Sunday morning, July 13, 1947
I didn’t have a hangover the next morning, but my mind was spinning and I hadn’t slept well. After a hot shower and a shave, two cups of strong, black coffee, and a banana, I retrieved the Sentinel from my doorstep and glanced at it. Shelby Berkett’s death was on the front page. I set the newspaper aside, planning to read it later. I needed to call my mother and let her know there would be no matinee today. Fortunately for me, she had also seen the morning paper and was basically understanding, as long as I promised to take her somewhere nice soon. I hung up and dialed my aunt Verbina. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, Auntie.”
“Heath, I’ve been waiting for your call. I couldn’t sleep a wink last night. What on earth happened?”
“Did you see the morning Sentinel?”
“Of course I did, and I read every word. Shelby Berkett died onstage, and circumstances look suspicious, or something like that.”
“Something like that indeed, Aunt ’Bina.”
“Absolutely shocking. I suppose you can’t talk about it.”
“No, sorry. Police business.”
“I figured you’d say that. Be careful, dear.”
“I always am.”
“I finally met your Mr. Keyes, anyway. He followed your orders to hustle me away and put me into a cab.”
“I wanted to make sure you were out of harm’s way. And from what I hear, you weren’t alone in that cab.”
“Mr. Keyes likes to gossip, doesn’t he?”
“He’s just being a good policeman, reporting what he sees.”
“Well, Mr. Finch shared the cab with me, but that’s all. We said good night out front of my building. We might be having lunch next week at his club. But enough about that—how did this Mr. Berkett die? Was it murder?”
“Circumstances look suspicious, but nothing has been determined at this time.”
“And that’s all you’re going to say?”
“Afraid so.”
“Humph. That Mr. Keyes wouldn’t tell me anything last night, either.”
“Like I said, he’s a good policeman.”
“He’s also quite dashing. I’ve never seen such blue eyes.”
“Oliver Crane, the director, has stunning blue eyes.”
“Perhaps, but I bet he can’t hold a candle in the looks department to that young policeman of yours. I can see why you find him so fetching.”
“Auntie, I have a private line, but you don’t,” I said.
“Oh, yes. I keep forgetting. But I can usually hear if someone picks up. Anyway, I want to meet Alan Keyes properly soon, do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am. I’d like that.”
“Good, so would I.”
“I need to get going now. Crime doesn’t wait on me.”
“All right, dear, but keep me posted. And again, be careful. And tell Mr. Keyes to be careful, too.”
I smiled. “I will do that.” I hung up the phone, grabbed my hat, and headed to the station.
After checking in at the desk, my first stop was Cornelius Leslie Fletcher’s office on two. I knew it was still early, but I hoped he had turned something up.
I rapped on the door and didn’t wait for an answer as I went in. His office looked like more of a laboratory, with equipment, beakers, test tubes, and papers of all sorts strewn about in a disorderly fashion that I’m sure made sense only to him. The actual police lab was in the basement, just off the morgue. The morgue wasn’t my favorite place, but Fletch seemed to love it down there. He was an odd fellow, but a good friend, and someone I could trust. He glanced up at me as I barged in, setting aside the microscope he was peering into and standing up straight to greet me.
“Morning, Heath.”
“Good morning, Fletch. What’s new?” I said, closing the door behind me.
“Well, I’m working on a beautiful Sunday morning, for one thing,” he said sarcastically.
“Right, but as we always say, crime doesn’t punch a clock.”
“And neither do we, obviously. I understand you’re officially on the Shelby Berkett case now. Nice work.”
I grinned. “Thanks, but Green was actually relieved to have me take over since his daughter is sick.”
“Yeah, I heard that, too. He called in today. It sounds like she’s going to be okay, though. The fever broke early this morning.”
“Glad to hear it. So, have you finished the autopsy?”
Fletch pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked directly at me. “You detectives seem to think I can just wave a magic wand and complete all the tests I need. Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.”
“Sorry. You know, I guess I don’t really know. What exactly do you do, anyway?”
He crossed his arms and stared at me. “Well, thanks for finally asking. Autopsies are time consuming and exact. They can’t be rushed, no matter how much you may insist. I have to remove and dissect the chest, abdominal, and pelvic organs, sometimes even the brain, depending on what I’m looking for. Then I remove the rib cage and free the intestines by cutting along the attachment tissue. The connections to the esophagus, larynx, arteries and ligaments have to be severed, too. I also check the colon and test the bodily fluids, along with the blood, urine, and bile, for drugs, infections, and possible toxins and poisons. And I take tissue samples from just about all the organs, which have to be cataloged and tested individually. I also review and catalog the stomach contents. And that’s just a small part of an autopsy.”
I shuddered and felt a little sick. “Wowzer, I had no idea.”
He shook his head. “No one ever does. Keep that in mind the next time you ask for a rush job. Since it’s you, though, I did put in some extra hours. I got here early this morning while you slept in.”
I smiled, knowing he was teasing me. “I have to get my beauty sleep, you know. I appreciate all you do, Fletch, and no one does it better than you.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Detective. Of course, Taylor and Williams burned the midnight oil on this one also.”
“Rick and Darren are top notch.”
“Yes, they are,” Fletch said. “By the way, Sargent Standish wants to know if this Berkett had any kin. He’s having trouble locating his family.”
“He was staying at the Wisconsin Hotel, but he’s from New York City. I’d check with the director, Oliver Crane. I’m sure he has an emergency contact on file for him.”
“Right. I’ll pass that along,” Fletch said, making a note on his pad.
“Good. In the meantime, how about telling me what you have found so far?”
“Actually, I was just studying the preliminary test results before you barged in. It was definitely poison.”
“So, most likely murder. I figured as much.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did. I’m not surprised in the least, Fletch.”
“Because those doctors at the theater last night said they thought the death was suspicious?”
“Some, but also because of circumstances and experience,” I said.
“Right, and I suppose you know the remains of the teapot and the teacup showed traces of poison, but not the vial.”
“No, I didn’t figure that. Interesting. So, the poison was in the teapot. What kind of poison was it?”
“Potassium cyanide. It’s one of the fastest acting poisons around. It can kill a healthy adult human within a few minutes.”
“That would make sense. Shelby did die fairly quickly after drinking the tea.”
“Cyanide is nasty stuff, Heath. It works by preventing blood from carrying oxygen to the cells and blocking the uptake of oxygen already in the body.”
I shuddered involuntarily. “Sounds like an awful way to die. Where would someone get something like that?”
“It’s not restricted in the United States. It can be ordered from any laboratory or chemical supply company, even some pharmacies. It’s used in gold mining, jewelry, photo developing, even dentistry.”
“So, someone working in a pharmacy might have access to it?”
“Theoretically,” Fletch said. “Depending on the pharmacy and what the person did there. Have a suspect in mind?”
“Perhaps. A fellow by the name of Henry Hawthorne. He works in a pharmacy, and he’s in the play. He also had a grudge against Berkett.”
“Sounds like a strong possibility.”
“Agreed,” I replied, wondering to myself if I wasn’t intentionally trying to build a case against Hawthorne. “Anything else I should know about?”
“Once again, these things take time. Did I not make myself clear before?”
“Sorry. Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine.”
“I would never describe you as virtuous, Heath.”
“Thanks. So, what else do you need to do?”
“Right now I’m waiting for Taylor to finish with that metal pillbox, so I can have a look at it, too.”
“Okay, keep me posted on anything else that turns up, will you? When you find it, of course. No rush.”
“Don’t I always keep you posted?”
“Yes, you always do. I’ll be in the briefing room with Officer Keyes.”
“Of course you will.”
I winked at him and went out, closing the door behind me. Alan was already in the briefing room, seated at the table in the center. And bless his soul, he had a pot of coffee on the sideboard just waiting for us.
“Morning, Officer,” I said.
He glanced up and got to his feet. “Detective. Didn’t you say to meet you at nine thirty?”
I looked over at the big wall clock, which read nine fifty. “Sorry about that. I stopped in to see Fletch first to see if he’d gotten any results back.”
“And?”
“And we have another murder case on our hands, I’d say. Cyanide was found in Shelby’s body, along with the teapot and teacup, but not the vial.”
“Hmmm.”
“My thoughts exactly. Is that coffee I smell?”
“Yeah, I had Rita brew us a pot. I’m already on my second cup. Want some?”
“Don’t ask silly questions, just pour.”
Alan smiled and picked up the pot. He turned one of the white ceramic mugs right side up and poured the lovely brown liquid into it before returning to the table. “I hope it’s still hot enough.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said as I took the mug from him, took a swallow, and felt it go all the way down.
“So?”
“Hot enough.”
Alan laughed. “Good, but I was asking about the poison in the teapot and cup.”
“You tell me.”
“Fair enough. Well, if the vial was clean, the poison had to come from the teapot.”
“Excellent, you may make detective one day.”
“I’m learning, Heath.”
“You are. You have good instincts, and you’re smarter than you think you are. The bigger question is, who put actual poison in the teapot and when?”
“Certainly Jazz Monroe had a motive,” Alan said. “She hated Shelby Berkett for what he did to her, Jasper, and Alex twenty years ago, not to mention what he did to her the night of the party. He humiliated her in front of everyone and gave away her secret.”
“We can’t discount Jasper, either. Out of all the suspects, he had the most access to the teapot at any given time, which in my opinion makes him suspect number one.”
“Yeah, I suppose so, it’s just…”
I held up my hand. “Don’t say it.”
“He’s such a nice man.”
“You had to say it.”
“Well, he is. He just doesn’t seem capable of murder.”
“I think we’ve been down this road before.”
“I know. So, Jasper’s a suspect, too. I must admit he hated Mr. Berkett enough to murder him.”
“He made no secret of that. Who else had a motive?”
“Just about everyone, I’d say. But if they slipped into the prop room, they’d be taking a chance on Jasper catching them.”
“Jasper’s routine is pretty well known amongst the cast and crew, isn’t it?” I said.
“Yeah, sure. Oh, I get it. Pretty much everyone knew he took Pompom out for a walk after he made the tea.”
“Exactly. So who else is on our suspect list?”
“Well, Peter Holloway. He hated Berkett for taking the role of Roger away from Henry, which got him bumped down to the role of the butler. And he thought Shelby was having an affair with Eve.”
“Eve Holloway is also a suspect.”
“Why would she want to kill him?” Alan said. “I believe what she said about her just being kind to him and him taking it the wrong way.”
“I believe it, too, I think. Maybe she’d just had enough of his type. Maybe she wanted to be sure he never tried anything in the future with a woman who wouldn’t or couldn’t fight back. Or maybe he did more to her than we’re aware of.”
“Wowzer. If so, she certainly had a motive,” Alan said.
“Yes, and I can’t say I blame her.”
“Me neither. There’s also Oliver Crane. He sure didn’t seem to like Mr. Berkett since he was making everyone’s life miserable. But that’s a pretty weak reason for killing someone, and I know Mr. Crane is a friend of yours.”
“Friends are still suspects until proven otherwise, you excluded.”
“Okay, so Oliver Crane is on the list, too,” Alan said.
“What’s your opinion on Dick? He certainly had a motive. Shelby treated Jazz poorly over the years, and he virtually ignored Dick. That had to make Dick pretty angry once he found out who Shelby really was.”
“Yeah, sure. But angry enough to kill his own father?”
“It’s been done. Ask Shakespeare.”
“I guess.”
“That leaves Henry.”
Alan looked at me with a queer expression, then glanced back down at his coffee cup. “You think so?”
“Why not? Shelby stole the role of Roger away from him, and then was attempting to steal the movie role away, too. Maybe Henry wanted to do away with the competition and even the score.”
“That would be a motive, but he just doesn’t seem the type.”
“Not that again. Certainly not because you think he’s too nice.”
Alan shook his head. “No. Hank can be a bit mean spirited at times, I admit.”
“Then because he’s young and handsome, is that it? And because he flatters you?”
Alan looked up at me then, hard. “He doesn’t flatter me. He likes me, and I like him.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment as we stared at each other. “There’s something else. You told me Hawthorne works at Lempke’s Pharmacy in West Allis.”
“Yeah, so what?”
“Cyanide isn’t exactly an everyday poison. Someone working in a pharmacy may have had access to it.”
“May have.”
“More so than any of the others, it would seem. So, is Henry Hawthorne a suspect or not?”
Alan slowly came around. “Yeah, I guess he is. He could have done it, I suppose.”
“Good, I agree.”
“But I don’t think he did. He wasn’t near the prop room before the curtain went up, remember? Any of the others could have slipped in and added the poison to the teapot before the show, but Hank and Mr. Berkett were elsewhere.”
“That’s true,” I said, as much as I hated to admit it.
“But Jasper always keeps the prop room locked. If the poison was added to the teapot in there, how would any of them have gotten in?”
I rubbed my chin. “Good question. Who has keys besides Jasper?”
Alan scratched his head. “Hmm, well, Mr. Crane does, and Dick, I’m pretty sure. I think that’s it. Just those three.”
“Just those three. So only Oliver, Dick, and Jasper, huh?”
“I guess that limits your suspect list quite a bit, Heath. Just those three. And Miss Monroe, I suppose, since she could have used Dick’s key.”
“Right. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Hmmm? Oh, I’m just thinking about Dick. Dick, Dick, Dick.”
“Huh?”
“I’m trying to remember back to the party Friday night. Something about Dick and his keys.”
“What about them?”
“Shh, give me a moment.” I closed my eyes. “Dick’s keys. Peter wanted Dick to move his car so he and Eve could leave, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Dick had parked Mr. Holloway in.”
“Yes. And Dick had to get his keys from the dresser in the bedroom.”
“Sure, I remember that. Then Peter took the keys and moved Dick’s car, or rather Jazz’s car.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?” Alan said, cocking his head.
“Because that means everyone at that party had access to Dick’s keys. Anyone could have slipped into the bedroom and removed the key to the prop room without being noticed.”
“But wouldn’t Dick have noticed the key was missing?”
“I imagine he has quite a few keys on that ring. The car ignition, the trunk, a key to their apartment, probably, the supply room, and God knows what else. Chances are he wouldn’t have missed it. Or maybe someone even took the key and left the party to have a key made and then put it back. There’s also that missing putty. Hmmm. Henry made a vodka run.”
“Heath…”
“I’m just theorizing, Alan, not accusing anyone. Though Henry did admit to leaving the apartment for a short time, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but—”
“You said yourself he’s a suspect. So, if someone did take the key or had a copy made…”
“They would have been able to slip in to the prop room easily once Jasper left with Pompom,” Alan said. “Except Mr. Berkett and Hank weren’t over there before the curtain, remember?”
I looked at him, annoyed. “As you keep saying. Conspicuous by their absence, perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” Alan said, staring at me, his mouth tight.
“Well, for now we’ll focus on everyone else. What exactly were the rest of them all up to?” I said as I poured myself another cup of coffee and took a seat at the table.
Alan sat down across from me and flipped open his notebook. All I saw was chicken scratchings, but I knew it was shorthand.
“According to her statement, Miss Monroe had come to get her candelabra that she uses in the first scene, but she said Jasper wasn’t there yet, so she used the bathroom. When she came out, Jasper and Pompom had returned from their walk and were talking to Dick. Per Dick’s statement, he had finished cleaning the auditorium and had put his cleaning equipment away in the supply room. He was going to go down to the basement and had just gotten to the top of the stairs when Jasper and Pompom came in from the alley, so he stopped to talk to them. Mr. Holloway said after he finished with makeup and wardrobe, he stretched out on the sofa there and closed his eyes.”
“Or passed out.”
“More likely, I guess. He did seem pretty intoxicated when Mr. Crane and Dick tried to rouse him.”
“It could have been an act.”
“You think so?”
“I’m told he’s a pretty good actor when he’s sober,” I said. “What was Oliver Crane up to that close to curtain?”
Alan flipped a few pages ahead, studied the page for a moment, and then read aloud. “He said, and I quote, ‘I went to my office to make a phone call. I was only in there five or six minutes.’”
“Did he say who he phoned?”
“No sir, he didn’t. I should have asked him, I suppose.”
“That’s all right. Remind me to follow up on that. And what was Eve Holloway up to? Why was she there? She doesn’t come on until later. I would think she would have still been in her dressing room.”
Alan consulted his notebook once more. “She said she was coming to check on her husband, as he hadn’t looked too well when they first arrived, and it was obvious he had been drinking and / or had taken a few pills.”
“Again, apparently drinking and / or taken pills. Didn’t you say they weren’t speaking to each other?”
“Yes. They certainly weren’t when they first arrived.”
“Yet she took the time to come over and check on him. Interesting. So, that’s the lot of them.”
“I believe so, sir.”
“And Oliver and Dick both helped Peter to his feet, causing his supposedly missing pillbox to fall to the floor.”
“That’s right.”
“You said Oliver surmised it must have slipped out of Peter’s pocket and between the cushions when Peter was lying there a day or so ago.”
“Yes, it makes sense,” Alan said.
“Maybe because someone wants it to make sense. And Oliver locked the empty pillbox away in his office. Was it empty the last time Peter saw it?”
“He seemed to keep it pretty full. But maybe he forgot he took all the pills.”
“Maybe so. Or maybe it’s more smoke and mirrors.”
“Sorry?”
“Just wondering if everything that happened was smoke and mirrors to cover up something else.”
“But what?”
“That remains to be seen. Make a note to ask Oliver and Peter more about that pillbox, too.”
“Right.” Another shorthand scratch went into the notepad.
“So, in the ten minutes or so that Jasper and Pompom were out in the alley, Oliver, Peter, Eve, Jazz, or Dick could have slipped into the prop room and poisoned the teapot.”
“Yes, I suppose any of them could have.”
“And I’m still not discounting Henry, whether you like it or not. Even Jasper still could have done it. In fact, Jasper would have had the easiest time of it.”
“Fine, sure, I suppose so. Heck, even I could have, I guess.”
“Let’s leave that out of the official notes, okay?”
“I just don’t want to be treated any differently,” he said, looking at me with those puppy dog eyes.
I looked at him directly. “Did you murder Shelby Berkett?”
“Gosh, no! I’d never!”
I leaned back. “Good, I believe you.”
“Why?” Alan said, a slight smirk on his face.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I know you, that’s why.”
“And because I’m a nice guy who doesn’t seem capable of murder?”
“All right, Officer, touché. But I know you far better than you know Jasper and Henry, so just leave yourself out of the record.”
“Whatever you say, Detective.”
“Besides, you’re innocent until proven guilty, and I have a strong feeling someone else is going to be proven guilty.”
“Who?”
“I have my suspicions. And speaking of that, what was Mr. Hawthorne doing during all of this commotion, since you keep reminding me he wasn’t near the prop room? You said he was probably in the dressing room. Why did it take him so much longer to get dressed than you?”
Alan flipped a few more pages in his notebook and read aloud. “He said he was inspecting his costumes. That’s when he noticed the hole in his pants that he wears as the brother.”
“And what time was that?”
“Well, I left him about ten after six, so from then until he came up to talk to me and Mr. Crane about the pants, I guess.”
“So, about fifteen minutes. Interesting. I believe Oliver said you can get from one side of the stage to the other by going through the basement, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Hmmm.” I drained the second cup of coffee, got up and set it back on the sideboard as the phone on the table rang.
I picked it up on the second ring. “Barrington here.”
“It’s Fletch, Heath. We’ve got some more results for you.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“The prints on that metal pillbox are from Oliver Crane and Peter Holloway. And it definitely had traces of cyanide in it.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really.”
“You mean you didn’t figure it did?”
“Wise guy. How much of a trace, Fletch? Enough to kill someone?”
“I don’t think so, but maybe. It doesn’t take much.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“Not much in the way of prints on the prop room door, just Jasper Crockett’s and some that were smudged beyond identification. The vial had Jazz Monroe’s, Alan Keyes’s, and Jasper’s prints on it, no one else’s. We found Shelby Berkett’s, Jazz Monroe’s, and Jasper Crockett’s prints on the teapot fragments. Just thought you’d want to know.”
“Always. I owe you big-time for the rush job, Fletch.”
“I’m keeping score.”
“I know you are.”
He laughed. “If anything else turns up, I’ll let you know. Oh, and Sergeant Standish reached Oliver Crane at home. Mr. Crane said Berkett’s contact info is on file in his office at the theater, and he said you have the keys.”
“I do indeed.” I checked my pocket watch. “Tell Standish to tell Mr. Crane Officer Keyes and I will meet him in the alley behind the theater at the stage door at twelve thirty. I’ll be sure and get the contact information to Standish.”
“Will do. See ya, Heath.”
“See ya, Fletch, and thanks again.”
I hung up the phone and filled Alan in on what Fletch had told me.
“What does it all mean, Heath?”
“I’m not sure yet, but we have just enough time to get to the main library on Wisconsin Avenue and do some research on cyanide before we have to meet Oliver.”
“Research?”
“It pays to know what we’re dealing with. Ready to roll?”
“As I always say, if you’re waiting for me, you’re wasting your time!”