. I owe her an exclusive after putting her through what I did last night. Besides, I find it’s a lot easier to talk to her on the phone than it is in person.”
“Yeah,” Garner grinned, “those eyes hook you and reel you in before you can say hello. A man would have to be blind to not get a bit dizzy when he’s around her.”
The cop rose, stood by the table, and intently studied his old comrade before speaking in a hushed tone. “You have to level with me. Did you have anything to do with Sunshine’s death? I’ve got to know that beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
The investigator took a deep breath, rolling his neck and stretching his broad shoulders before answering. “Yes, I had something to do with her death.” He paused for effect before adding, “Without knowing it, I likely set her up. I’m pretty sure Delono had someone watching my every move and I should have realized that. My dropping her off at the Palmer likely set her up for the kill.”
“If that’s the case,” Lane warned, “then you have a target on your back right now.”
Garner nodded, “Could be, but I’ll send the photo and ring anyway. I’ll also include a note thanking Delono for financing my date last night. He might just buy that I picked Sunshine up and the woman in the photo is the real blonde. That also might stop the search for the woman who Delono wanted to kill as a present for our mystery man.” The investigator took a deep breath before sadly adding, “I’ll pay the check and then go down to the post office and mail this little package. Give Tiffany my warmest greetings.”
As Lane strolled back to the phone booth, the investigator grabbed the check, slipped out of the booth, and walked up to the register. As he paid his bill, he looked into the mirror behind the counter and noted a small man in a blue suit, white shirt and black tie, sitting on a stool intently watching him.
“Keep the change,” Garner told the manager. Turning on his heels, the private eye moved quickly back through the diner and over to the counter. Poking his finger into the small man’s chest he softly said, “This will make it easier on you. I’m driving to the post office, and after that I’m headed back to my room at the Regis to grab a nap. My room number is 417. I’ll get up in time to grab a bite at the café across from Marshall Fields. Randolph Scott is starring in Abilene Town at a theater two blocks east of my hotel, so after I eat, I might just go and catch that movie. If I go and you want to join me, I’ll attend the eight o’clock showing, and I’ll even share my popcorn with you as long as you wash your hands before you sit down.” As the stunned littl
e man tried to make himself even smaller, the muscular private eye added, “The man I had lunch with is a homicide cop. He was grilling me about my date last night. It seems the woman was strangled early this morning and I’m under suspicion. What does that mean? It means I can’t leave town like I promised.” Garner reached into his pants and retrieved a dime. “Use this, call your boss, and give him the full rundown on what you just heard. Make sure he knows he can pick up a package later tonight at Post Office Box 1032. You got that? 1032! Also, tell him, because of the police investigation into the death of a hooker, I’ll have to put off my trip to Los Angeles for a few days. Now, haven’t I made your job so much easier?”
Garner spun around and marched to the door. After stepping out into the cold wind, he looked back into the diner. His new acquaintance was standing outside the phone booth waiting for Lane Walker to finish his call. For the time being, it appeared he’d lost his tail.
13
Thursday, December 19, 1946
1:17 P.M.
Even though the temperature was in the twenties, after mailing the ring and photo, Bret Garner spent forty minutes walking the streets of downtown Chicago. From time to time, he would duck out of the cold wind and into brightly decorated, crowded stores to both warm up and observe the madness that was the holiday shopping scene in post-war America. The reason for his stroll was twofold. He needed to make sure he was no longer being followed, and he wanted some time to come to grips with the fact that he might have been the reason Sunshine was murdered. Even for a man who’d seen so much death in war, the latter was hard to stomach. When the investigator was finally convinced he no longer was being shadowed, he made his way to 17 East Monroe and marched into the city’s most famous hotel to try to dig up some information on the guest who seemed to walk into the hotel but never registered.
The first Palmer House had been built in 1871 but as a victim of the Great Chicago Fire, it had burned less than two weeks after opening. The second Palmer House was completed in 1875 and was advertised as The World’s Only Fire-Proof Hotel. By the 1920s it was time to expand again and the newest version of luxury jumped up twenty-five stories and sported almost two thousand rooms. In 1945, Conrad Hilton purchased the Chicago landmark for twenty million and added his own name on the sign and stationery, but ignoring the business marriage, the locals still just called the grand lodge the Palmer House.
The Fruitcake Murders Page 9
