| |
Decide right now that you’re not dying because of some idiot. Adopt it as your motto. Have a tattoo of it on your leg – they can use it to identify your body in case you’re wrong.
~Lou Tanner, P.I., Notes for female Pemberton Graduates, 1935
––––––––
BY THE TIME ELLIOTT tossed coins into the ‘Crawler’s meter box, even the Fox Theater had shut off its big sign and locked its doors for the night. Market Street was dark, wet and unfriendly. God, I looked forward to spring.
Elliott wrapped his arms around my arms, holding tight as if I might slip out of his grasp to be lost forever. He didn’t need to. Frankly, the rhythm section pounding my nerves took a smoke break from my head during the ride over. I was fine, and I kept saying so. Elliott wasn’t listening. Pig-headed dope! And I was still furious with him, albeit, distracted at the moment.
Inside the elevator, he slammed the gate closed and hit the button for third floor.
“Mr. Lockwood?”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Well, since you already paid me off, I’m not afraid of agreeing.”
He looked at me with a pained expression.
“Can you to be straight with me, 'cause I’m getting tired of asking. And please, please don’t stare at your shoes. They aren't interesting enough and I doubt you do that in board meetings.”
He huffed a half-laugh. “No, but I do it with my secretaries.”
Secretaries? Plural. Sure, why not, he was a President after all. It explained a great deal: women made him nervous. Great. “Let’s start at the top and end up with the Militia out at the Pointe. Then you can tell me how you were aware of Frannie’s relationship with Valentini? Last, what were you doing there at Valentini's the same night and exact same time she was killed?”
“You, you don’t think I killed her? I hired you to find her. Why would I do it and then kill her?”
I sighed until my lungs ran out of air. Maybe we both needed to be truthful to ourselves tonight. “No, you hired a woman detective with what you assumed was limited experience and likely limited contacts. Remember, you walked into my office, asking me if I was ‘Miss Tanner.’ The sign says, ‘Lou Tanner.” Everyone else in the world thinks I’m just another man. You already knew I was a dame.”
“They’d be wrong to think you’re just another anyone. You’ve got a good memory.”
“I do indeed. Were you banking on me not being the tops in the field of detection? You were, weren’t you? You needed me to be a piece of fluff. Why else did you come to see me, already aware I’m a woman, and so late in the evening. You didn’t want Frannie found as much as you wanted to assure yourself you did something about it. Even if you thought any effort would fail. Is that right?” It hurt to say it. Reality was a very cruel mistress to the unenlightened and distracted, I wanted so bad for him to be more than he obviously was. But Mistress Reality always tells you, the obvious and simplest answer was usually the right one.
Well, at least he didn’t stare at the floor this time. But I read him like a proverbial book. I’d plugged his fakery with the truth and he was bleeding out his embarrassment. “It’s important to you to be seen doing the right things, isn’t it, Elliott?”
“Not only seen,” he softly protested. “I’ve done some awful things, I told you so already. I don’t like making mistakes and, well, the Coventry family was a big one.”
“And your business with the Militia might go south if you appear untrustworthy?”
“They don’t have a good reputation to begin with, the last thing they want is to do business with a man and his family who will cause embarrassment.”
“Most people have no idea what the Militia is up to. I think you should re-think the strategy of doing business with them.”
We stared at each other for a while, having little to say. Good thing this was the world’s slowest elevator. I can climb up three floors faster than this thing crawled up one. My intuition told me he wasn’t a danger, even if, God forbid, he killed Frannie, he wasn't after me.
“You’re right, Lou. I'm not a liar, but, I left things out on purpose.” This he said to me, looking me dead in the eyes. “I — I followed Frannie a couple of weeks ago.”
“Why?”
He took a very deep breath. “I thought she had been arrested by the police.”
I reached over and flipped the switch to the elevator off. We stopped. “Go ahead.”
“A business associate saw her picked up by the police. He promised to keep it quiet. But disagreeable news, when we’re trying to pull in new business with profitable clients?” He annoyingly took an interest in the ironwork of the elevator cage. Damn it.
“Such as the Militia?” I was squeezing as much blood as I could out of that turnip.
“They are respectable and have government funds. I decided, right or wrong, to put my company in front of my own family and spied on Frannie. If she was sleeping around — oh God, if she was selling herself or letting Irenie do so — my whole company would be destroyed by the scandal.”
I nodded, appreciating his fear wasn’t unrealistic. Besides, I was getting the real story now. “Did you actually see her with Willkie Valentini?”
Lockwood nodded. “Worse — I saw him give her a ring. I thought he was giving her a present. You know, the kind of expensive gifts men give to their favorite mistresses. What do they call a gangster’s woman?”
“A moll.”
“Right.”
“Why did you go over to his club, the night Frannie’s died?”
“To ask him to stop seeing her. I offered him money. He laughed at me. I was ready to do anything.”
“Because the scandal would ruin your business?”
He only nodded. After about a mile between his thoughts, he added, “a scandal would ruin me. I already have a divorce finalizing, an ex-wife who holds orgies she euphemistically calls Salons, and an ex-daughter who — well ...”
I chewed on the inside of my mouth, partially as a bad habit I had when I think and partially to distract myself from the throbbing in my arm. “You didn’t realize it was an engagement ring?”
I floored him with that one. His lips parted, and he stared at the elevator gate, then back to me. Slowly, his head bobbed and he moistened his lips. “Now it makes sense. He laughed at me, said things would change for the better. I thought he was suggesting he might take over my business, take my house. I was foolish to believe that. It didn’t occur to me. Engagement? Are you sure?”
“Yes. They were getting married. He was leaving his bigger businesses behind and taking her away from the life she’d been living. I think you understand what's entailed?” For a moment, I thought he was relieved, as his shoulders dropped and his hands unclenched. Was I misreading him? “What?”
“I don’t know why, Lou, but I think I’m glad. Not because she was murdered, of course not, but that she found, well, someone who loved her. She never got that from Irenie. I sure failed on that account. Valentini? I suppose even a gangster ... And he was ...” His words faded off.
Outside, a trolley rolled by and clanged its bell. It was a normalizing sound. I started the elevator moving again.
“Do you think Irenie learned the truth?” I asked.
“You better believe it. Just because I didn’t know ... you have to realize Irenie kept a watch on Frannie. You don’t think Valentini killed her, do you?”
I shook my head. “I saw him when they found her body. Valentini was not the man who’d killed the woman in front of him.”
“Well then, who?” His face contorted. “Oh God, I damn near killed him.”
“I don’t think you would have done it.”
His eyes widened. “I wanted to. I went there to kill him.”
“Like I told you, it wouldn’t have happened. Sorry, but I think you were in over your head tonight. I suspect your heart was in the right place, but your head wasn’t. Willkie Valentini is no one to mess with.”
We passed the second floor.
“How about you tell me about your relationship with the militia?”
Elliott pulled off his fogger and shoved most of it under his arm. That's no way to treat an expensive overcoat. “I can’t tell you much, or, at least I don’t think I can. We imported iron and fittings for them, once. I’ve heard rumors about the Tin Man Project and other crazy plans, but I never believed them..”
I did. I wouldn’t put it past the boys at the Pointe.
“My turn, Lou. Why did you go to visit Valentini tonight if you thought he was innocent?”
There was a quick change of topic. “Because, I am still involved in this case. I’ve already given up my pound of flesh, so now it’s personal. I played my female card from the deck and took whole the hand.” I hoped he’d recognize my Bridge analogy as we finally exited on my floor.
“You are that.”
“A handful?”
“A woman.” He said, stopping in the middle of the corridor. The floor was shiny — the janitor must have come through earlier with a floor polishing ‘Bot.
The elevator headed back down to the ground floor.
I opened the door of my office and ordered him to stay put on the couch. My skin tingled. I was vulnerable. Me, with no rod, in a body-forming gown, and dance shoes — low heeled or not. My skin wanted coverage. Armor.
I only had a pair of trousers needing pressing and a once-worn mock turtle-neck sweater in my desk. I don’t remember when I put them there or why. I kept my eye on the gap in my office door and worried Lockwood might look through as I changed.
Maybe, I didn’t worry too much.
Peering down at the sling I’d left on the desk while changing, my sore arm throbbed up a warning tune, assisted by a drum section in my brain. This was no time to appear weak. I tossed the sling down on my chair.
I loaded up my overcoat with the only things I needed: my badge, cigarette case, and rod. Dusty but practical shoes gave me back the confidence of a rookie cop on his first stake out. And last — I pulled Uncle Joe’s fedora down onto my head.
It was time for that honored chapeau to be worn again — by someone about to make some serious rookie moves. Gotta start practical learning sometime.
Lockwood only raised an eyebrow as I signaled for him to step out into the hallway. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d sneaked a look at me when I was changing.
For only a second, I noticed the scent of cleaner. Only a second. Sound, smell, visual details, they all wandered out of my head. All I had was Elliott and his wonderful blue eyes. Hadn't I had enough of those lying blues?
The universe was against me. Even the rhythm section in my brain took a smoke break.
“You changed clothes,” he noted, “I take it you feel better?”
“I feel sore, but yes, better than earlier. The pain has passed. For the most part.”
He walked up to me. Close to me. Very close. Too close. “Does pain ever pass? Do we ever recover from the pain?”
“Are we still talking about my shoulder?”
“I don’t — are we?”
There was one thing about romance, it had the bad habit of making people babble incoherently about one thing or another — and who wants to spend the effort on logical conversation when the touch of a man’s fingers on the arm sends fire and thrills up and down the body?
A bang downstairs said someone was in the elevator. They were probably someone heading home after working late.
Elliott put his over coat over his arm and drew me in. "We don't have to leave yet, do we?"
This was wrong, and I knew it.
He held me close, avoiding tugging on my injured arm. Very gentlemanly.
Was it wrong? He wasn't my client anymore. I understood his weaknesses better.
The idiot here was me. And I stupidly enjoyed the kiss he gave me. Warm. Dry. Lingering. Entirely repeatable. I lost track of how long we stood there. Yes, his kiss bore repeating. And he kissed me again while I tried to remember to breathe.
He wasn’t my client anymore.
His fingers slid through my hair. I let my hand lay on his chest.
He was right here and now. How the hell was he doing it? He had me in an embrace and I wasn’t fighting. The kiss was long and luxurious. His arm gripped me tighter and time disappeared.
The case was still open.
He kissed me another time, after I caught my breath, and there was more than a little urgency to it.
Mr. Wonderful was a dead woman’s relative in an open murder case.
God, that kiss was good.
He remains a suspect!
I pulled back.
I guess I confused him.
“Listen.” I had to step away. “Elliott, I can’t do this. No, please let me explain. I like your attentions, especially the kissing part. A girl could get used to this. It’s been a long time and, and I want this to go on. But it can’t. This case is still open. Maybe not for you, but for me. This is no good if I can’t finish the road you yourself started me on. It’s not right. Damn it, Elliott, you’re still a suspect.”
I might as well have slapped him right across the mouth he’d kissed me with. He looked stunned.
“Elliott, you had time, motive, and presence. You were at Valentini’s around the same time Frannie was killed, you were late meeting me at the Vallejo Street house, and she was blackmailing you at one time. I can’t let my emotions foul up the investigation.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t ... I’d never ...”
“Then it's my job to find proof, but not if I’m over the moon about ...” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Someone coughed.
Somerset was standing with Rollins at the elevator, cigarette barely held between his teeth. “If you’re done fraternizing with a killer, Honey, we’ll take it from here.”
Elliott turned to face them. “I didn’t,” was all he said. He looked at me, with those pleading blue eyes.
“Sure, you didn’t. Elliott Lockwood, you’re under arrest for the murders of Francis Coventry and Charles Proctor.” He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
What the hell was going on? “Bennie?” Sure, I turned to the one sane guy in the bunch.
Rollins shrugged. “You said it, Honey. Means, time, motive.”
“Don’t try to stop this, Honey. I’ll gladly take you in, too, as an accessory after the fact.” Somerset pulled back his overcoat to reveal a hip holster for his .45 and a long case for one hell of a knife. He prepared for every contingency.
“Got a warrant,” I blurted out in desperation.
“Yeah, I do. Stay out or I’ll ...”
Rollins took the cuffs out of Somerset’s hands. “Leave her alone, Milt. She ‘ain’t asking for nothin’ that isn’t legal.” He looked at me after ordering Elliott to put his hands out and slapping the cuffs on his wrists. “All the paperwork is signed. He’ll be downtown.”
“Wait.”
Somerset almost reached for his heater. I took Elliott’s fogger and slipped over his hands.
“What’s that for?” Somerset stared at me.
“Why embarrass a man until you have him red-handed. Means, time, and motive are nothing without evidence.”
“Nobody’s out there to gawk at us.”
“I don’t care.”
Somerset leaned in close to my face and, cigarettes and booze lingered over my nose. “You ain't got time to care.”
I looked past him to Elliott. “Mr. Lockwood, I can call your lawyer.”
Elliott’s expression slid from shock to hopeless. “You don’t need to.” He wasn’t giving up, was he?
“You need a lawyer, Mr. Lockwood.”
“No. I’m fine ... it’s ... I’m sorry.” Elliott stared at me sadly and I prayed it didn’t mean he was giving up. Or confessing.
“Sorry? No! Who’s your lawyer? Give me his name.”
All I got from Somerset was a snort of laughter as he took Elliott to the elevator. Rollins looked like a puppy someone kicked. I waited while they made their descent.
When I couldn’t see Elliott any more, my logical brain kicked past the pain and started working. I had to reason things out. Elliott Lockwood’s life was on the line. If they convicted him of two murders, he’d hang for sure. Cab’s killing was a gangland style dust off. Unless they put a Tommy Gun, a particular Tommy Gun, into his hands, they couldn’t pin the Club House attack on him. Besides, I had a good idea who did it. But Frannie’s murder? Yeah, I was still stumped.
I heard the elevator reaching the bottom. Slowest damn, time-wasting elevator and yet I was wasting time standing there like a jerk.
A couple of other ideas were starting to creep into my brain. I didn’t like them one bit, but if I called myself a detective, and one who deserved to wear Joe Parnaski’ s fedora in public, I had to face those ideas.
I didn’t have time to stand around like a helpless damsel in distress, making dewy eyes at a lover, like one sees in every picture show. I turned on my heel, opened my office again and rushed in.
“Operator? Appian 48675.” My lawyer would do in a pinch.
“Connecting you,” the brass recording said. Had ‘Bots taking over everything? It was taking forever. Plenty of voices coming from the various exchange operators were audible as they connected my call from Klondike to Appian. I sure hoped that dear, old shyster was awake.
“Hey, Bimbo?”
Skates Berk put his finger down on the phone cradle, cutting off my call. He had three men behind him. Dressed in all black suits I thought were far too close to what the Nazis were wearing in those newspaper photographs I’d seen. I guess I said so and Skates landed one hell of a left on me. I don’t remember anything beyond swirling colors for a couple of minutes.
“And here I thought he wasn't gonna' keep his promise. But he did.”
Movement, I remember it. Something sharp and stinging, stabbed into my neck. A bumpy wrestling match getting me down the stairs. Someone’s kneecap was down for the count, and I planned on more, until my muscles stopped cooperating.
A big car. A dark Buick, pulling away from the curb, and my ride was a big, grey, ugly Ford. Didn’t they know Ford stands for Found-On-Road-Dead? Who buys one of those, except a fool with no style sense? I was delirious. That too must have come out of my mouth, because the Militia Sergeant smacked me again.
Whatever they shot me up with, it was doing a doozy of a job. I’d never even been drunk like this.
A guy in a cheap hat and coat came out of nowhere. From there, I remember being knocked around and stuffed in the Ford. I didn’t see what happened to the cheap hat and coat. Pretty sure he got bounced.
I didn’t see that coming.
I didn’t see anything after that.