Train to Anywhere

by David George Howard

  ***

  Eddie had called her and set up the date the day after they had met. However, in the few days that followed, he began to have his doubts about the entire business—how she seemed to show up and not have a real purpose for being in his neighborhood. He had decided not to tell anyone about going out with her, other than to say that he was meeting a friend that evening. When he thought this through, on the surface he kept telling himself he wanted to keep this quiet, in case it did not work out. Gloria was out of his social circle, and apparently liked to frequent expensive places. Valent's was an extravagance he seldom enjoyed. He tried to remember when was the last time, if ever, he had eaten there. If this was the kind of place Gloria liked to go, the relationship would be short.

  As he got dressed in the only suit he owned—she said a suit and hat were required at this place—the real reason for his doubts about this was how this all related to the killing of Jackson. Eddie finished dressing, sat down on the bed, and thought it would be best to call it off. This made no sense at all. She certainly seemed like a decent girl, about his age. How could she be mixed up in this in any way? He got up, went into the living room, and put his hand on the phone. Her number was lying on the table. No, he thought, one dinner was not going to be a problem. They would eat and then say goodbye.

  Eddie arrived at the restaurant and paused a moment before he walked up the covered entryway. There was no erasing the fact that he was in a setting he was completely unfamiliar with. A line of large and shiny cars were sitting at the curb. Young men, much like him, in uniforms opened the doors and allowed women in furs and men dressed in fine coats to step onto the carpet. Sometimes the valet would take the keys and park the car, and sometimes the car owner's chauffeur would pull away to take the vehicle to some unseen place. Eddie put his hand in his pocket and rubbed the thin fabric between his fingertips.

  The doorman opened the door for him, but there was no grin and nod that was reserved for the other guests. Gloria had said to meet him in the bar area at 9:00, about half an hour before their dinner reservations. It only took a moment to see her through the window around the bar. The hallway was darker than the interior, and Eddie had to resist the temptation to turn around and leave. She was dressed in a well-fitting outfit with a few ruffles and feathers. Two men were standing next to her table, talking and laughing. Eddie knew if he left, it would be the best thing he could do, knowing a girl like Gloria would not be much disturbed by being stood up. However, he had made a commitment and felt he had to follow through with this.

  "Hey, Eddie," Gloria said when he came through the door. He walked over to the table, where the other two men were standing. "These are a couple of friends of mine, Ray and Ernest."

  Eddie shook their hands. Neither said hello or really looked at him. They said goodbye to Gloria then went back to another table. "How are you doing?" he asked, sitting down across from her.

  "Excellent, except all they serve here are soft drinks. This is cherry soda, if you want something. There's a room upstairs that serves the real thing if you want to go up there later. That is, if you drink the real stuff."

  "Sure, sounds fine. So, have I kept you waiting?" he asked. A waitress came by, and he ordered a root beer.

  "No, not at all. I have a few friends here. If you want to hang up your hat and coat, there's a coat check just around the corner in the hall."

  Eddie checked his hat and coat. The soft drink was waiting for him when he returned. He took a long drink. It was absurdly sweet. "Nice place. I heard the band starting up when I came in. Do you come here often?"

  "Not really, but they always have a good dance band playing, and the food is excellent."

  Eddie drank more of the root beer and looked around at the other patrons in the bar. "So, uh, what do you do? I mean, do you work somewhere?" Eddie asked. This question had been bothering him since the afternoon they met. He had realized all they had done was talk about him.

  "I'll be going to school in the fall, in Paris. I'll be doing cultural studies," she said.

  "That sounds exciting. Have you ever been there before?" he asked.

  "No, I haven't. Have you?"

  Eddie laughed. The idea of him traveling to anywhere like Paris sounded absurd. "Oh, no. The farthest I've ever traveled was to Ohio to visit a relative, and that was a long time ago. What classes did you take? With the cultural studies. I mean, are you going to study language or something?"

  Gloria nodded her head. "I'm not sure entirely. I'm going to start the program and see how it goes. Say, do you like to dance? We can go into the ballroom and dance before we sit down to eat." She stood up and began leading him out of the bar and down the hall. When they entered the dining area, the man at the door winked at her and then let them through without checking the reservation book.

  The dance floor was in the center of the room, with dinner tables surrounding it on three sides. When the two of them walked in, the band was just finishing a tune, and the six or seven couples that were dancing applauded. The maître d' showed them to a table and handed them menus. The tables were about three-quarters full, and there was the general noise of people enjoying an evening on the town. At that point, the lights began to dim in the dining area, and the band started another number.

  "We need some folks dancing," the bandleader said. "These lovely couples need some company out here." At that point, a singer came on stage, to appreciative applause around the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, the lovely Miss Ginger Dupree."

  The bandleader stepped back, and the young woman approached the microphone, "Thank you," she breathed before picking up the beat and following it into a song.

  "Oh, I know her," Gloria said. "Come on." She took his hand and began leading him onto the floor.

  Besides a handshake, this was the first real physical contact the two had had as she pulled his hand, causing him to stumble slightly. There were only a few people on the floor, and besides the fact, he was not much of a dancer. "Really, why don't we wait until we order?" he said, as they stepped onto the floor.

  "Do you know how to dance?" she asked, stopping for a moment.

  "Sure, but I'm not that good." He glanced around at the people sitting at the tables nearby and noticed a few of them looked up in their direction. The small sparse crowd of dancers had begun moving to the music as Gloria edged him further onto the floor.

  "Don't be shy. I'll teach you, it's not that hard." They continued until they were towards the front of the stage. She gave a quick wave towards the singer, who waved back at her. It suddenly occurred to Eddie that what she was doing might not be right. The killing of Jackson LaRue would have been news to many of these people, and here she was spending an evening on the town with him. The two of them joined hands and began dancing among the other people on the floor. Eddie did the best he could to lead her, but it was only a faint imitation of what would be termed "dancing." All the time, he could not help but wonder what this was about. Gloria was an active dancer, and she seemed to move around him as if he were just there to hold her in place. Eddie moved his feet around and did his best to appear to find the rhythm. She brushed up against him, sending an odd shiver through his system. Maybe it was a miscue, maybe not, but she did this a number of times, and each time he saw a small mischievous grin on her face.

  After three songs, they sat down and ordered their meals. The food was served, and the two of them chatted. Miraculously, their drinks began to taste as if alcohol had been added. Neither of them asked for this, but there was no doubting the buzzing that was going on in his head. She seemed to loosen up even more. They finished eating and again joined the growing group of people on the dance floor. By this time, Eddie was beginning to feel more comfortable with the larger group around him, and he actually began doing fairly well at staying out of the way of her feet. The other dancers crowded in more than before, to the point where she was practically bein
g pushed into him with every step. He put his hand on her tiny waist to keep her from being jostled around. When he did this, she did not hesitate, and in fact, he felt that her small body seemed to have a need to stay in physical contact with him.

  They returned to the table, and he looked at his watch, learning it was close to midnight. He had not intended to stay out this late. "I hate to say this, but I really should be going."

  A hurt look came across her face, and she said, "I'm just getting started! Are you sure?"

  "I have to work tomorrow morning. I really should be getting back." He signaled the waiter, who brought the bill in a small leather envelope. Eddie opened the envelope, looked, and was nearly in shock, finding an extra zero on the bottom number he had not expected. The cost was nearly a third of his weekly salary, and he hoped he had brought enough money along. He took out his wallet and carefully counted out the amount and placed it on the table, but he kept his eyes on it for a few seconds. That sure wasn't worth it. The waiter came by, collected the payment, then left. "Okay, well, you ready to go?" he asked Gloria.

  "Sure."

  They left the dining room and claimed their belongings from the coat check. After leaving a tip, he had about two dollars left. They walked down the hall and exited through the front and out onto the sidewalk. The cold air and sudden quiet of the outside were refreshing. He stopped for a moment and looked at Gloria. She said, "I had a wonderful time tonight. You're a much better dancer than you think. Once I got you going, you kicked it up as smart as anyone out there."

  He knew she was just being kind. Most of the time, he had just been trying not to fall over and to stay out of other people's way. She must have realized both that and the fact that he rarely went to expensive restaurants and night clubs. There was no point in pretending otherwise, and to carry on would only make it worse. "I had a great time. Gloria, I have to be honest, though. I don't think this is going to work. We don't really have much in common."

  She turned her head to the side. The air was cold enough that, with the streetlights, he could see her breath. "I did have a nice time tonight. You're a perfect gentleman. I only live a few blocks from here. Would you do me the honor of walking me home?"

  "Of course."

  The two of them started walking, and she linked her arm inside of his. "You know, I don't want you to take this a wrong way, but you're really a decent person. I don't run into men like you too often."

  "Thanks. I'm afraid I don't visit places like Valent's. You looked like you belonged there," he said. As they were leaving the bustle of the restaurant, he glanced at her profile as they passed under a streetlight. Her face seemed to relax into a pleasant smile.

  "I've been there a few times. I know many of the people who go there. The singer, she lives in my building, so I see her all the time."

  "Do you go out late often? I don't mean to be rude."

  "No, I'm not offended. To be honest, most nights I'm looking for a party. Most people would call me a Jazz Girl. But there are times when I like to just stay home and read a book or listen to the radio."

  Eddie laughed at the term "Jazz Girl." "You know, I have a friend who would call you a Dandy Girl. A girl that likes to dress smart and go dancing."

  "Dandy Girl," she said, almost to herself. "I like that. A Dandy Girl. That works."

  While they walked arm in arm, Eddie realized that in many ways, she really did seem to be a girl about his age but intent on going somewhere else. There was an urgency or need that he could not define. Maybe his earlier thought of them dating so soon after the murder of Mr. LaRue was simply a case of immaturity on her part. She did seem to have a view of the world that could be as unattached as anyone he knew, with her stories of going to Paris to study and then traveling around for a few years before settling down. In fact, settling down did not seem to be part of her vocabulary.

  "Here we are," she said after they had come around a corner. They had walked about half a mile from the restaurant and entered a street of new apartment buildings. Eddie remembered the news about the construction of the neighborhood and how luxurious the apartments were reported to be.

  "You live here? By yourself?" he asked. Her parents must have been insanely rich.

  "It's a nice place to have a home."

  They stopped in front of her building. "This is really quite a place."

  "Would you like to come in for a few minutes?"

  "Sure," he said without really thinking about it. She unlocked the front door, and he followed her into the darkened hallway. Quietly, they went up the stairway to the second floor. They entered her apartment, and once inside, she went around and turned on a few lights. Eddie was not sure what he had expected, but he was glad to find out it was not overdone like he had seen in magazines of places belonging to the Vanderbilts or Rockefellers. It was pleasant and quiet. For a young woman with the lifestyle she led, the furnishings were nice, but subdued and comfortable.

  "Like it?" she said, standing in the middle of the room with her arms spread. "Jackson picked it out for me."

  "Very much."

  "Here, let me take your coat and hat," she said. He handed these to her, and she hung them up in the closet. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink? I have a friend who gave me some Canadian whiskey. It's much better than that rot you buy in the speakeasies."

  "Sounds good," he said, taking a seat on the couch. She came over a few moments later and set the drinks on the table. He took a small swallow and felt the exquisite, smooth burn down his throat that only a good whiskey can accomplish. "You're right. Much better."

  Gloria leaned back on the couch and crossed her legs. "So, one thing you haven't talked about is if you're seeing any one else right now."

  "No, uh, actually, I haven't seen anyone steady for about a year. Even then, it wasn't anything serious."

  Gloria nodded and looked at him for a moment. A smile flicked across her face then was gone. He had not noticed how gray her eyes were before. "Where you from? Are you from Providence?"

  Eddie took another drink of the whiskey and knew there was no use hiding his past from her. After all, what difference did it make if she knew? "I moved down hear a few years ago to get away from some trouble."

  "Hm. Family problems?"

  "Not exactly. I had a friend that thought he could make up the law as he went. Turned out he was wrong and I spent a couple of years in the bin for armed robbery."

  Eddie had been searching the room with his eyes as he said this. His gaze settled on the door to the kitchen, but he could tell she was staring at him. "Two years. That's rough," she said.

  "I made it out. Sam's still in. He pulled the trigger. With my luck, I just happened to be in the car."

  "Making a better life for yourself here, it looks like," she said. Gloria took his hand in hers. "You must have figured it out."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You must have figured out how to get your life back. A lot of people," she said stopping then continuing in a soft, confident voice. "Once they start like that, they can't stop,"

  "Until the problems lately," he said, then realizing he should have kept that thought to himself.

  "How do you mean?"

  He rubbed her hand in his, thinking of a delicate way to express himself without going into detail. "It's just that—what happened at Aron's—I don't know. Maybe I should just leave it there."

  "I think we're more alike than you know," she said, lightly leaning against his shoulder.

  "How so?"

  "If you knew where I came from, you would understand."

  Eddie waited for her to continue, but after about thirty seconds, he realized she would not. Whatever was back there, she was not about to visit it right then. Maybe that was the need or urgency he noticed earlier when she seemed to keep touching him on the dance floor. At some point, she might tell him, but that would have to wait for another oppo
rtunity. Her silence was, in a way, a relief and seemed to indicate they had connected in an unexpected way.

  She looked back at her hands and said, "Jackson and I were close."

  "I'm sorry. The loss must be terrible."

  "He was a good person, very kind to me. I didn't have much growing up, you know, and he helped me out." Gloria continued looking at her hands, but she started to breathe more heavily. She closed her eyes, and he could see the moisture forming at the corners. "I'm so comfortable with you. Your life is so normal. I just wish…." She stopped, and he saw the moisture form into a small tear and hang on the side of her face.

  "Yes?"

  "I wish I was that normal."

  Eddie picked up her hand, and she opened her eyes. It was a look he was not able to resist, and he leaned over and kissed her. She responded by hugging him and kissing, almost desperate in her reaction. After a few minutes, she began to calm down and simply placed her face on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time. She curled against him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Soon she seemed to relax and even appeared to be falling asleep. Eddie shook her a little and she opened her eyes slightly. He was content to stay like that for a good while but finally realized he could not take this anywhere. Gloria had problems or something going on that he would not be able to settle, and it would be improper to pretend. He straightened up and gently let her lean back on the couch. "Gloria, remember what I said back at the restaurant. I don't want to be improper in any way. If you ever want to talk, you can call me, though. I'd be glad to."

  "Of course," she said quietly. "Sorry, sometimes, I...never mind. You're a decent man. Considerate. I understand." He got up from the couch and helped her to her feet. "I'll get your things."

  "I wish I could get to know you better," he said, not really sure what that meant. Maybe he was just being nice, but there was not denying a connection of sorts. Gloria went to the closet by the door.

  Eddie put on his coat and held his hat in his hands. "I mean that. Take care of yourself."

  She nodded, and walked him to the door. "Eddie, you're the best. Stay safe. You'll do fine. You know how to survive, and that's the best thing anyone can know. You know when to run. Can I kiss you once more?" They kissed again, slow and sad. When they stopped, they were holding each other.

  "Run? What do you mean?"

  She stared into his face for a moment, not blinking. "I can't explain. It's just a feeling."

  The thought spun around in his mind, and was oddly similar to what he had been thinking the past few days. "Good night," he said, stepping out of the door. Eddie went down the front steps of the apartment building. He passed a woman coming in, and he recognized the auburn hair of the singer at the club that night. They both waved to each other, and he continued on his way.

  A few moments after Eddie left, there was a knock on Gloria's door. She opened it a crack to see Ginger staring back at her. Ginger took one look at her, and said, "Dear, do you want to talk about it?"

  "No," Gloria said quietly. "I'm fine. He was a perfect gentleman. I'll come up for breakfast in the morning." Gloria smiled as best as she could.

  "Take care of yourself, sweetie. Get some sleep." Ginger left and went up the staircase.

  She shut the door behind herself and listened to Ginger open and close her door a flight up. When McBride called the day after she left his office, he asked if she could get Eddie's wallet. Gloria went back to the couch, sat down and pushed her hand between the cushions to find the wallet she had pulled out while they were kissing. Eddie was a decent man, and here she was again taking orders from McBride, getting herself further into trouble. She met Eddie, and despite everything she had scratched and clawed for, she would give it all away to have the life he was trying to achieve. The tears she shed were not so much for Jackson as they were for her desire to start over and live the normal childhood, without the hungry nights sleeping on a cold floor in her mother's place with dirt, disease and stench all over. Gloria picked up the whiskey glass and consumed the entire contents in slow, steady swallows. Often, when she was alone in the apartment at night, these thoughts ran through her mind, and spending the night on the town was the only way to hold them at bay.

  Gloria took the empty glass into the kitchen, then went over to the radio and turned it on. It took some searching around, but she found a station still broadcasting that late in the evening. The music was soothing, and she leaned her head against the console and let the tiny vibrations from the speakers go into her temple. The sensation was pleasant, and made her wish she could melt into it. She straightened up and saw a slight movement out of the corner of her eye from her bedroom. "Hey," she said. Whoever it was moved silently and quickly across the room and landed a blow to her head. Gloria's last thought was of herself and Eddie relaxing together on a park bench in perfect comfort. Nothing more than quietly enjoying each other's company. It was all she ever wanted.

  Jimmy picked her up and placed her on the couch. When the order came in to take her out, McBride said to not let her suffer or try anything funny. Jimmy knew what that meant and had agreed. However, when he saw her sprawled across the couch, he thought otherwise. Gloria was a beautiful, interesting woman, and far out of his reach. Besides, he thought before laying his hands on her, he knew that cops would be looking for a motive, and what he was about to do would make the entire scene look more believable. Though it was a rarely mentioned crime, Jimmy knew how people in law enforcement felt about it. He tore her dress and ripped off her underwear. It was only a few minutes, and he was done. The entire time, she was unconscious. Using one of the couch cushions, he then pressed down on her face with all his weight. She kicked some at the end, but he was much too big for her. There was one last attempt to breathe, then no more. When he took the cushion off, he saw she had not even opened her eyes. The wallet was laying between her side and the back of the couch, out of immediate sight, where the police would find it as soon as they moved her body. Jimmy waited a few minutes to be sure no one was out on the street. It had been a quick, clean job. He slipped out the door and left her to be found by a worried friend.

  14

  Harris walked to the door and saw Thomas inside the apartment. Thomas came over to him as soon as he appeared, and by the look of the pushed-back hat and sideways glance, Harris knew this was only going to get worse. "What do you have?" Harris asked.

  "Young woman. Gloria Jorgensen. Looks like a rape and murder," Thomas said. He turned around and let Harris into the room. Three men were working around the body. One was taking pictures and the other two were writing down observations.

  "I'm done," the photographer said. One of the policemen pulled a sheet over the body.

  Thomas and one of the officers came over to Harris. Harris asked, "Anything else? Info on the victim?" When he first received the call, he again had been afraid of one of the police goons tromping all over the scene. He was relieved to see that had not happened in this case. Maybe they could make some sense out of this one. Mayor Porter had been calling him in recent days, asking what he was doing on his promise to reduce crime. In private, the mayor had a habit of yelling when he did not like the answer, and Harris's ear was still ringing from that morning's verbal assault.

  "A friend of hers lives in the building, found the body," Thomas said. "I talked to her briefly. Said she came down to invite her to breakfast and didn't get an answer. Came back three or four hours later and still didn't get an answer. Landlord let her in and then she called."

  "She still here?" Harris asked.

  "Upstairs."

  "Okay, we'll talk to her in a few. Let's have a look around. Go through what you did when you arrived," Harris said.

  "I arrived about ten minutes after Morgan there. He had done a preliminary search of the scene and determined the body was cold. He didn't touch nothin' else until I got here."

  "Good
. You sure about that?" Harris asked. They had walked into the kitchen to get out of earshot of the other policemen working in the apartment.

  "No problem, he's straight up," Thomas said. "So anyway, I came into the apartment, noticed there was very little to show any kind of struggle, except the cushion there. Appears she was suffocated with that. There were two glasses of alcohol on the table."

  "Two. Any good marks on the glass?"

  "Looks like she had a visitor, and it must have been friendly for a while. Hers had lipstick and was empty. The other was half full."

  "Anything else in the kitchen?" Harris asked.

  "Naw. Clean. Looks like she didn't use it much. Anyway, let me take you back to the bedroom."

  Harris followed him down the hall, past a bathroom and back to a well-appointed bedroom. Nice furniture. Reserved. Whoever this young woman was, she was well taken care of. "The bed's made."

  "Looks like she hadn't slept in it, or whatever, last night. Well, we started going through the items on the dresser and look what we found." Thomas handed him a framed picture.

  "LaRue," Harris said. The picture was of the two of them in an outdoor formal setting taken by a portrait studio in Boston. Harris set the picture down on the dresser, knowing he would see it again. "Interesting. Make sure we bring it for evidence."

  "Kind of a strange connection, uh?" Thomas said. "Anyways, we went through the other rooms and closets. We only found personal items that would belong to a young lady. Nice stuff, though. She could spend some money."

  The two of them walked back out to the living room, where the other three policemen were finishing up. Standing in the doorway were a couple of workers from the morgue to pick up the body. When the policemen had gotten everything they could from the crime scene, they moved into the apartment. "Just a second," Harris said to the two men from the morgue. They were getting ready to pick her up to carry the body out to a waiting ambulance, but the two men backed off. Harris bent over, pulled the sheet down from her face, and studied it for a moment. Except for the bruise on the side of her head, she looked calm, almost serene.

  "Whoever did this also violated her," Morgan said. "At least it looked that way."

  "Shame," Harris muttered. She was young and pretty, and someone had taken advantage of that. "All right, if you're ready, take her away."

  "What's this?" Morgan said as they lifted her body away.

  Thomas and Harris joined him over by the couch. "A wallet," Thomas said, picking it up. He opened it and carefully began laying the contents onto the table by the couch. "Get the photographer back in here," he said to Morgan.

  Besides about two dollars in cash, and a few slips of paper there was not much in the wallet, until Thomas took out a paycheck stub. "Edward B. Griffin. Sounds familiar."

  "Remember the kid at the factory where LaRue bought it?" Harris said. "That's him."

  "I'll be damned," Thomas said. The photographer set up, took a few pictures, then left.

  Harris picked up the stub and looked at it again. "Better call him in," he said.

  "This is going to get interesting. The kid was here last night, or at least his wallet was." Thomas began putting the contents back into the wallet and then carefully folded it shut.

  Harris had a difficult time thinking that Eddie would have anything to do with the woman's murder, but he had to push aside any sentiment he might have and look at the facts. They were still early in the case. Too much was unanswered for him to form a judgment. "Odd. I didn't get the impression he'd be involved at all."

  "People can fool you. Had one last year, a barber. Turned out he also liked to rob banks in his spare time. Quiet little fart who turned out to have dirty fingers."

  Harris considered what Thomas had said, and this did not seem to add up. Slow down, he told himself. "Let's go talk to this woman upstairs."

  Harris and Thomas went upstairs to visit the woman who had come to meet Gloria that morning. As they were walking up, he began to get a dreadful feeling about finding Eddie had been involved in some fashion, and he felt this case was going to veer off in an odd direction. There was going to be more to this than a young man in a love triangle or trying to make a few quick bucks. When the press let this out to the public, Harris knew the Mayor would be yelling at him soon. He shut his eyes a moment and shook his head. These kinds of things he would just need to get used to.

  They came up the top of the stairs and walked about half way down the hall to the door. Thomas knocked and a pleasant looking woman in a pink silk robe answered the door. "Yes, I've been thinking you might come back," she said. "Come in."

  "How are you doing?" Thomas asked.

  "Better," she said. At the moment, Harris thought he noticed a whiff of alcohol. Not a surprise, he thought. The two men came into the apartment, and remained standing while the woman sat at a piano bench. "Mind if we ask you a few questions, Miss?" Thomas said

  "Not at all," she said, drawing out the words.

  "Why don't we start out with your name," Harris asked. "If you don't want to talk right now, we can do this later."

  "No, no, no. There is no time as now. My name is Ginger Dupree. I sing for the Jack Casey Orchestra," she said.

  "Ginger," Thomas said, quietly to Harris. He looked at her, no doubt evaluating her ethnicity. Then to Ginger he asked, "What's your real name, dear?"

  Ginger sat up a moment and said, "Gretel Dumbrowski. Not too jazzy, is it? Please, call me Ginger."

  "Sure," Harris said. "Why don't we start with how you knew Miss Jorgensen?"

  Ginger stretched out some and looked down at the floor, "Ah, see, we met about a year ago, when I started singing at Valent's. Jack got the gig as the house band, and we played there twice a week. We were on the road last summer but came back and started playing again. Have you two ever seen us?"

  "No," Harris said. "I haven't had the opportunity. Miss Jorgensen—did you meet her there?"

  "Actually, the first time I remember seeing her was in New York. She was with the designer she was dating. The one that was killed. Oh, that's kind of scary, isn't it? He knew Jack, and they met us after a gig one night at a party."

  "You two became friends, then?"

  "Sure, she was a sweet girl. Real open and fun to be with. Spent a lot of time together, late night at parties and things," Ginger said, reaching down and fixing one her slippers.

  Thomas asked, "How long have the two of you been living in the same building?"

  "Isn't this a great place? She said about six months ago there was an apartment opening up. Young women don't usually live alone, but we thought with both of us here it would be better." Suddenly she looked up at the two of them. "You don't think they'd come after me now, do you?"

  "No, there's very small chance of that," Harris said. "Anyway, go on."

  "Not much to tell, really. We became friends and often had breakfast together."

  "When was the last time you saw Miss Jorgensen before today?" Thomas asked.

  "Last night, at the club. She came in with a young man and had dinner and danced some. He wasn't much of a dancer, from what I could tell. It's like he read the steps in a book and was trying to remember them. We were playing hot last night. Say, if you're interested, why don't the two of you drop by? First set's at 9:00."

  "No, thank you," Thomas said. "So what did you notice about the man she was with? Had you seen him before?"

  "Oh, wait, when I came home, he was leaving the building. I knocked on Gloria's door, and she opened it. She looked sad. We didn't say much, just that she would have breakfast with me in the morning."

  "Sad? How do you mean?" Thomas asked.

  "I don't know, maybe she had been crying a few minutes before. She said he was a gentleman. Understand?" she said turning her head to the side, rubbing her hands across her thighs.

  Harris knew what that meant. "This was the same man at the club?"
<
br />   "Yes, that's what's odd. I hadn't seen him before last night, and he looked young for her. Kind of plain, you know. Not her type."

  "Not her type?" Harris asked.

  "Well, what I mean is, I mean I only knew her when she was seeing Jackson, but Gloria liked nice things. This fella didn't seem to be right, understand?"

  Actually, Harris did. He knew enough to know that people tended to stay within their personalities, and who they associated with followed that trait. A person wants to be with others they are familiar and comfortable with. "Can you describe what he looked like?"

  "Below average height. Dark hair, kind of a boyish face. Slender. They were dancing and the lights were down." Ginger placed a well-manicured hand on her thigh as she thought about the question. "Gloria was by the stage when I came out. I didn't know she was going to be there at all. There were only a few couples out dancing. You know, people don't like to be the only ones out there."

  "Did Gloria go there often?" Thomas asked.

  "When she's in town, I'd say once a week. Everyone knew her there. She was real pretty. I think the boys in the band were sweet on her." Ginger put her hands on her face. "This is real bad, isn't it, fellas?"

  "Sure is," Harris said. "Hate to see this kind of thing happen."

  "Gloria and I talked a number of times. She came from over by the coal yards."

  "That so?" Thomas said. Everyone knew those were the worst slums in the city, a world away from where they were now. After the flu epidemic wiped out half the people there, they forced everyone out and burned it all down.

  "She told me once when she came back from seeing her mother. I found her sitting on the floor in her apartment with the radio on. I went in and hugged her and asked her what was going on, and she told me about growing up. Nothing to eat, her mother leaving her for days at a time, and showing up at odd hours. Gloria was on her own since she was a girl."

  "Know where her mother lives now?" Harris asked.

  "No, I don't. Gloria said she was never going to visit her again. As far as she was concerned, she had no mother." Ginger straightened her back and exhaled. "If it hadn't been for Mr. McBride, who knows what would have happened to her?"

  Thomas stopped writing in his notebook with his pen poised above the page.

  "So anyway, I saw her last night, and," Ginger started to say.

  "Back up a moment," Harris said. "Could you talk about her connection with McBride?"

  "Well, I don't know much. Just that she worked for him for a number of years. She never talked about it, except to say she had known him and he helped her out."

  "How? How did he help her out?" Thomas asked.

  "Gosh, she never went into detail." Ginger stretched again, and placed her chin in her hands, looking like the nightclub singer she was. "She just said she owed him for everything she had."

  15

  When Eddie arrived at work and put his belongings in his locker, the first thing that anyone said to him was that he was to report to Mr. Aron's office. Other than to clean, the only other time he had actually been in the office was when he was hired. Mr. Aron had personally talked to him and hired him on the spot. To be called up there, no matter how congenial the man, was not something to be looked forward to. He went up the stairs and walked around the aisle until he could see the office. At that moment, he stopped in his tracks when he recognized Harris and the policeman he had met before. He continued on, knowing he had no choice. Even if he had tried, Eddie could not help but look back at the catwalk where he had been when this all started.

  He came up to the office and Harris and the policeman had their back to him. Mr. Aron said something to them, and the two men turned around and looked in his direction. A few comments were exchanged between them, and Mr. Aron stepped out of the office and met Eddie on the walkway. He put his hand on Eddie's shoulder and said, "I'm not sure what they want, son, but I think you need to cooperate with them." Mr. Aron continued on by, and Eddie entered the office.

  "Eddie, I'm sure you remember Detective Thomas," Harris said. The three of them stood facing each other in a kind of uneasy standoff. Thomas moved over and closed the office door.

  "Have a seat," Thomas said to Eddie.

  Eddie sat down, while Harris made a space on the corner of the desk. Thomas stayed by the door. "What can I do for you?" Eddie said, trying to sound confident, but instead finding his voice thin and reedy.

  "It's been quite a few days, hasn't it?" Harris began.

  Eddie could not help noticing the collar of Harris's shirt. It was all frayed and wrinkled, also showing the signs of being a cheap shirt to start with. Much less quality than the shirts they made at Aron's. After observing the collar, he looked back at Harris. "It's been difficult, but I'm doing fine," Eddie said.

  "Good to hear. Have you thought any more about what happened that night? Any other information you want to pass along?" Harris asked.

  "No. As far as I can remember, it happened just as I told you before."

  Thomas shifted from foot to foot, and put his hands behind his back. There was no mistaking that Thomas was a cop, with the dull blue suit and dark tie. The shirt, though, looked to be in better shape than Harris's. "I read your description of the murder," Thomas said, in a slight Boston accent. "Sound's like you were caught in the middle, the way you describe it."

  Eddie looked at Harris, shocked that anyone else had inside knowledge of what happened. What he had reported to Harris was supposed to be confidential. No one else was even supposed to know he was there when it happened. Harris must have sensed his dismay because he held up his hand and said, "It's all right. I told him about what you said about McBride."

  "I thought that was a private conversation between the two of us," Eddie said.

  "To do my job means I have to share certain information. I take the responsibility seriously, and I’m very careful about who knows what," Harris said. "We can trust Thomas."

  "I could have been killed a few feet from this door, but for some reason I wasn't."

  "Why do you suppose that was?" Harris asked.

  Eddie was still apprehensive about talking about McBride with Thomas in the room, but he knew there was no other choice. "I've thought about it, and I don't have an answer."

  "You said McBride's men were shooting at you. Then were told to stop," Harris said.

  He played the incident back through his mind and made sure he had it all straight. The sounds of their voices were still clear. Then the firing started. At that point, there was too much commotion to see what was going on, but when McBride called him down he had a good look at their faces. "For some reason, he ordered them to stop firing. I was trying to hide behind the shirts, but they kept shooting through them."

  "Did McBride say anything at all about letting you go?" Thomas said.

  "He just told me to forget about what happened."

  "Or else?" Harris said.

  "He didn't say." Eddie had gone over all this before with Harris and knew there had to be another reason for the questioning. "I think they mentioned O'Connor."

  "O'Connor? What about him?" Harris asked. The mention of the name made Thomas lean forward.

  "I couldn't tell. I thought maybe it was one of the men with McBride," Eddie said. The name meant nothing to him, but apparently was important to Harris and Thomas.

  "O'Connor's another mob boss. He's run this town for years," Thomas said. He crossed his arms and paced a few steps away.

  "Hm," Harris muttered, looking at Thomas. Harris looked out the window of the office to the work going on below and stayed there with his back to Eddie for a few moments.

  "Hey, I don't know why he let me go. I was right there, and they had me trapped, and he told them to stop firing," Eddie said. Harris stayed at the window, appearing not to hear what had been said.

  "How well did you know Jackson LaRue?" he asked finally.

  "I barely knew him. A
bout all I did was clean his office. He was only here about half the time."

  "How would you describe him?" Thomas asked.

  Eddie was not sure what this meant, whether that was a physical or personal description. "I hadn't thought about it much. He seemed to know what he was doing. As far as what he did, I don't know much about fashion, but I think Mr.Aron liked his work."

  Harris turned around from the window and paced back to the desk. "How would you describe him physically? What did he look like?"

  "Well, about five ten. Dark hair," Eddie said, doing his best to remember exactly what he looked like.

  "That's a wide open description for a man you saw about every other day," Thomas said.

  Eddie put his hands in his lap, not realizing how tight his shoulders had been since he had sat down. Try as he might, they would not relax. "Like I said, I never talked to him directly. I almost always saw him from below, in his office."

  "Nice clothes?" Harris asked.

  "I imagine. That's the business he was in. Sure."

  Harris picked up a pen from Mr. Aron's desk and toyed with it a moment, then put it back. "Eddie, be honest with us here. We want you to tell us everything you know about Jackson LaRue. His friends and family."

  Eddie was out of things to say about Mr. LaRue. He had never spoken to the man, or spent time with him. "Mr. Harris, I didn't have anything to—" Eddie started to say. Then, of course, he figured out what they were driving at. As soon as he knew, he could tell by the quiet way Thomas was leaning against the wall and how Harris stared down at him that that was the reason they were questioning him. "You want to know about Gloria."

  "You know her?" Thomas asked.

  "I, uh, only met her a few days ago."

  "Go on. How well have you gotten to know her?" Harris asked.

  "Not well. We went out once. Last night. I doubt if we'll see each other again," Eddie said.

  "Where did the two of you go?" Thomas asked.

  "We went to Valent's for dinner, and then I walked her back to her place. That was it."

  "Valent's," Harris said. "That's a nice place on your salary."

  "It cost me almost a week's pay. It was a mistake for me to go there. I don't know how she affords places like that. Besides, it was one date. That's where she wanted to go, so I took her. You have to understand that," Eddie said. There was no response from either of the other two. "Really, I just met her. She stopped by my place to place a phone call, and..."

  "Oh, so she came over to your place? I thought this was just one date," Thomas said.

  "Okay, okay. When we met, we rode the trolley over to my side of town. She was going to meet someone, and she wanted to call before she went over. I let her use my phone."

  "I think there's more here than the kid's telling," Thomas said to Harris.

  "Agreed. We're not getting the full answer," Harris said. "What else happened on the date? Anyone see you two together?"

  Eddie was stunned. That was all there was. They had to understand there was nothing else to it. "We went to Valent's. We danced. Gloria said she knew the singer. I guess she might recognize me. Then I walked her back to her apartment, and I went in for a few minutes, then left. There is nothing else."

  "A young buck like you doesn't go into a pretty girl's apartment and turn around and leave," Thomas said.

  "What is this? We kissed a few times, sitting on the couch. She gave me a glass of whiskey. I left a few minutes later." Eddie could not remember if anything else had happened, and sitting here talking to the two of them, he was beginning to doubt what he was telling them.

  "See, Eddie," Harris said, getting up from the desk and standing in front of him. "Here's our problem. A friend of Gloria's, the singer, found her dead in her apartment. The woman was the singer at the club, and she described you fairly well. Let me ask you this. Are you missing your wallet?"

  "What?"

  "Your wallet. Did you lose it?"

  "Uh, yes, I did."

  "We found the wallet on the couch, next to Gloria. I got a problem now," Harris said. "I got two dead bodies that have a connection to each other, and you were with both of them."

  "What? Dead?" Eddie said. This entire incident had gone too far. When he had left her the night before, there had been no doubt they would not go out again, but this did not add up. It must have happened not long after he left. "I have no idea who would have done this."

  "Eddie," Thomas said, looking at the floor. "The part you ain't getting is that you are the prime suspect in both these murders now. We got possible evidence placing you at the scene about the times of both murders."

  "Honestly, you don't believe this, do you?" Eddie asked Harris.

  "This is where it stands," Harris said.

  "What do you mean? This just is not possible. We went out once, and she was very much alive when I left. I must have dropped my wallet when I was sitting there. There's no proof I did it, I mean, just because my wallet was there doesn't mean I did it." Eddie was sure this had been an evil coincidence of some sort, like when Mr. LaRue had been killed. "I had to be set up some way."

  "Come on," Thomas said, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. "We'll take a ride down to the station, hold you for a few days, and see if your memory returns."

  Eddie flashed back to all the previous times he had seen this, and remembered what one of the lawyers had said. Throw a bluff for time, often the cops will be stopped. "Let me call my lawyer. I'm not talking down there without him. You don't have any evidence to say I did it. I was there, but I left. Gloria was alive. The singer saw me leave."

  "A lawyer? Come on, let's go," Thomas said, though he did stop and did not open the cuffs.

  "I saw the singer when I was leaving the building. Talk to her. Gloria was still alive when I left. We kissed, and she was upset about something she wouldn't talk about. But I left. You don't have a motive, a weapon, or anything that points to me killing her." Eddie knew he had them on that. There was no solid evidence pointing towards him, other than being in the same place as the murders. He knew it looked funny to have been there for both, but nothing supporting him committing the crime. Thomas tapped the cuffs in his hands, and Eddie guessed that if the cop really wanted to drag him downtown and lock him up, there was nothing he could do about it.

  Harris held his hand up a moment, and Thomas backed away a step. "Yes, we would need more to arrest you."

  "Did you talk to the singer?" Eddie asked.

  "We did, and you're right, she saw you," Harris said standing up, straightening his rumpled suit coat and shabby tie. "All that means is that you left as you said. She was killed not long after, which puts you in a bad spot. Right? Thomas? Anything else."

  "We're going to keep an eye on you over the next few days. Don't be surprised if we call you in for questioning," Thomas said, putting the cuffs back. He stepped over to where he was about a foot from Eddie's face. "I don't care what anyone says, but it all looks too convenient."

  The two of them left, leaving the door open. Eddie stayed there a few moments, and then found his way out of the office and back down to the factory floor.

  16

  The remainder of the workday was a blur as Eddie continually recounted the previous evening in his head. That afternoon, Eddie left the plant at his usual time and went to the trolley stop, where he sat down on the bench. Coworkers came by and said hello, to which he replied with a halfhearted wave. It was only three days ago that he had met her at the same stop and started a conversation. The thought that they had sat on the couch together only the night before was unreal. She had been murdered within hours, maybe minutes, of him being there, and the thought occurred to him that the murderer may have been waiting outside, or even in the apartment.

  The trolley pulled up and Eddie got on. Not finding a seat, he stood in the aisle and hung onto the handle as they went about making the stops. Lit
tle more than a month ago, he had been enjoying a life that consisted of working and going to class. In every aspect, he had been looking like a young man who had begun his adult life and was seeing that he gave himself the best chance possible. Now, in the span of a few days, he had been involved in some way with two murders. Though Harris did not come right out and say it, Eddie knew they thought he had done it. He could have lied, but the wallet and the singer at the club both proved he was with her last night. The trolley began to clear out and Eddie sat down in a rear-facing seat in the middle. An older woman, oblivious to the others, was looking straight at him. Eddie could see her staring at him out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't do it," he almost said aloud.

  Eddie stepped off the trolley and decided he needed to talk to Herman. He knew Herman's advice would not be the best, but he had to talk to somebody about what had happened over the last couple of days. Eddie came to Herman's apartment building and found he was not home yet. As he was sitting down on the stoop in front, he saw Herman coming up the sidewalk, his coveralls spattered in oil and dirt from the days work at the garage.

  "Hey, friend," Herman said, spinning his door keys from his finger. He came up the steps and continued straight to his door. Eddie followed him into his apartment. "We had to pull an engine today, and we just could not get the bolts loose from the transmission. They were rusted down tight, took us most of the day."

  Herman went to his icebox and reached in the back to pull out a couple of cold beers. He popped them open on a bottle opener attached to the kitchen cabinet and handed one to Eddie. "Where'd you get these?"

  "My cousin. Knows this old man up in the woods still brewing a few now and then, I guess. Illegal's the best kind, right?" Herman took a long satisfying drink of the beer and sat down in one of the two chairs in the living area of the apartment. "How's your problem with the mob?"

  "Funny you should ask," Eddie said, settling into a seat, an old, worn-out dining room chair long since separated from a set.

  "This can't be good," Herman said, taking another drink and placing the half-empty bottle on the floor.

  "Last night I went out with a girl," Eddie started.

  "Pretty?" Herman asked.

  "Yes, very. That's kind of the problem." Eddie stood up and walked over to the small metal sink in the kitchen area of the apartment.

  "Where did you go?" Herman asked.

  Eddie stayed there for a moment, looking at the few dirty dishes sitting in the washbasin. "We went to Valent's." Herman made a low whistle. "Out of my normal price range, but that's what I mean. We went there and had dinner and danced, and now she's dead."

  "Huh?" Herman picked up the beer bottle and took another drink. "What do you mean, dead? Wait, you went to dinner, and now she's dead. You're not making any sense."

  "I know, it doesn't make sense, any of it. I met her on the trolley, we went out, and she was alive when I left her place, but now she's not. The cops are on me."

  "Hold on," Herman said. He stood up from the chair and went to the window where he turned around and faced Eddie. "Just a minute. Back up. Start at the beginning. Who was she and where did you meet her?"

  "She's—she was—Mr. LaRue's girl." Eddie had never seen Herman make the expression he did. Herman had come away from the windowsill and had both hands on his face, palms pressed against his cheeks. There had never been a time when Eddie remembered Herman being speechless. "She met me after work, we started talking, and she rode over to my side of town. Anyway, she seemed interested in me, I didn't—wasn't."

  "Wait. Get to it. What happened?

  "Herman, she was beautiful, a real sharp gal. I thought she was lonely. I don't meet girls like her," Eddie said. Herman had dropped his hands from his face, but his mouth was still hanging open. "So, we went to Valent's and ate and danced. I walked her back to her place."

  "Go on, what happened?" Herman said.

  "We had a drink, kissed some, and then I left," Eddie said.

  "Left? What do you mean? You don't kiss a girl at her place and just leave," Herman said.

  "It wasn't right, you know? She was out with me, a stock boy, and she's a party girl. Went out with a fashion designer." Eddie came back to the chair he had been in before. This had played over in his mind the entire time since he left her place. "It didn't make sense. She cried when I was there, Herman. She cried."

  "Well, okay, that's something." He sat down as well.

  "She cried and got real sad. I said, knew, whatever was going on, I mean, there was no way we could have any kind of relationship. Then she said something strange. She said I know how to survive and when to run."

  "That's a new one. How do you know she's dead?" Herman said.

  "Cops came and talked to me. They found my wallet at her place," Eddie said.

  "Oh, goddamn it. Oh goddamn," Herman said. This time he went over to the sink and put his head down. "Shit, this is bad." He turned around.

  They stayed like that until Eddie thought Herman was going to pass out. "I think I've been set up."

  "McBride. Oh, goddamn," Herman said quietly. "You need a lawyer. I got a cousin that got drunk and wrecked his car one time, he called this lawyer and he got him off. I'll get his name."

  "I didn't wreck a car. They think I murdered her. No lawyer'll be able to take care of that. My wallet was there. I was there."

  "The cops, can't trust 'em. Eddie, you have to shut up about this. You can't tell nobody else. I'll get the lawyer's name. Don't talk to the cops 'til I you talk to him. They can try whatever they want. You know how the cops are. They make shit up and toss people in jail just to look like they're doing their job."

  Eddie turned this over in his mind. Going through the court system was hell last time, and he was not accused of murder. The prospect was bleak, no matter how he looked at it, no matter how talented this lawyer might be, but he had to get whatever protection he could. "Sure, give me his name. I need to do something."

  17

  Harris had been sitting in his office, looking at the stack of folders in his chair. Each one was a new case that had opened in the last week, adding to the stack that was on the table behind his desk and the ones that were on his assistant's desk. He had been sitting there for about fifteen minutes, trying to figure out how he was possibly going to take care of all them. He needed more staff, but the city budget was not going to allow it. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending how he looked at it), he had no social life and was not married, so he could devote his time to working on these cases.

  Harris let out a quiet sigh and thought back to when he was in law school, proclaiming to all his classmates that he was going to be a city prosecutor. His professors and classmates told him that it was a quick way to high stress and low pay. He had decided to not follow them into the private sector or academia. He had a knack for research and could have gone into teaching, having worked for the law library and helped many of the professors while in school. He reached over and carefully pulled one of the files out of the stack. The pile began to slide over, and he reached over with his other hand to prevent them from falling onto the floor, and in the process, he dropped the one he was trying to get. Harris was scrambling around on the floor picking up the papers when he noticed a pair of feet in his doorway. He looked up and saw that it was his secretary staring down at him.

  "An Officer Thomas to see you," she said, as he slowly got to his feet.

  "Okay," he said as she went away. Thomas stepped into his office and closed the door behind him.

  "We didn't get much of a chance to talk about the kid this morning," Thomas said.

  Harris was going to ask him to sit down, but all the chairs except the one at his desk were covered. He quickly emptied one off and indicated for him to have a seat. Harris sat down behind his desk and leaned back. "Of course. Not sure what to think of him. As near as I could tell, he was telling the truth. I mean,
he said he was there, said he went out with her."

  Thomas opened his hands, in a questioning gesture.

  "Exactly," Harris said.

  "A person like this is usually lying. You know, seen it dozens of times. He gets in trouble and tells a fairly good lie. You keep diggin', and guess what, there's all this stuff he forgot to tell you. This wouldn't be the first time."

  The entire episode seemed too obvious to Harris. "You really think this person could have done this?"

  "I seen it before. He looks all innocent. Tells a good story. I mean, how much do we really know about him? Have we looked into his background, who he pals around with?" Thomas said.

  Harris had respect for Thomas, a man who had been on the police force for over twenty years. Since Prohibition had come along, organized crime had been on the rise, and Harris had found it hard to figure out who to trust. One of the first things he did was find out who had a tough-but-honest reputation. In the short time he had been there, Thomas had always been up front with him. "Why? Truthfully, what's he got to gain from all this?"

  "Hell if I know. Until we know more about him, how're we to know? For all we know, he could be working for McBride. One of his runaround punks, causin' trouble for us," Thomas said.

  Harris put his feet up on the desk. He had always been good at sizing people up, and his impression of Eddie was that he ended up in the wrong place. "The date with Gloria doesn't make sense. What do we know about her?"

  "Not much. We checked out the restaurant. Seems her and this LaRue would go there all the time. You're somebody, if you're goin' there regular. Anyway, we asked a few questions, and she was the real friendly type. With the boys. A pretty girl that liked parties."

  "And Eddie? What's your impression of him?"

  Thomas tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair a few times. "Sure, I know where you're goin'. On the surface, it don't make a damn bit of sense."

  Harris put his feet back down on the floor and leaned on the desk. He pushed a few stacks of folders and took the one that he had been working on. Eddie's case. He opened it to the front and began to scan through the pages. "We don't have much yet, do we?"

  "We don't have shit, and we ain't gonna get shit until we start working the case. We gotta talk to his pals, coworkers. Let's get together tomorrow morning and lay out a strategy."

  "Tomorrow's good. This going to be in the morning papers?" Harris asked. He already knew the answer, and knew the mayor would be on the phone before ten to yell at him about how his city was being torn apart.

  "I'm sure it's being printed already. Those press clowns don't miss a juicy story. Party girl gets raped and murdered."

  That was a fact he had forgotten since they visited her apartment that morning. There had been no communication with the coroner's office, so he had not heard an official report. "You sure about that?"

  "Talked to the staff in the basement before I came over. Looks like your boy's got some trouble ahead of him."

  This was the worst possible thing he could have heard. Now he had a rapist and murderer out there. The media was sure to splash this all over the front page, and the public couldn’t care less about a fair trial. Harris could see this turn into a circus, with Eddie in the middle. Even if he was innocent, once they started the trial, the jury would just be looking to convict anyone who was on the stand. "It's getting late. Let's talk about it in the morning."

  "Sure," Thomas said and he got up to leave.

  "One thing," Harris asked before he stepped out the door. "What do you think of talking to McBride?"

  Thomas shook his head. "I know it's gotta be done, but that's a tough one."

  "I'll do it myself. I understand if you don't want to be included."

  "Sure. He's more likely to talk to you alone than both of us." Thomas left the office.

  After their strategy meeting tomorrow, Harris was planning to track down McBride and have a few words with him. He looked out the window to the street below and saw the lights beginning to come on. The file he had dropped on the floor earlier was lying on the table behind him. He opened it up and began to run through the details of an attempted armed robbery that took place at a small grocery store. The man got away with about ten dollars and was identified a few miles away standing on a street corner wearing a new coat. If only all the crimes were that easy to figure out.

  18

  Harris had just arrived at his office when he was told there was a call waiting for him. He unlocked his office and tossed his overcoat and hat into a chair in the corner. They crumpled out of the seat and onto the floor, along with a few file folders. Harris noticed this but decided to take the call first. He picked up the receiver. "Harris. Put the call through."

  There were a series of clicks, then "Hello?"

  "Harris. What can I do for you?"

  "This is Thomas. We found out where the girl's mother lives. Wanna go pay her a visit?"

  "Sounds like a good idea. We can talk on the way over."

  "I'm goin' over to the girl's apartment first for a few minutes," Thomas said.

  "Good, meet me downstairs when you get in." Harris hung up the phone and did his best to straighten up his desk before meeting Thomas downstairs. Despite the evidence, Harris still felt McBride had her taken care of, rather than Eddie killing her. McBride was now a few steps ahead of him. The man certainly would know how to cover his tracks, so Harris would have to do the best he could. What worried Harris more than anything else was that he knew McBride had political ambitions, as he had stated to the press a few times. His wealth and influence had gained considerable momentum in the past few years, and now he was setting himself up for further power. If someone like that were running a city, it would be complete chaos. Right now, his only clear link was the kid who saw the murder. Harris was not sure why McBride had not killed Eddie when he had the chance, since men like that seldom leave problems hanging. Possibly Eddie was working for McBride, but this did not make sense. He had to convince himself to keep to the facts for the time being. They would have to keep digging until a clearer answer came up. It was then that one of his assistants came to the door and tossed a newspaper on his desk.

  "Looks like you made the front page," the assistant said then left the office.

  In bold letters, in an article along the right side was the title, MURDER OF YOUNG SOCIALITE. Harris scanned through the article and was relieved to learn nothing had been said about the rape. Possibly the editors never mentioned that in print, but Harris knew that word would get around nonetheless. Towards the bottom was a paragraph stating, "Jerome Harris is working the case personally, but so far these types of crimes are continuing unchecked." This stung, though he had always tried to ignore such comments. Harris put the paper down on his desk and looked at the title for a moment. The mayor was going to be calling any minute, which would take up half the morning, so he needed to leave the office as soon as possible. He got up and grabbed his coat and hat. Right now, he had more important things to do than be yelled at by the fat ignoramus of a backslapper that was his boss. "I'll be out the rest of the morning," he informed the secretary as he walked by her desk. "If Porter calls, tell him I'm working on the Jorgenson girl's case."

  Harris met with Thomas a few minutes later. Once they were under way, Thomas said, "I talked to the landlord this morning, told him we'd want to see him."

  "Let's go there first. I'm going to contact McBride later today. I have a feeling he won't want to talk to me without his lawyer, so it may be a couple of days before I can see him," Harris said. Men like McBride rarely approached a legal issue without a few lawyers in tow, so Harris had no choice but to do his best to talk to him as soon as he could. He was expecting a hostile reaction.

  About fifteen minutes later, Harris and Thomas were standing in front of the very upset landlord who ran Gloria's apartment building.

  "Sir, we need to look in her apartment,"
Thomas said to the man.

  "This is highly irregular," the landlord said. He was a skinny, older man, obviously not accustomed to having authorities appearing at his building in the morning.

  Harris knew this was a minor impasse, and the man would have to let them through. "We need to search her apartment again and talk to you about Miss Jorgenson," Harris said.

  "Well, all right. Please be as quiet as you can."

  The landlord led them up the stairs to the second floor. He opened the door and let them in. Harris went to the picture of Gloria and LaRue, a formal portrait with him sitting in a chair, with Gloria standing. "Is this Miss Jorgenson?" he asked the landlord, pointing to the woman in the picture.

  "Yes," the landlord said. He looked to be in a state of shock, no doubt wondering how he was ever going to rent the apartment again. Others in the building would be frightened by this, since they had moved there to get away from crime problems.

  Thomas came over to them and looked at the photo. "Nice lookin' broad," he said.

  "Did she have any visitors?" Harris asked.

  "She always did. She was a good tenant, but people were always stopping by. This gentleman was here quite often. Nice looking young women always attract attention."

  The landlord was carefully walking through the apartment. "Do you know if she has any family in town?" Harris asked him.

  "She did list a mother on her application, but I didn't really pay attention," the landlord said. He was looking at the kitchen to see if there was any damage.

  "We're seein' her next. Lives over by the docks," Thomas said.

  Harris felt a queasiness in his belly. The landlord turned. "She's moved quite a ways from that."

  Thomas took a quick look around the room. His facial expression indicated his concurrence. The landlord had moved to the back of the apartment in the bedroom, but came out in a few moments. "Had you talked to her very often?" Harris asked.

  "Only a few times. She kept very late hours, and me and the missus were usually asleep by then," the landlord said. He was still moving around the room, looking for minor damage, though the apartment was in very clean condition.

  "Did you ever see her coming and going with anyone else besides the man in this picture?" Harris asked.

  "Sure. I'd see her with Miss Dupree, the woman upstairs, the singer."

  "Ginger?" Thomas asked.

  "That's the one. They'd go in and out together sometimes, but it might be days before I would see her. The people who live here like their privacy," the landlord said, apparently finishing his survey. He was standing next to Thomas with his hands folded in front of his chest.

  "Any idea what she did for a living?" Thomas asked. "Young women her age generally can't afford a place like this."

  "Sir, all we ask is that the tenants pay their rent on time, and she always did."

  "Still, you must have been curious," Harris said.

  The landlord moved a few steps away and appeared to be interested in the furniture in the room. "True, but it was never my place to ask. So I didn't."

  "Two nights ago, did you notice anything unusual?"

  He remained a few steps away and again folded his hands in front of himself. He thought for a moment and had a lost look on his face. "I'm afraid not. If it was past nine o'clock, I would have been asleep."

  Harris looked at Thomas. "I don't think there's much else here for us." Then to the landlord, he said, "We'll be in touch if we need anything."