My eyes widen as she speaks. As far as I can recall, I don’t believe she’s ever had anything negative to say about her husband.
“Are you all right?” I ask, trying to pull myself out of my sauced state.
Genevieve balls her fists, placing them against her eyes. She sighs and nods. “I’ll be fine. I just need something to eat and a good night’s sleep.” She grabs her jacket and hat. “You have a good night Mister Baxter. I’ll see you in the morning.
As she leaves, I understand why she said as much as she did. I’m drunker than I have any right to be and won’t remember any part of the conversation. I question how many times she’s confessed about her marital problems while I was in a state.
I stand to write down what she’d told me, intending to ask her about it in the morning. I take a step and my legs give out. I tumble to the floor, blackness taking me.
***
My head aches, my mouth is drenched in saliva, and the stench of vomit stings my nostrils. It’s still dark when I open my eyes. I gaze up at the clock on my wall; it reads six-thirty-five. Genevieve won’t be in for nearly another hour.
I pick myself up and wipe off the side of my mouth with my sleeve, grimacing in disgust as I wipe away flecks of wet and dry vomit. I sway over to my sink and fill a glass with water. I swish the water in my mouth and spit it out, watching the brown fluid swirl down the drain.
I splash water onto my face and clean myself as best I can. I can’t let Genevieve see me like this.
I manage to get the puddle of sick cleaned up before Genevieve walks in. She gazes at me, her eyes telling me she knows what happened, but she doesn’t shake her head or chastise me for it.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
I groan and hold my head. “Like I got run over, but I’ll be fine. I’m just going to go wash and change. Give Missus Sutton and Miss O’Reilly a call? I’m going to be stopping by to ask them a few questions. Thank you.”
I leave the room and heat some water for a bath. I stink, and if I’m going to see two fetching young dames, I need to be clean.
***
After I’d washed and changed, Genevieve confirmed both Ruth and Helen would be home today. The day’s sunny, and the lack of wind helps keep the cold at bay. I catch a taxi, and it takes me to Ruth’s neighbourhood. He pulls up to her house, and I get out and pay him.
“Stick around,” I say. “I’m going to need you to take me to another neighbourhood. I won’t be long.”
The cabby nods, and I turn toward the house. I walk up the concrete path and approach the door. I only knock once before Ruth opens the door.
“Missus Sutton,” I say. “Do you have time to answer a few questions?”
“Yes, of course,” Ruth replies. “Come in.”
I follow her into the living room. She offers me a seat, but I opt to stand.
“I’m not staying long,” I say.
Ruth stops for a second; she looks as if she were planning on going to the kitchen. She turns and sits on a wood chair, crossing her legs and peering up at me.
“What can I do for you, detective?” Her voice is low and concerned.
“Did Howard have any siblings?”
Ruth narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “No, he was an only child. Why do you ask?”
“So there’s nobody else out there who could possibly have his face and name?”
Ruth stands and her eyes widen. “Detective Baxter, I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
For a second, I consider telling her what I saw, but there isn’t any way she’ll believe a word I say. She’s seen her husband lying on the slab; another man with his face and name would be too much for her to handle.
“Howard believed someone was trying to kill him. I’m trying to gather a list of potential suspects. If he had siblings, they would be suspects. It could even be possible we’ve identified the wrong man.”
Ruth calms and straightens herself. “Of course. I should have guessed that would be why you’re asking. No, Howard is . . . was an only child.”
“Are you all right, Missus Sutton?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just strange to think that Howard is dead.” Ruth takes a seat on the couch and places her head in her hands. I can hear soft sobs coming from behind her palms. I don't feel right leaving her in such a state; I sit beside her and place a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s a rough thought, but there’s nothing that can be done.” I mentally berate myself for not knowing the right thing to say.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, wrapping her arms around me.
My eyes widen as I softly pull back. I know all she wants is comfort, but something about how her arms are wrapped around me feels wrong. Ruth looks up at me, tears streaming down her eyes. I stand and start to make my way to the door.
“Missus Sutton, I should probably be going. I have a few other people to talk to today.”
She nods and dries her eyes. “You only came to ask if Howard had siblings?”
I stand and straighten my jacket. Ruth follows me and gives me an odd look.
“I know it’s odd,” I say. “But that’s all I needed to know.”
Ruth smiles and walks toward me, her movements slow. “Detective Baxter, you could have asked me that over the telephone. No, I think you’re here for a whole other reason.”
Ruth thumbs the buttons to her blouse and undoes a button. Panic surges through my mind.
“Missus Sutton, your husband is dead; you were crying only a few moments ago. How could you be thinking of that?”
“Oh, come now,” she says, undoing a couple more buttons, her bra becoming visible. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about me. You come all the way over here to ask only one question? I’m not buying it.”
Ruth releases her belt and her blouse opens. I take a step back and shake my head. I hard-boil myself and shake off the shock of the situation.
“I’m sorry, doll, but I’m taken.”
“Taken, not dead,” she replies as the blouse falls to the floor.
“I’m an honest man,” I say, my voice firm and louder than I expected. “You’re a real dish, Missus Sutton, but I love Dorothy, and I’m not aiming to hurt her.”
Ruth stops and drops her hands to her sides. She hangs her head and sighs.
“Figures,” she says. “Another good man taken by a woman.”
“Missus Sutton —”
“Stop calling me that,” she snaps. “Howard is dead, and we were divorcing before that happened. I’m not his wife anymore. Call me Ruth.”
“Okay, Ruth,” I say. “You need to mourn Howard’s death. This whole situation has you confused and unable to cope.” It’s the only explanation I have for what transpired. I bend down and pick up her blouse. “I’m sorry, I came to only ask the one question, but I needed to see your face as you answered it.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“You’re a suspect. If you did kill Howard . . .” I stop at the face she makes. “I don’t believe you did, but I have to rule you out. As I was saying, if you killed Howard, you’d have reason to lie about anything I’d ask. I had to see you to ensure I was told the truth.”
“Very well,” she says and turns away. “You know where the door is. Feel free to let yourself out.”
I feel as if I should say something, maybe defuse the situation a little more, but I think better of it and leave the house. The taxi is still waiting, the fare would soon get expensive, and nothing I could say would make her feel better.
***
The taxi drops me off at Helen’s home. I step out and pay him the hefty sum I owe.
“Don’t bother sticking around this time,” I say. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”
The driver doesn’t reply or react to my words. He rolls up the window and drives away as soon as I’ve stepped back. I huff to myself and face Helen’s house. I didn’t expect my visit to Ruth to be as long as it was. I’m behind schedule and much
poorer than expected. I would make sure the Ares Corporation pays for that expense.
The path to Helen’s door is longer than I remembered. Maybe it’s the heavy feeling in my gut or the unwillingness to accept that I may have to explain the second Howard to Helen. Of all outcomes, I wanted to go in, tell her I would investigate his death as best I could and go on with my job. I would even let her know I’m already being paid for the job, a tidbit I’d purposely held back the last time we’d spoken.
I don’t get the chance to knock. The second I reach Helen’s front step, a man opens the door and gives me a funny look. “Who are you?” he asks.
“Detective Thomas Baxter,” I reply, pulling out a notepad and pen. “And who might you be?”
The man shakes his head. “Oh no, I ain’t talking to no flatfoot.”
The man’s got an accent I can’t quite place. He’s young, not quite as young as Helen, but still holds the arrogance of youth. I find it more than likely he’s Helen’s brother or cousin. “I’m looking for Miss O’Reilly.”
The man puffs out his chest in a ham-fisted attempt at intimidation. The poor boy has no idea how to scare anyone. “What do you want with my sister?”
I stare him in the eye, not breaking my concentration, not blinking. “I’m here because she’s asked me to look into Howard’s death.” The boy’s face slackens. “That said, you can either get the hell out of my way and let me do my job, or be moved.”
The boy shrinks a little, and I move past him. “Miss O’Reilly?” I call out.
“Detective Baxter?” I hear her voice from across the house. “Head on into the living room. I just bathed and am getting dressed. I’ll be with you shortly.”
I do as she asks and walk to the living room. As promised, she comes from the side room in a dark blue blouse and skirt with a belt cinched around her waist. Her hair is still wet but styled.
“Your brother is sure something,” I say.
“Don’t mind Anthony,” she says. “He’s been protective of me since our folks died. I think he’s still a little sore he didn’t get the house, and I did.” She turns and smiles. “What can I do for you, Detective Baxter?”
I pull out a cigarette and offer her one. She takes it, and I light it for her before lighting my own. “I’m here to tell you that I am indeed going to be looking into Howard’s death.”
Helen’s eyes widen as her mouth spreads into a joyous smile. “You are? Did they find evidence of murder?”
I shake my head. “They haven’t found a cause of death at all. There are no marks on his body and no damage to his organs. At least nothing that would kill a man.”
Helen cocks her head to the side and gives me an odd look. “If there’s no killer, why are you looking into his death?”
“Because it’s a question I don’t have an answer to,” I say. “How does a healthy man just fall dead?”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Helen says as she sits on the couch. In a snap, her head perks up. “I’m such a terrible hostess. I haven’t even offered you a drink.”
She stands and rushes to the kitchen. “It’s quite all right,” I tell her, to no avail.
Helen has already zoomed past me and into the kitchen to grab a pitcher of water. “Or would you prefer hooch?” she asks.
“Water is fine.”
I’m not thirsty, but I can’t refuse her offer, especially after she made a fuss about it. She fills a glass with cool water and hands it to me. It feels nice as I drink it, but I know full well that I will have to urinate later when I’m walking back to the office. I sigh, knowing I will use it as an excuse to go into a clip joint later.
“How long do you think it will take to solve the case?” Helen asks.
I shrug. “Hard to say; it depends on how easily I find clues or suspects. Why do you ask?”
“Twenty dollars a day is a lot of money, Detective Baxter. I don’t think I can afford your help if it takes too long.”
“I’m getting paid by an outside company who can hire private dicks like me for standard copper work,” I say.
“Why would they be interested in Howard’s case?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s not my place to know. They point me in a direction and that’s where I go. Howard’s death must interest them as much as it interests me.”
A thought occurs. The Ares Corporation wanted me on the case well before the autopsy had begun. I make a mental note to inquire with my superiors about what’s going on. They know something I don’t, and that doesn’t sit well.
“I should be going, Miss O’Reilly,” I say. “I just wanted to stop by and let you know I’m taking the case.”
“Why not just say it over the horn?” Helen asks.
“It’s the personal touch,” I say.
Helen’s not satisfied with the answer, and I don’t care. It’s the truth as far as I’m concerned, and that’s all there is to it.
I turn and leave the living room. “Will I see you again, Detective Baxter?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Please stay in touch,” she says. “If you can keep me informed on what’s happening in the case, I would really appreciate it. I’ll pay what I can for anything you can tell me.”
I grin and continue out the door and meet Anthony O’Reilly smoking on the front porch. Helen follows me out, desperation in her eyes.
“Detective Baxter,” she pleads. “I just want to know what happened to Howard.”
I nod and turn. “All right, I’ll keep you informed. But you have to keep out of sight as best you can. Don’t skip work or anything — if you’re working, that is.”
“It’s a small job,” she says. “Doesn’t pay much, but it keeps me fed.”
I nod in understanding. “Continue going into work, but when you’re off, I want you to stay home and out of sight.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever is after Howard might come after you as well.” I look around at all the houses on her street. “Your street is pretty full of people; it’s not likely someone will be able to break in without someone getting on the blower and bringing the coppers into it.” I flick my cigarette to the street. “Just stay home and keep your shades drawn. Keep Anthony close by, just in case. There’s safety in numbers.”
“I’ll do that,” Helen replies. “Were you going to just not say anything before?”
“I’d only just thought of it as I left,” I say. “Do as I say, and I’ll be by as often as I can to fill you in.”
Helen thanks me, and I turn down toward the road.
Chapter 9
The Questions
Weeks pass as I search for the other Howard Sutton. The man I’d found dead had been buried long since.
The face of the man I’d run into strolls through my mind. Back and forth, day in and day out, the mystery of the other Howard Sutton boggles my mind and haunts my every thought.
I consider talking to the coppers about it, but I know full well even what few friends I have in the force won’t believe a word of it. Those who don’t like me will forever label me either a basket case or just mock me until I fill their face with knuckles. Neither situation is ideal.
Genevieve remains the only person I’ve told, as she’s the only person I trust will listen to me. I’m sure she doesn’t doubt a word I say; if she does, she’s doing a damn fine job of hiding it.
I’ve started questioning what I saw that day. The questions burrowing in my mind – is that really Howard Sutton? Did I imagine it? I suppose it’s not outside the realm of possibility for the man I ran into to have some similar qualities. Howard wasn’t unique or outstanding in the looks department. He’d be easy enough to lose in a crowd with a joe-face like his.
After a long search, I give up and go back to my office. Even if the second Howard is out there, nothing says I’m going to be able to find him. I have no leads, nobody to question, and most of all, no allies to help. I’m alone in my search.
I open the door to my o
ffice lobby and step inside. I hang my hat on the hanger and drape my overcoat on a hook.
Genevieve looks up at me, her eyes concerned. “You find him?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t believe I ever will find him. I might have been wrong all along.”
Genevieve’s eyes tell me all I need to know. She’s relieved to hear me say it. I feel like a heel for dragging her along as I go on my trip for biscuits. She doesn’t say a word and I’m thankful for it.
I enter my office and take a seat at my desk. Shuffling through the mess of papers, I find the notes I’d taken on the other Howard Sutton and stare at them. He introduced himself as Howard Sutton. There’s no way it was a coincidence. But I’m done searching. Some questions will never get answered.
I tear the paper into shreds and let the pieces fall into my waste bin. “Any calls while I was out?” I ask.
“No,” Genevieve answers. “It’s been an unusually quiet day.”
I scratch an itch on my chin and lower my eyes. “You might as well head on home, Genevieve. I don’t think anything else is going to happen today.”
Genevieve eyes me suspiciously before shrugging and grabbing her hat and jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Thomas,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply. “Have a good night.”
Genevieve leaves, and I’m left alone in the silent office. I consider putting a needle on a platter but decide to enjoy the silence and hope for a better day tomorrow.
I lean back in my chair, light a snipe and close my eyes.
The door to my lobby opens, and I open my eyes a crack. Dorothy stands in the doorway, her face drained of blood. I return the chair legs to the floor and stand.
“Dorothy? What’s wrong?”
She looks at me as tears stream down her face. I approach and wrap my arms around her. “What’s wrong?” I ask again.
“Moses fired my band,” she says.
“Why?”
She shakes her head and muffles a sob in my shoulder. “I don’t know. He wasn’t acting like himself.” She takes a deep breath, and her shoulders fall. “He said he’s closing his doors, and he can’t keep us around.”
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