Red Herrings Can't Swim (Nod Blake Mysteries Book 2)

by Doug Lamoreux

  “Should have. But Mickey hadn't kept the secret. He'd told a buddy of his from the old days of the circus, Gerald Lapinski, known to the world as Sybil the Bearded Lady. Then Mickey disappeared and Sybil got nervous. When I hit the Pier talking about a floating body, asking questions, getting answers that hinted the body belonged to Mickey, Sybil's nerves gave out. She ran for her life.”

  “To Wisconsin?” Wenders asked. “Why Wisconsin?”

  “Where does anyone run? Home, of course. To the winter quarters and the circus museum. Alfonso guessed it. The killers guessed it too.

  “Alfonso got there first. He found Sybil and spoke with her. For how long, I don't know. But long enough for the Bearded Lady to tell him something of what she knew. He was still there, and Sybil was still spilling the beans, when – on Alida's orders – Rudy showed up. As he'd so expertly done with Mickey, he silenced Sybil with a knife. Alfonso saw the attack and heard the murder.”

  “Heard?” Wenders asked. “What do you mean heard?”

  “Sybil was talking when the attack came. Alfonso sat listening on the far side of the Bearded Lady. Rudy never saw him. When Sybil took a knife to the back, the midget dove under the bed. The killer came the rest of the way into the train to finish Sybil off – unaware he had a witness. Alfonso was there the whole time, too pinched by the bed frame to even turn his head, listening as the killer strangled her with her own pearls and hacked her to death. Alfonso heard the murder but never saw the murderer.

  “How the midget got out after, whether Rudy turned his back or what, I don't know. But he did and ran like hell to find me. He was desperate to leave the museum but I wouldn't let him. I made him lead me back to Sybil. She was long dead by the time I entered the train car. All I could do was stare at her and wonder who'd done it.

  “At the time, there were two favorites on my mind. Tommy Dagger was an obvious guess. He could throw a knife like nobody else and had a temper of historic proportions. But he seemed too pat. He looked and acted evil but felt innocent. The other was The Major of whom Alfonso was no fan. But the fact was I knew nothing significant about either or their motives. If, at that point, one or the other had a reason to kill it was still a secret from me.

  “As I stood there staring at all that remained of Sybil, I was ignorant of one other important point. The killer, awaiting his moment to escape, was still in the train car – behind me.” I touched the tender back of my head and nodded my respect to Rudy. “You did a fine job on my skull. Then you left me to take the rap and explain the Bearded Lady's untimely death to the Wisconsin authorities.”

  The chauffeur made no reply. He barely looked at me.

  “Alfonso raced back to Chicago,” I said, returning to my story. “He didn't know the killer's identity either but it's likely he had similar suspicions, Tommy or, my favorite, The Major. The little clown was afraid for his life, no doubt, but that wasn't what drove him. He was propelled by his love for, and fear for, the apple of his eye – an aerial acrobat who didn't know he was alive. When he got back to the dorm, he didn't even bother going to his own room. He headed straight for Alida. I don't know what Alfonso was thinking, he didn't make that clear to me.”

  “What?” Wenders asked, shaking his head.

  Oops, again. I really needed to watch that. “Nothing,” I replied. “I'm just saying I don't know what was on Alfonso's mind. I don't know exactly what Sybil told him or how he took it. Did she tell him Alida was Aurelia, Gunther's wife? That she was part of a fraud? Did he understand what that meant? He was in love with her. Love is a strong emotion and, to survive, can filter a lot of truth if need be. He may have been looking to hold Alida blameless or make her The Major's victim. Or, if he recognized her guilt, he may have wanted to help. To explain it away, reason may have gone out the window. All I know is, despite his own danger, Alfonso went to Alida's room. He planned to wake her and tell her what he'd learned from Sybil. That The Major was a fraud. That he'd hidden a suspicious death in the past and was behind two murders in the present to cover it up. That her life was in danger.

  “He found Alida's room empty. That broke his miniature heart all over again because he assumed she was with The Major. By then it was the wee hours of the morning. Alfonso was afraid to confront The Major and he didn't want to embarrass Alida. He was too exhausted to do anything more. He decided to wait, there, in Alida's room, and fell asleep. He was there when she returned early this morning.”

  “He scared me,” Alida shouted. “It scared me finding the little creep there. I ordered him out.” They were her first words since our arrival and, of course, they amounted to a lie.

  “No, you didn't,” I said, cutting her off. I told those gathered, “I had no idea when I reached the performers' dorm late this morning, with the circus owner's permission to inquire, how close I was to wrapping up the whole affair. Not that I'd done any detecting of note but because of my uncanny habit of stumbling in the right direction. I arrived intent on finally meeting Alida Harrison in the flesh and finding out what it was she had to say. We surprised each other in the hallway outside of her room. She was hyperactive, red in the face, almost breathless, she was so glad to see me. She'd heard about the nosy detective wandering around. She had to show me her new act. She champed at the bit to walk and talk and solve the mysteries of the universe together.” I sighed. “If only I'd recognized her nervous energy for what it was.”

  “No, Alida,” I told the pixie. “You didn't order Alfonso out of your room this morning. He stayed. He excitedly told you all he'd been told and all he believed; that The Major was a fraud, a criminal, and a murderer. That Mickey had been killed for blackmailing him. That Sybil had been killed for knowing too much. He told you that you were in danger. He'd have been wiser talking to his mirror.”

  “It's insane,” Alida objected. “Why would I have anything to do with that midget? Why would I have anything to do with any of those Sideshow freaks?”

  “You wouldn't normally. They were beneath you, pun intended. But they were talking too much about your past. That jeopardized your future. And The Major… Or should we call him Gunther? It's all so confusing. Your husband was too weak or trusting to deal with it, so you dealt with it. Alfonso foolishly came to your rescue and for his trouble you smashed a Tanqueray bottle over his head.” I lifted my hand and waved my hastily bandaged finger. “You missed a piece of glass when you tidied up. You busted Alfonso's skull because in your twisted mind you had no other choice.”

  “Wait,” Wenders put in. “You're sayin' this morning when you were outside of her room–”

  “Yes. I'm saying this morning Alfonso lay dead behind Alida's door only a few feet away from me. But by then he wasn't alone. Alida had been calling her husband to clean up her messes forever. But he wasn't working out anymore. She'd had to cajole Rudy into killing for her. And The Major had begun to make a fuss about how she was dealing with their crumbling cover up. This time, she called Rudy. He was there, likely in the middle of rolling the poor midget up in her bloodied bed sheets, making him ready for disposal. And what a disposal they planned!

  “I saw the Callicoat limousine outside the performers' dorm on our way out. I remember questioning it then, foolishly, letting the subject drop. Alida led me around the circus grounds like a dog on a leash. She showed me her new act. I learned she could fold herself into a business-sized envelope and mail herself anywhere in the world. It would occur to me later that a trunk would have been no sweat at all. We walked and talked among the animals, I pretended I knew something and she pretended she knew nothing, and in that time Rudy carried Alfonso's remains from the dorm. He didn't even need to hide it; just a bundle of linens and a blanket rolled up in his arms. I flirted with Alida, absorbed a new threat from Tommy, and was told to pound sand by The Major, while Rudy casually stuffed the midget's body into the trunk of his limo, whistling while he worked. Then he tipped his hat to Olive and Alfonso's dog as he drove past the ticket booth headed out; headed south.”

&n
bsp; “South?” Wenders asked.

  I nodded. “For my apartment, where you were taking tea and lying in wait. Like I said their plan for getting rid of the body was a cold-blooded doozy of a frame. They knew I found Mickey on the lake.”

  “Yeah,” Wenders blurted. “Yeah, you did.”

  “Excuse me. I wound up with Mickey,” I said, rephrasing it and giving the lieutenant my best 'not now' look. “That looked bad for me. Later, I was over top of Sybil when the killer added to my troubles; knocked me out and left me napping with the corpse. A frame was taking shape by itself. Then came Alfonso. It made evil sense to complete the hat trick and sew me up. Rudy took the midget's remains to my place and folded him into my cupboard. That gave me a third murder victim from the circus I needed to explain.” I eyeballed Rudy and Alida. “You're bad people.”

  “Thank God the cops in Chicago – with a few exceptions – aren't blockheads. Lieutenant Wenders knew I wasn't it. We knew the killer was at the circus. We thought, wrongly it turned out, the murders looked good on The Major.

  “Like I said, Rudy thought I was in the bag. But Alida wasn't convinced. She wanted a backup; someone else to fall in case I didn't. And, as she had a new fixer, protector, and lover, and as The Major was starting to rub her the wrong way, it occurred her tedious husband would fit the bill. She conceived a new murder and a new frame.

  “On top of being amenable to the suggestion of murder, Rudy had another nasty habit of which Alida was aware. He's not the first; lots of psychos share a similar fixation. He collects trinkets from those he kills. I don't want to think about why. He kept them in a cigar box – probably to visit on occasion. Had he thought of it, and if he could have parted from them, he might have brought the box to my place with Alfonso's body, and sealed my doom. He didn't. But Alida remembered the creepy keepsakes and, when she decided her husband was needed for a patsy, used the box for the same purpose – to frame The Major. She hid it in Gunther's dresser ripe to be found.

  “The Major was to be killed and his death made to look like a suicide. Guilt after all those murders got him down. But Gunther Herman refused to go down easily. Rudy, and the evil Mrs. Herman, took too long in erasing him and were delayed in getting him strung up.

  “In the meantime, I stumbled back onto the Pier. I found the cigar box in The Major's room and, though I should have known better, bought the frame. I convinced myself he was our killer. But by the time I got to the Big Top, and found Gunther hanging, and spotted The Major's suicide note…”

  I looked at Wenders searching for words that wouldn't leave me sounding stark-raving nuts.

  “Events… led me to know the idea of suicide was a lot of hooey, the box of mementos was a plant, and the suicide note a complete fiction. I stumbled into the center ring in time to know The Major had been murdered. I caught our killers at the scene of their latest crime and they had no choice but to try to kill me. My brilliant secretary rescued me and… here we are.”

  “But why are we here?” Wenders asked. “I don't get the chase here. Is Mrs. Callicoat somehow–”

  I shook the idea away. “Mrs. Callicoat had nothing to do with the circus murders. Owning the circus is her only connection, that and having a killer for a chauffeur. We're here, I believe, because the time came for Rudy and Alida to fly the coop. He's been living here. His resources were squirreled away here. He visited a cash box hidden in a caravan intending to fill his pockets and run.”

  One of the cops guarding Rudy patted the chauffeur down. He jammed a hand into his front pants' pockets and, with a nod, withdrew wads of cash from each that could easily have choked a horse.

  “Ahh,” I said. “It's fun to be right on occasion. What Rudy didn't plan on was a parade of cops and detectives following them here.”

  That was the moment, sisters and brothers, Danita Callicoat appeared around the corner of one of the wagons. She'd been listening to us from the shadows. You couldn't call it eavesdropping, she owned the place and was the only person who actually belonged. But she'd been listening. Judging by the expression on her face the rich widow had not enjoyed a word of it. She stopped outside of our circle, her blazing eyes directed solely at Rudy, and she screamed, “You filthy rat!”

  That was the last piece of another puzzle I'd been going over in my bruised brain. Danita Callicoat and Rudy Ace had been an item.

  “I'm sorry, Mrs. Callicoat,” I told her. “It's an old story. If you'll excuse my flipping the pronouns, it was old a hundred years ago.” I was no Elvis Costello. For that matter, when it came to carrying a tune, I was no Lou Costello. But the situation called for it and I gave it the old college try. I started singing:

  “She'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease,

  That daring young girl on the flying trapeze.

  Her movements were graceful, all boys she could please,

  And your love she purloined away.”

  The lyrics hit home, you could see that, but only the lyrics. Otherwise I might as well not have been there. Danita Callicoat wasn't seeing me. She wasn't seeing any of us. She only had eyes for Rudy, red, hate-filled eyes. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Then, spitting fire, she shrieked, “You rotten, stinking, no good cheat!”

  That startled us. Then she startled us again. She moved – too quickly for anyone to react. In what would have been impressive for an athlete, forget a furious millionairess, Danita did a cartwheel. She came down on one knee atop Alida's dropped handgun. Nobody had bothered to pick it up. Until that instant, I doubt a soul in the building – cop or criminal – remembered the damned thing lay there. With grace and speed Danita scooped the weapon, leveled the barrel, and fired. I was too close. I only heard the first blast, the rest were drowned by ringing in my ears, but I saw three flashes.

  They hit Rudy like three kicks from a mad mule – beautifully grouped – in his cold unfaithful heart. Blood spurted from the big man's chest to the gravel floor. Rudy coughed a matching red. His eyes became cue balls and he fell as dead as a whorehouse at dawn.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  My ears still ringing, I stared warily at Danita through the curling gun smoke. “Easy, lady,” I said. “You did that in front of the cops.” She looked from the lump on the floor that had been Rudy Ace, to me, then to Wenders standing stunned beside me. She stood and smiled.

  The suburban patrol, in one startled if understandably delayed move, drew their weapons. I threw a hand up for calm all around. It's not that I thought I was in charge, I wasn't. Neither was I horrified at the thought of the rich widow being put down, though that would have been a shame. But I didn't want the too-close quarters turned into a circular firing squad. “If you're done, Mrs. Callicoat,” I said, reaching slowly for her shooting hand. “I'll take that for you.”

  She spun the gun, dangling it from her trigger finger, and handed it to me. “Call me Danita.”

  I nodded, slid her weapon into my jacket pocket, and took a deep breath. Everyone in the pavilion took a breath, save for Alida. She'd fallen to her knees and was still there. Aware the jig was entirely up, that her lover was dead, but that she'd been spared the same judgment, the dam burst and she began to cry uncontrollably.

  Wenders, who hadn't moved a muscle through the whole gory moment, pointed at the acrobat and told Mason, “Get her out of here.” The junior detective looked happy to oblige, happy at least for an excuse to leave the barn. He yanked Alida to her feet, pressed a supporting hand to what must have been a pang in his stitches, and hustled her outside. No one played 'A Gift for Caesar'.

  Ogling the widow now, the lieutenant said to me, “I got two questions. How did she do that? And why did she do that?”

  “There should be a law, Wenders, prohibiting your pay.” I stepped to the caravan, opened the back door, and withdrew the rolled circus poster I'd seen earlier. Coming back, I asked, “Question. Where did Chicago businessman, industrialist, and entrepreneur Reginald Callicoat III develop his love of the circus? Answer: He didn't. His suppose
d obsession was crap fiction. One fateful day he found among his holdings a small and insignificant entertainment, The Major's Major Circus. He didn't knowingly buy it, he'd acquired it.

  “He couldn't get rid of it at a profit – circuses, I'm told, are not in high demand – so he went to see it instead. And though he didn't give a rat's rump about the circus, at first sight he fell head over heels in love with one of the performers. That was his obsession; a mid-level performer whose headlining days were behind her, a once-famous rope spinner and trick shot artist.”

  I unrolled the poster, a boldly colored one-sheet from the Buckets & Barnes Circus (unlike my secretary, I did not say “Ta dah!”), and showed Danita. Uninterested, she turned away. I showed it to Lisa and Wenders, a print identical to one I'd seen at the World Circus Museum, a cartoon likeness of Danita Callicoat, in western garb, over the heading Dead-Eye Danny 'Greatest Trick Shot Artist of Them All'.

  “Danita Sawall,” I told them. “Her maiden name. Known in the circus as Dead-Eye Danny. A one-time star but, by then, merely a member of The Major's troupe. Reginald loved her, wooed her, and took her out of the fading limelight. He gave the circus his name, then did likewise for Danny.”

  “Call me Danita,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Not long after, Danita,” I told her. “Your husband noted that, despite his millions, you appeared to be unhappy. He thought you missed the circus and, to cheer you, built this pavilion. It wasn't the circus you were missing.”

  I shook the poster. “Before the Major Circus, before Kessler, there was the Buckets & Barnes Circus; your headlining heyday when you performed on the same bill with knife thrower Rudolpho Acciai.” I pointed to the banner across the bottom of the one-sheet, reading: 'Plus Rudolpho the Great'. “Your long-time lover.”