Midafternoon, Sunday, September 14, 1947
Birdy’s flower shop was a little over a block east from the hotel, near the corner of Broadway and Wells, wedged in between Frank’s Hardware Store and Babcock’s Curiosity Shop. It would have been an easy walk, but since I had parked in a one hour zone and we had already exceeded an hour, I thought I’d better move my car. Fortunately, there was no ticket under the wiper. Sure, I could get a parking ticket fixed, but sometimes it’s just easier to obey the rules. Riker climbed in next to me, and we drove the short distance to Birdwell’s, this time parking where there was no time limit.
“Ready?” I said.
His hands were on his knees, and he sat bolt upright, staring straight ahead out of the windshield. “If you don’t mind, Heath, I’ll wait out here.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want him to recognize me.”
“I understand, but I don’t think you need to worry about that. I’m sure a lot of young men and women have come and gone over the years, and I doubt he ever paid much attention to them. Besides, you’ve grown up, matured.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute, apparently mulling it over. “All right. I’ll go in if you need me there, Heath. I mean, I’m a detective now. This is my job.”
I looked at him, noting the agony in his face. “No, it’s all right,” I said after a moment. “Might be better with just one of us anyway. Don’t want to make him too nervous. I’ll go in alone.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep an eye on the car.” His eyes were still transfixed straight ahead, but he now moved his hands up and down his thighs nervously.
I reached over and touched his shoulder briefly, giving it a squeeze. “It shouldn’t take long.” I exited the car and put my hat back on as I strode purposefully up the street toward the little shop with the dingy green awning, the words Birdy’s Floral written in white script upon it.
I pushed open the single glass door and looked around, taking in the aroma of fresh flowers and feeling the refrigerated air on my face. A small counter was to the left and a display area was to the right, with floral arrangements on white metal stands and fabric-draped pedestals. A bank of built-in coolers with thick glass doors and shiny aluminum handles stood against the back wall. A little man was behind the small counter, wearing a dark green apron over a white shirt and black bow tie. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his mid- to late sixties. What little hair he had left was as white as freshly fallen snow, and he had merry blue eyes that sparkled. He reminded me of someone’s grandpa, not exactly the type of man I expected to be running a sex operation.
“Good afternoon, sir. How may I be of service?” he said, a soft smile on his pink lips. His voice was kind, gentle, and resonant, his cheeks rosy.
“Mr. Birdwell?” I said.
“That’s right. What can I do for you?” He sported a gold and diamond ring on his right hand and a simple gold wedding band on his left.
“I’m Detective Barrington of the Milwaukee Police Department,” I said, showing him my identification and badge.
“How do you do?”
I watched for a reaction, but I didn’t notice one. “Are you the owner of this place?”
“That’s right, twenty-five years in this same location. If you’re looking for flowers for a sweetheart, I’ve got some fresh yellow roses sure to put a smile on any lady’s face.”
“No doubt, but I’m not looking for flowers today.”
“Oh?”
“I’m looking for information.”
“Hmm, well, information on flowers I can give you. Plants, too. Anything else, I’m afraid my mind’s not what it used to be.”
“How about information on Almanzo Firestone?”
His expression never changed. “Who?” he said, cocking his head.
“Almanzo Firestone, the famous spiritualist. He was staying at the Blatz and visited your flower shop here last night.”
He scratched his chin. “You don’t say.”
“I do say.”
“It’s possible, I suppose. I get many customers in throughout the day, you know. Most don’t give their names unless they’re putting their purchase on account. I’ve heard of Almanzo Firestone, now that you mention it, but if he was in here, I didn’t recognize him. Why would I?”
“No reason, I guess. But he was rather distinctive in appearance. Middle aged, dark hair, dark features, sporting a monocle.”
“A monocle? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Not many of my customers use a monocle.”
“So, you do remember him now.”
He nodded agreeably. “Yes, yes, of course. He didn’t say much, didn’t stay long. A simple purchase and he was on his way. He paid cash, of course, being that he’s from out of town. It was a bit late in the day, I believe.”
“How late in the day?”
“Oh, let me think. Close to closing. On Saturday nights, I close at ten.”
“That’s rather late for a flower shop, isn’t it?”
“Yes, well, I’ve nothing else much to do. My wife is deceased, and my children are grown and gone. You’d be surprised at who buys flowers late at night.”
“I’m sure. What did he purchase, Mr. Birdwell?”
“Hmm, I don’t recall exactly. A flower, perhaps.”
“You don’t recall or you’d rather not say?”
He looked puzzled now, but cautious. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, Detective.”
“Almanzo Firestone purchased a carnation from you last night. A green carnation. Does that help your memory?”
He swallowed a couple of times, suddenly nervous. “A green carnation? Why yes, he did buy a green carnation, come to think of it. For his lapel. Why are you asking, anyway? What’s this all about?”
“Almanzo Firestone was murdered last night in an alley not too far from here not long after leaving your shop.”
His complexion turned a chalky white, and a bead of perspiration appeared on his forehead. “Murdered? Really? That’s terrible. It’s getting so a man’s not safe on the streets anymore.”
“One should never take his safety for granted, Mr. Birdwell, nor depend on others for it.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose that’s true. I hope you find whoever did it. I’m afraid I’m not much help.”
“Not yet, but you might be. Do you know who killed Almanzo Firestone?”
“Me? Why should I know anything about it? Just because he bought a flower from me?”
“Not just any flower, but a green carnation after he gave you the password.”
His right eye started twitching, and his forehead broke out in a full-blown sweat now. “I…I don’t know what you mean.” His voice went up an octave.
“I’m sure you do. You run a side operation out of this little shop, Birdy, supplying men with a little pleasure for a big price. You keep most of the money and pass on less than a third to the unfortunate person who has to fulfill your customer’s desires. I intend to shut you down, but how far that goes depends on you. If you tell me who you arranged to have Firestone meet last night, it will be easier on you.”
“I want to talk to my lawyer. He’s very good, you know. You’ll find yourself walking a beat if you don’t leave me alone, Detective,” he said, his voice angry now.
“Go ahead. Call him.” I slid his telephone over to him across the counter. “In the meantime, I’ll call for a black-and-white to have you arrested on suspicion of running a prostitution ring and possibly being an accessory to murder. It will be in both the morning and evening papers, I assure you. I’m sure the local radio stations will pick it up too, maybe even the national ones.”
“No! You can’t do that!” He was almost shouting, his face red. “It would ruin me. My family. I have children, grandchildren…”
“On the other hand, you could give me the information I want. Then I could make a call to the vice squad and let them know to go easy on you, provided you promise to behave. I could let them know you cooperated with the investigation.”
His eyes narrowed as his mind raced in thought. “You’ve no proof of anything. You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? The concierge at the Blatz says differently.”
“Lamont Woodley? He’d never—”
“But he did,” I said, “and he’s willing to testify, as are two other employees from two other hotels.” It was a lie, of course. I hadn’t yet spoken to the concierge at the Blatz or anyplace else, but I thought Birdwell was going to faint.
“Please, I’m sure the young man never hurt Firestone.” His voice was now soft and pleading.
“That remains to be seen. Who did you call last night to service the All-Seeing Almanzo?”
“After he bought the flower, I made a call and talked to a young fellow I’ve used a few times before. He…he goes by Scotty, I don’t know his last name. He’s worked for me a few months. I told him I had a delivery for him.”
“Which was code for you had business for him. And he was to meet his trick in the alley, isn’t that right? He was to look for someone wearing a green carnation.”
“Please, I have children and grandchildren.”
“So you mentioned. You should have thought of them before, Mr. Birdwell. This Scotty accepted the delivery order?”
“Yes, yes. It was late, but he said he could be in the alley in about fifteen minutes. I let the customer know, and then he left and I closed up shop for the night.”
“Where can we find this Scotty fellow?”
Mr. Birdwell wiped sweat from his forehead and face with a white handkerchief he’d pulled from his apron pocket. “Webster’s boardinghouse. Most of the boys stay at Mrs. Webster’s. It’s cheap and close by.”
I jotted the name down in my notebook. “Got it, and thanks. I wouldn’t go anywhere if I were you. The fellows from the vice squad will want a few words. They should be here shortly.”
“But you’ll talk to them, right? Tell them I cooperated?”
I looked him in the eye. “I’m a man of my word. But I don’t know if it will do any good, to be honest. The vice squad doesn’t like men like you much, and frankly, neither do I. I’d make that call to your lawyer now if I were you. Good day.” I turned on my heel and left, leaving him shaking in disbelief and shock behind the counter, his white shirt now soaked in sweat.
I filled Riker in on what I’d found out, and then I made a call to the station on my car radio, informing them to send the vice squad over to the flower shop and arrest Leslie Birdwell. As promised, I mentioned that he had cooperated in my investigation, for what it was worth.
When I was finished, I looked over at Riker, who was still sitting upright, drumming his fingers on his knees. “So that’s that, then. Birdwell’s finished.”
“Yes, I’d say so. Up to the judge to decide what happens to him now.”
Riker nodded slowly. “I imagine so. Won’t be good for him.” He looked over at me then. “You didn’t mention me at all, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t have to. The mention of the concierge at the hotel was all it took to push him over the edge, a fact I wouldn’t have known if it wasn’t for you.”
He looked relieved. “Good. That’s good. I mean, it’s good he gave you the information, and good that I could help. Now what?”
“What do you think our next move should be?”
“Well, I suppose we should go talk to this Scotty guy.”
“That’s what I think, too. I’ll radio the station and see if they can get me an address on that boardinghouse. It’s apparently not too far from here.”
Riker looked over at me again. “It’s not. It’s over on the corner of Kilbourn and Cass, only about a five-minute drive from here. I stayed there a long time ago.”
“All right, saves me a call. Let’s go, and maybe you can fill me in on this Mrs. Webster.”
“She’s all right, Heath. She honestly doesn’t know about Birdwell. She thinks all us boys do is make deliveries for him.”
“Deliveries, indeed. That’s one word for it, anyway.”
“What about lunch, by the way? I seem to recall you saying something about buying.”
“Right you are. Sometimes I get so preoccupied I forget to eat.”
“No wonder you’re so thin,” Riker said.
“You sound like my mother. Come on, we can grab something at the diner before we go to Webster’s.” I headed my car toward Art’s Diner, my mind whirling.