Harbor Nights

by Rick Polad

  Chapter 39

  Rosie called at eight Wednesday morning and said she could be at my place by ten. She was ten minutes late, but I wasn’t in a hurry. I had until Friday at one—plenty of time.

  It had rained overnight but it was still hot. Sunny and 85 at ten in the morning. We got to the Edens Expressway and headed north. Rosie looked lovely in beige slacks and a flower print blouse.

  When we got to Lake Cook Road, where the expressway ended and turned into Highway 41, she asked, “Did thinking help?”

  I moved into the left lane and passed a semi. “Maybe. But I want to be sure before I get anyone’s hopes up.”

  She turned toward me in the bucket seat. “But there’s a possibility about the hopes?”

  “I don’t know, Rosie. I’m taking it one step at a time. Even if I’m right about the clown photo, it may be nothing.”

  She stretched her legs out straight and flexed her feet. “Well, I’ve seen you be right more than wrong. I’ve got my fingers crossed.”

  “Thanks, Rosie.”

  “And Spencer. I’ve told you this before—I’m proud to work with you. You’re a good man.”

  “Thanks. But I’ll feel better if I can hear that from Pitcher.”

  “Understood.”

  We listened to WGN for the next half hour.

  “It’s less than a mile up on the right. You’ll be amazed at how isolated it is. Once you get over a little ridge you might as well be out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’ve gotta tell you, Spencer, I’m getting excited.”

  I turned at the dirt road and followed it through a stand of oak trees. The motel came into view as we rounded a curve. The overnight rain helped keep down the dust.

  Rosie’s eyes widened. “Wow. It’s like something out of a movie set.”

  “I wish I could have seen it back in its day.”

  “I like it better like this. Spooky.”

  I pulled up in front of the office.

  “Mind if I walk around?” asked Rosie.

  “Be my guest. I’ll be in number 3.”

  Rosie walked into the office. I headed for the cabin wondering if the clown would still be there, or if I had ever seen it in the first place. Maybe it was the heat. Why would a picture of a clown be in a deserted motel? I hesitated in front of the door not wanting to find out I was nuts. I looked around the cabins. Nothing moved. There wasn’t even a breeze to stir the weeds. I saw Rosie come out of the office and decided I had wasted enough time. I moved into the cabin, and there was the clown, just as sad looking as it had been the last time.

  It was about eight by ten in a narrow, metal frame. I took it off the wall and ran my finger over the front. It was smooth. It was a photograph and it looked familiar.

  As I was looking at the clown, Rosie came into the cabin.

  “So that’s the sad clown.”

  I nodded.

  She came closer. “And it is a photograph.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you were right.”

  “Yup.”

  “And this helps somehow?”

  “Maybe. It’s a stretch.”

  She nudged a fat, orange and black caterpillar with her toe. It didn’t move. “What’s the maybe?”

  “We have another stop to make.”

  “Is it is as cool as this?”

  “No. It’s Simmons.”

  “Oh. You’re right. But there’s something spooky about that place, too.”

  “Yeah, the people,” I said with disgust.

  I held the frame carefully by the corners so I wouldn’t ruin any prints. But if my guess was right, there wouldn’t be any prints.

  ***

  We walked back to the car and I gently placed the photo on the back seat.

  I backed in a semi-circle and headed toward the highway.

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “No, I’m going to show you.”

  With a mischievous smile, she said, “How mysterious. I would think you’d be more excited. You look awfully serious.”

  “Trying not to get my hopes up. I’ll get excited when I can see Pitcher.”

  She lost the smile.

  Traffic was light and we made good time back to the city. The Edens ended at the Kennedy Expressway and I headed toward downtown. I got off at Belmont and turned toward the lake and Clark Street. Traffic on Belmont was never good—lots of lights.

  “You hungry?” I asked. It was a little after noon.

  “Yup.”

  “Lunch or Simmons?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m going nuts here!”

  We had to park a block away. I asked Rosie to look at the photo.

  “Got it in your head?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  It was a hot walk and I was trying not to show my excitement.

  I held the door for Rosie and we went from heat to cool. We were met in ten seconds by Tony Vitale.

  “Hello, Tony. Remember me?”

  “Sure. The dumbfounded detective. But this time you bring a lovely lady.” He gave her an ingratiating smile. I was sure she was melted by it.

  “Dumfounded. Nice. You keep a thesaurus in your pocket?”

  He had no smile for me.

  “You here for some reason?” he asked.

  “Just wanted to show the lady Kathleen’s paintings. Anything missing show up?”

  I got a hard glare and he left the room.

  “Idiot.”

  “I’m hurt,” said Rosie. “He didn’t remember me.”

  “That’s because I’m so distinguished looking.”

  “And modest.”

  Tony reappeared, making a show of straightening the paintings.

  “Rosie, why don’t you look around? I’ll have a chat with Tony. Take a look in the next room.”

  “We’re not having a chat, Manning,” he said bluntly.

  “We already are.”

  I stood in front of a painting titled Forest Trail. Kathleen and I took many walks in the woods. She was good at finding peace, at becoming a part of the woods. They were some of my favorite times. I could feel her spirit in the light filtering through the trees and streaking the path.

  “This was painted by a friend of mine, Vitale.”

  “So what?”

  “So, I’m going to find who killed her.”

  “I don’t know about that. All I know is she was a thief.”

  “Sticking to that, are you?”

  “Sticking to what? It’s the truth.”

  “You said you saw Kathleen take Harbor Nights. You still sticking to that story?”

  He looked irate. “It’s not a story. That’s what happened.”

  I moved to another painting. “You said you were just coming out of the back room and she was close to the door. That’s forty feet. You mean to say from forty feet away, when you weren’t expecting to see someone and were probably surprised, you were able to tell which painting it was?”

  “I don’t have to talk to you, Manning.”

  “No, but you may have to tell a judge.”

  “Well, that’s not you, is it?” he spat.

  I had the feeling he’d never be a fan of mine.

  Rosie kind of floated through the opening to the next room with a jolly look on her face.

  “Seen all you want?” I asked.

  “I have. What a wonderful collection of clowns.” She turned to Vitale. “You must spend a lot of time in there.”

  He tried to smile at her but didn’t make it sincere.

  I thanked him for his time and felt him glaring at my back as we walked out.

  I hooked my arm around Rosie’s waist. “You must spend a lot of time in there.” I smiled. “Nice!”

  “Thanks, but he didn’t get it.”

  “Of course not—he’s an idiot.”

  ***

  Back in the heat. Couldn’t be good walking in and out of the cold all day. I was hungry and suggested we take a wa
lk down Clark and pick something out. We found a French café and walked back into the cold.

  We each almost emptied a glass of water and ordered a mixed plate of French cuisine for two. They didn’t have cheeseburgers. And they didn’t have Schlitz.

  “So, notice anything in the clown room?” I asked with a tiny smile.

  “Yes, your photo is a copy of a painting in the gallery. But what does it mean?”

  “I’m not sure. But I don’t think copy is the right term. I think it’s a photo of that very painting.”

  “Are you saying someone took a photo of the painting and then hung it in the motel and then sent you to the motel?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  She looked confused. “Who would do that?”

  I stared at her and raised my chin. “Someone who doesn’t like to lose.”

  “Huh? Do you know someone who doesn’t like to lose?”

  I smiled. “I believe I do.”

  “Willing to share?”

  “No. I don’t think you want to know.”

  She cocked her head to the left and narrowed her eyelids to slits. “Okay.”

  The food arrived on a large serving dish and the waitress placed empty plates in front of each of us.

  Rosie took a bite and said, “I overheard your conversation. Vitale isn’t changing his story, but his story is full of holes. Why do you think he’s lying?”

  In between bites, I said, “Consider the missing paintings. We have Blue and Green and Harbor Nights. We know Vitale hired Cletis to switch the paintings in the frames between Green and Blue and Harbor Nights. He knew there was something about the frame for Green and Blue. So by putting that frame around Harbor Nights, he could then steal it any time he wanted.”

  Rosie was listening attentively while she ate.

  “When he saw Kathleen, it fit his plan perfectly. He reported seeing her walk out with a painting, but because Cletis had put in the extra painting, there were still thirteen paintings in the crate. So Bloom just shrugged and wasn’t concerned. So when Vitale stole Harbor Nights he just blamed it on Kathleen and told Bloom he must have miscounted.”

  “So Kathleen did take a painting?”

  “Yes. Blue and Green.”

  “And it’s the one with the special frame?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you think Vitale knew what was special about the frame?”

  “I don’t know. But, if he’s the kidnapper, he must know he doesn’t have it. If he did, he wouldn’t have taken Pitcher.”

  “And you have less than two days to figure it out.” She looked worried.

  There were several thoughts running into each other in my head. “Maybe I don’t have to figure it out, Rosie.”

  “Of course you do. He’s not going to give up Pitcher if he doesn’t get his frame.”

  “Right. So I have to get Pitcher first.”

  “That’d work. And you have a plan for that?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “And I’m guessing you’re not going to share.”

  “Nope. Again, you don’t want to know.” I finished what was on my plate. We were going to need a box. “Rosie, when Pitcher wasn’t at the motel, Stosh told me the line was gone. I should just find her.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I smiled. “He sometimes questions the way I do things. You’ve heard him tell me that there’s a line and if I step over it I’ll face charges.”

  “Oh, that line.”

  “Yup. He wants Pitcher back and is frustrated because you all aren’t getting anywhere. So, the line is gone, but it’s only gone for me—not you.”

  She looked concerned. “I don’t like this, Spencer. Maybe the line has moved, but there’s still a line. There are things the lieutenant can’t help you with.”

  “I know, Rosie. I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

  “You mean anymore?”

  I took a deep breath. “I want her back, Rosie.”

  “We all do.”

  “Me more. If she wasn’t sitting at that table with me she wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “I know I’m not going to talk you out of that, but don’t let it get in the way of being smart.”

  “Point taken. Ready for the heat?”

  “Sure.” She wiped her mouth on the white linen napkin and we pushed our chairs back.

  We were both quiet on the ride back to the house, but my mind was racing. If I was going to do something, it had to be soon.

  I gave Rosie the photo to take to the lab for prints. She gave me a hug in the driveway and gave me a look that I knew meant good luck. I grabbed the mail and headed inside.

  Mike was sitting at the table and watched me drop the mail on the pile.

  “You ever going to read all that?”

  “Someday.”

  “Maybe there’s something important.”

  I shrugged. “I check it after a week for bills that need paying—sometimes longer if I’m on a case. Mostly it’s crap.”

  “I guess.” Mike turned back to the TV.

  I headed for the shower, and by the end of it I had made up my mind.

  Chapter 40

  I sat on the deck for an hour, sipping the Schlitz I didn’t have at lunch. Well, I sipped the second one—the first one I drank pretty fast. I watched the robins and let the facts bounce around and run into my ideas. I much preferred Kathleen’s Forest Path painting to my thoughts. But there was one similarity. Kathleen’s path was clear and well defined. I had a path, and it was clear, but it was built on a pretty weak foundation. Nonetheless, it was the only path I had.

  I called the station at four and asked for Steele. He wasn’t in so I left a message for him to call me as soon as possible.

  Mike’s relief showed up at five. I had never met her. Detective Connors. We chatted for a few minutes and I showed her around. I looked at the pile of mail and decided to go through it while I waited. I was halfway through the pile when the phone rang and Connors got ready. It was Steele.

  “Hey, P.I. You called?”

  “Yeah. Can I buy you a beer and some dinner?”

  “I’m done for the day—sure.”

  We made plans to meet at Magoon’s, an Irish pub on Irving.

  We sat at the bar and ordered drinks. I ordered Harp and Steele ordered Glenfiddich. We took them to the table when one opened up.

  “I heard about your phone call at one on Friday,” Steele said.

  I took a drink and looked at him with pinched lips. “Yeah, and if that call comes, Pitcher is a dead girl.”

  The waitress, who was about my age, apologized for the wait. It was their busy time. But we didn’t have to wait that long and I wasn’t in a hurry. I ordered shepherd’s pie and Steele ordered beef stew marinated in Guinness. “Refills?” she asked.

  Steele joined me with the beer. “You trying to get me drunk?” he asked.

  “You may have to be to agree to my proposal.”

  The drinks arrived.

  “Tell me, Steele. What does it mean if all this time has gone by and the police don’t even have a hint about Pitcher?”

  “It’s not good. Probably means he has her holed up somewhere deserted, where nobody ever goes. We usually have connections on the street who get us something.”

  “You think he knows she’s a cop?”

  “Nope. I’m guessing this would be different if he did—and not in a good way.”

  “And how long do you figure he’d go along with me stalling him?”

  “Not much longer. If he was a pro you wouldn’t have had all this time.”

  “You’re painting a pretty grim picture.”

  Steele took a drink. “I didn’t paint it—it was already hanging up on the wall. I figure this guy is pretty desperate and has nothing to lose. He’s already killed two people.”

  “Okay. We’re on the same page. And now that I’ve got the pump primed…”

  “If I’m the pump, what am I being prime
d for?”

  I took a long drink. “For what I have in mind.”

  The food was delicious. I mixed the mashed potatoes in with the lamb and vegetables and ordered two more beers. And by the time we were done with the food I had laid it all on the table. He agreed, and he wasn’t drunk.

  I asked him a few questions. After some discussion, he gave me an address—4167 N. Pulaski. He said he’d need another person and asked if I had any suggestions. I told him no and especially not Rosie. I wasn’t going to expose her to the possible official consequences. And I wanted to make sure he knew what those could be.

  “Steele, I’m sure I don’t have to spell out what the consequences could be. I feel awful even asking for your help, but I have no one else I trust.”

  He just laughed. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he had tossed caution to the wind.

  “Manning, I love my job. But I walk into work every day thinking they’d be doing me a favor by firing me. I wouldn’t miss this caper for the world.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. I was glad to have him but, despite his words, I worried about the position I was putting him in.

  “So we still need a person.”

  “No, we don’t. I’ve got someone.”

  “Who?”

  He smiled and finished his beer. “You don’t want to know.”

  I knew I was stepping over the line and so did Steele, but he wasn’t going to tell. And it wasn’t far enough over that I would be in serious trouble. And if I was right, there wouldn’t be any trouble.

  Chapter 41

  I had no idea what to do with Thursday. I didn’t get much sleep. My deadline was just over a day away and there was nothing else I could do. Everything depended on my plan and it was set up. Some of it was in Steele’s hands and I had to count on him taking care of it. I didn’t like having no options, but I couldn’t think of another one. If the plan didn’t work, Pitcher was dead. I had no doubt Vitale would kill her, perhaps in a fit of rage, like the way he probably killed Kathleen and Gunderson. I was sure they died when he got mad because they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, talk.

  I started the day with an early errand and spent the rest it doing little things to take my mind off the situation. I looked at the pile of mail and considered opening more letters, but didn’t. I set up the sprinkler and watered the flowers in the back yard. That was Mom’s favorite hobby. It was mostly perennials so I just had to water and do some weeding. I ran some errands and got the Mustang washed, but nothing distracted me enough.