Columbo: The Game Show Killer

by William Harrington

  Dunedin stared at Columbo with the air of a man looking at a mental defective. “Of course they are. But who are they?”

  “That’s what I’m gonna have to find out.”

  “If these are reliable people, who really did see her, we lose the case, you understand.”

  “Which would take us back to square one as to who killed Tim Wylie,” Sczciegel said unhappily.

  “I sure wouldn’t like to be wrong about this,” said Columbo.

  “You need help?”

  “Well, Jesús Ruiz will be workin’ with me. He’s a good man. We’ll interview these witnesses. It’s one thing to file notices; it’s another thing to back ’em up with good witnesses.”

  “She did say she was at this bowling alley, from the very beginning, didn’t she?” Dunedin asked.

  “Right. We’ll check it out. Lemme change the subject. On Monday Miss Brinsley’s column named two men she said had a motive to kill Tim Wylie. Now, there’s a strong defense for Mr. Kellogg to use. Well, here it is Thursday, and he hasn’t contacted Miss Cline or her ex-husband, or Miss Moore or her father. I checked with ’em by phone ten minutes ago. Don’tcha think that’s a little odd?”

  “What do you expect to find in Erika Björling’s bank account, Lieutenant?”

  “Miss Moore says Mr. Wylie told her Miss Björling was blackmailing him. I’m lookin’ for big unexplained deposits.”

  2

  12:38 P.M.

  “Jesús, you’ll never learn to play pool if you insist on shootin’ so hard”

  “The truth is, Lieutenant, I’ll never learn to shoot pool.”

  “Or to like Burt’s chili,” Columbo said with a grin. “Well, the French got a word for it. Somethin’ like… Well, I can’t remember it right now.”

  “Chacun à son goût” said Jesús.

  “That’s it. You must’ve gone to college. Anyway—”

  “Michael Reilly. He’s in the phone book. I called and got his wife, and she told me where he works: produce manager in a supermarket. So I went there and talked to him. He definitely saw Erika Björling that evening. In fact, the lounge manager introduced him to her. But he’s not sure what time. He bowled with his bowling league and afterward went into the lounge for a beer. The woman who manages the cocktail lounge is Sonya Pavlov. He’s taking her word as to what time it was. I got the names of some of the other members of his bowling league. I figure on asking them what time they finished their game.”

  “Good thinkin’, Jesús.”

  “Then there’s Hugo Wilson. I hit it lucky this morning and got to talk to two of these witnesses before noon. Dr. Wilson is a chiropractor. He’s very anxious to cooperate. He confirms that he absolutely did see Erika Björling in the lounge at Ten Strikes on the evening of the murder.”

  “What time? That’s the important thing. What time did he see her?”

  Ruiz smiled. “He’s not sure. I asked him what he could testify to, as to the time. He said sometime between nine and ten, and he couldn’t be sure if it was closer to nine or ten. Scratch one alibi witness.”

  “Had these fellows ever seen her there before?”

  “Uh… no. But they couldn’t testify she had never before been there when they were at the bar. The place is dimly lighted. Reilly said he could have overlooked a friend sitting in one of the booths.”

  “Then how did he notice Erika Björling?” Columbo asked.

  “The bartender pointed her out to him.”

  “What about Dr. Wilson?”

  “Sonya Pavlov told him to look who was sitting over there.”

  “Well, it makes a whole lot of difference,” said Columbo. “If Erika Björling was there at nine, she couldn’t have killed Tim Wylie at eight-thirty and driven all the way to Long Beach. If she was there at nine-thirty, she could have.”

  “These two witnesses aren’t going to do the defense much good,” said Sergeant Ruiz.

  “Go for Linda Delgardo. I guess I’ll have to pop by Ten Strikes tonight.”

  “Okay. Oh— Tuesday I called on Melvin Glassman— Tim Wylie’s ex-son-in-law. Thanks for the assignment. I thought he was going to throttle me, detective or no detective. Anyway, yesterday I was able to confirm his story. He didn’t leave his office until almost eight, then went to dinner with his girlfriend and was in the restaurant until nine-thirty or a quarter till ten. They were seen together by the headwaiter, their waiter, and the bartender.”

  “Good. Glad to get that one out of the way.”

  XVIII

  1

  THURSDAY, APRIL 20—2:13 P.M.

  Erika pulled out an orange fiberglass chair and sat down, facing Grant through a heavy screen. Seeing him through the screen and not in one of the private lawyer-client rooms freed her from two strip searches.

  “What’s the urgency?” he asked.

  “I got to thinking. They’re going to find something bad when they go over my bank records.”

  “What?”

  “Deposits. Cash deposits. What little income I’ve had since the show was canceled has all been in the form of checks. But I made two cash deposits. One for two thousand. One for five.”

  “What were they?”

  “Money from Len.”

  “My God! You didn’t tell me you got money from Len!”

  Erika blinked, and tears gleamed in the corners of her eyes. “Well, I did.”

  “Who could know it?”

  “Nobody but him. Unless he told somebody.”

  “How’d you get it out of him?”

  “By telling him I’d go to a tabloid with the story of who was Tammy’s father.”

  “You blackmailed him!”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  “Well, what else would you call it?” Grant asked angrily. He drew a deep breath. “We’re going to have to make up some kind of story to explain where you got that much cash. Or… or maybe it would be a good idea just to admit you got the money from him. We can say he felt sorry for you. We can say it was a loan. Your defense relies on the alibi witnesses.”

  “Grant… I’m scared.”

  “I’ll have to think about this. Maybe they won’t ask. But— Tell me, Erika. Do I have any more surprises coming? The worst thing that can happen to a defense lawyer is to get surprised. Is there anything more I need to know?” She shook her head.

  2

  5:16 P.M.

  Peg Brinsley greeted Columbo effusively. “To what do I owe the pleasure of two visits in one week by a handsome homicide detective? Come in! Come in and let me pour you a drink. It is cocktail hour, after all.”

  “Well, just a very light Scotch. I’m on duty, and I’m beginnin’ to think I—”

  “Lieutenant Columbo, let me tell you something. I never trust a man who doesn’t drink, on duty or off.”

  “Cigars are more my vice.”

  “Well, vodka is mine.”

  She went to her bar. Again, in the privacy other apartment, she did not wear a wig, and her bald head served as a monument to her individuality. She was wearing something he guessed was out of style: black velvet toreador pants with a white polo shirt. Again, she was an individual.

  Columbo put his raincoat aside and sat down. “I asked to talk with you again because I figure you know more about the inside stories than anybody else I could ask.”

  “You figure I got the skinny,” she said.

  “I figure you do, Ma’am.”

  “So what do you want to know?”

  “Coupla things, if you don’t mind. In the first place, when I talked to Natalie Moore, she claimed Tim Wylie told her Erika Björling was blackmailing him.”

  “I’d be careful of that one, Columbo. Natalie’s a little slut. How good’s her word?”

  “I get ya. This morning Mr. Kellogg filed a list of alibi witnesses. One of them is named Sonya Pavlov. She’s the manager of a cocktail lounge injjong Beach. Somebody at headquarters thinks he remembers her as a television actress. Ever hear of her?”

&nbs
p; Peg Brinsley came to the couch and sat down, placing their drinks on the coffee table. “I’ve heard of her. Did a few parts on television. Couldn’t get more. Life’s tough for a woman who makes it small in show biz. Sonya Pavlov’s a hustler. Notice I said hustler, not hooker. She does what she has to do to make money. Which includes sleeping around. But she doesn’t rent by the hour.”

  “I gotta go interview her. This’ll be helpful.”

  “She’s a good-looking woman and has a cute accent. Russian, I think. Managing a cocktail lounge… I’d think she could do better.”

  “This’ll be very helpful.”

  “Uh… Alibi witness. Hell, yes! Hey, Columbo! I said she slept around. Now that I think of it, there was a rumor one time that she had an affair with Grant Kellogg.”

  “Y’ don’t say. Uh… Ma’am, I don’t mean to impose, but could I make one local call on your telephone?”

  She grinned. “Columbo, you can call Timbuktu on my telephone, if you want to.”

  “Won’t take a minute.”

  She handed him a cordless phone, and he made the call from there on her couch. He called in to see if he had any messages. He had one. A detective sergeant read it to him—

  “It’s from Sergeant Ruiz, Lieutenant. It says, ‘Spoke with Linda Delgardo. Same story. Uncertain of time. But adds that Grant Kellogg arrived before she left about 11:30 and that he spoke with EB as well as with SP.’ ”

  3

  7:20 P.M.

  “I thought you’d be around,” said Sonya Pavlov. “Mr. Kellogg warned me.”

  The woman Columbo faced was what Peg Brinsley had told him to look for: an attractive middle-aged blond with a light accent. She wore black tights and a white knit shirt.

  He sat at the bar.

  “He didn’t have to warn you against me, Ma’am. I’m not a bad fellow.”

  “He said you are the toughest detective with LAPD.”

  Columbo grinned and ran his hand through his hair. “Nah. Naw. Not me. I’m just an ordinary workin’ cop. That’s been my life.”

  “I bet you’ve got questions for me.”

  “Well, maybe. One or two.”

  “How ’bout a drink on the house?”

  “I shouldn’t do that, Ma’am. I—”

  “Beer? Something else?”

  “Well, maybe just a light Scotch. Really light, please. I gotta drive home, y’ know.”

  “Eat some peanuts. They coat your stomach.”

  “Y’ know, they do. I’ve noticed that. Anyway, do you mind telling me how long you’ve known Miss Björling?”

  “I don’t know exactly. We could find out. I appeared as a contestant on Try It Once, and we became acquainted. She knew I wanted to make it in television or the movies. She wanted to make it bigger than she had. We had something in common.”

  “I can understand that. Everybody has ambitions. Most of us get ’em frustrated. Which is too bad.”

  She smiled lazily at him. “What would you want to be, Lieutenant Columbo, if you weren’t Los Angeles’s most successful homicide detective?”

  “Since I’m not that, that’s what I’d like to be: the most successful—Also, I’d like to get insights, like Sherlock Holmes, so I could get home to dinner on time, instead of havin’ to work, work, work to get results. ’Course, tonight Mrs. Columbo’s bowling, so—Well. I ramble on. Would you say Miss Björling’s a friend of yours?”

  “If you’re asking me if I’d lie for her, the answer is no; we’re not that good friends. But we’re more than just acquaintances.” Here was a word where her accent came out. She and Erika were “ack-vaint-un-cess.”

  “What I need to know is what time she got here.”

  “I have no question about that. She was here at nine o'clock. It could have been five before or five after, but she was here at nine o’clock."

  “You don’t have any doubt about the time?”

  Sonya turned down the corners of her mouth and shook her head. “I have to keep track of the time. I have employees. I have to close at a certain hour. I have to know when some bowling leagues are apt to finish, so I’ll have people on hand to serve a sudden new bunch of customers all coming in at once.”

  “Speaking of employees, does Fred Mansfield work for you?”

  “Right. Sometimes I have to remind him, he works for me.”

  “Well, I gotta talk to him too. Is he around?”

  “Not yet. He’s having trouble with his girlfriend and asked for some time off this evening. He’ll be in later.”

  “I guess you’re gonna be the chief alibi witness.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe you could say that.”

  Columbo raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Did you call Mr. Kellogg or did he call you?”

  “I didn’t have to call him. He was here that night. He talked to Erika and to me. When she was charged, both of us realized that I was a witness who had seen her here when she was supposed to be in Bel Air.”

  “Okay. Oh… Say. there is one more thing I ought to ask you. Little thing. Prob’ly doesn’t amount to anything. I wonder, though. Isn’t it good for business to have people like Erika Björling and Grant Kellogg comin’ in for drinks? I mean, people like that you don’t usually see in bowling- alley bars. Right?”

  “We get celebrities from time to time,” she said.

  “Sure. You got a nice bar here, Ma’am. But I wonder. When you get a celebrity in here, I wonder if you make a point of sayin’ to your regular customers somethin7 like, ‘Hey, look who’s over there. Looka there. That’s Erika Björling. That’s Grant Kellogg.’ Do you do that?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “So you kinda made a point, maybe, of pointin’ out to people that was here—like you didn’t want anybody to miss her.”

  “Erika’s a celebrity. Having her in here is good for business, and I do point her out.”

  Columbo nodded. “I wondered. I can understand. That explains why you did that. I knew there’d be some logical reason why you did. ’Course, that was lucky for Mr. Kellogg. It gave him five alibi witnesses, ’steada one or two.”

  “If you say so.”

  “If he’d got there a little earlier, he could’ve been an alibi witness himself, couldn’t he? Popular place, this bar. Seems like everybody was here that night—defendant, defense counsel, and all the alibi witnesses. Must’ve been kind of convenient for Mr. Kellogg.”

  Sonya Pavlov frowned stiffly. “At that point, Lieutenant Columbo, no one could have guessed that Erika would be charged with the murder of Tim Wylie.”

  Columbo raised a hand. “You gotta good point there, Miss Pavlov. I ’preciate your reminding me of that.”

  XVIX

  1

  FRIDAY, APRIL 21—9:58 A.M.

  “Uh, Sir, I’m Lieutenant Columbo, Los Angeles Police Department, Homicide. I b’lieve you got an order—”

  The banker nodded, and there was no misunderstanding the hostility on his face. “We did, Lieutenant. The information is on computer tapes. Will you want it printed out?”

  “You’re Mister—?”

  “McDonald. Philip McDonald. Will you come this way?”

  Columbo followed McDonald, who might have worn morning trousers and a cutaway, so formal was he, but was actually wearing a black three-piece suit. He might also have been wearing a pince-nez and a pencil mustache but was actually without eyeglasses and had a bland, pudgy face. He led into the bowels of the bank, so to speak, into the coldly lighted working rooms where people and computers labored.

  He drew up two chairs to two sides of an attractive young woman who sat at a computer terminal. He handed her an account number, she typed it in, and shortly a portion of the Björling account glowed on the screen.

  “Where would you like to start, Lieutenant Columbo?”

  “Can we start with now and go back?” Columbo asked, pointing right to left.

  The young woman tapped some keys, and the most current information on the account appeared.
<
br />   “What I’m lookin’ for is deposits,” said Columbo. “Does it show if deposits were made in cash?”

  She tapped keys, and the deposits appeared on the screen.

  “What’s that there?” Columbo asked, pointing at a five- thousand-dollar deposit made in January. “Was that cash?” The young woman nodded. “Cash. Five thousand in cash.”

  “Right. Are there any more like that?”

  “Well, here’s another one. Two thousand in cash, November of last year. And— And there don’t seem to be any more.”

  “Well— That’s excellent. That’s just what I was lookin’ for. You don’t need to print that right now. The District Attorney’s office will be in touch about the form they’ll need that in, to make it evidence admissible in court.”

  “We are always happy to extend cooperation to the police,” said McDonald.

  2

  11:20 A.M.

  Victoria Glassman sat at her father's desk, in his study in the house of North Perugia Way.

  “Y’ understand, we can get this information from the bank,” Columbo said. “It did seem, though, like a simpler way would be to look into his bank statements. I appreciate your consenting.”

  Vicky Glassman had shown up in white shorts and an emerald-green golf shirt. Her mother had chosen to sit by the pool sipping a Bloody Mary and let her daughter and the detective pry into anything they wanted to pry into.

  “I’m looking for two withdrawals. One in January was for five thousand dollars. One in November was for two thousand.”

  Vicky looked directly into his eyes. “Since I’m cooperating with you, I think you might tell me what you’re trying to find out.”

  “Well— I want to see if he withdrew those amounts at about the same time Miss Björling made deposits of the same amounts, in cash.”

  “And why—?”

  “Somebody has suggested she was blackmailing him.”

  Vicky flushed. “Yeah. Why shouldn’t she? Others did.”

  “Well, Ma’am—”

  “Let’s look at something besides checking-account statements.” She flipped through a folder. “Here. Smith Barney, financial management account. Let’s see… January 9. Withdrawal of five thousand. November last year… There you are!”