Late afternoon, Sunday, September 14, 1947
After two egg salad sandwiches, two orders of chips, and three malted milks, one for me and two for Riker, we climbed back into my car and drove to Webster’s boardinghouse. It was a ramshackle three-story gothic-style building, with a wraparound porch, gingerbread trim, and attic dormers. The clapboard siding was covered in peeling gray paint. The trim was a slightly lighter shade of gray and had probably once been white.
“Are you coming in this time, or do you want to wait here in the car again?” I said as I shut off the engine and applied the brake.
“I’ll come in. Like I said, Mrs. Webster doesn’t know anything about Birdy’s or that part of my past. It will be nice to see her again, actually.”
“Right, let’s go then.”
We got out of my car and walked down the cracked sidewalk to the gate, where Riker paused to look up at the old, spooky-looking house. “It’s been a long time,” he said. “Brings back memories both good and bad.”
“I can imagine. Shall we?” I said, opening the gate.
“Sure,” he said, letting out a deep breath. We went through the gate and across the walk, and climbed the worn steps up to the porch, which seemed to sag beneath our weight. I rang the bell twice as Riker stood next to me, fiddling with his hat. After several minutes, a tall woman in a high-collared dress, partly covered by a starched white apron opened the door. Her long hair was streaked with shades of gray and silver and gathered at the back of her neck. Her nose was large and prominent, and her eyes dark. She appeared to be in her late sixties or early seventies, but she stood straight, her shoulders back, proud and statuesque.
“Yes?” she said in a deep, unusually pitched nasal voice.
“Mrs. Webster?” I said.
She slowly looked from me to Riker, taking us in.
“I am she. But I’m not interested in buying whatever it is you’re selling—vacuums, encyclopedias, brushes, whatever it is, I don’t need it, I already have it, or I can’t afford it. I’m baking today, and I don’t have time for salesmen.”
“Actually, ma’am, we’re not selling anything. I’m Detective Barrington, this is Detective Riker. We’d like to speak with a young fellow named Scotty. We’ve been told he lives here.”
She gave us a suspicious look. “Scotty? Why do you want to speak with him?”
“We just want to ask him some questions, Mrs. Webster,” Riker said.
“About what, may I ask?” She stared at Detective Riker, looking him up and down. “Did you say your name is Riker?”
“Yes ma’am, Grant Riker.”
“I know you, don’t I? I remember you. Little Grant Riker.”
Riker nodded and gave her a gentle smile. “Yes, it’s me. I’m glad you remember me. It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Webster. It’s been a few years.”
“Before the war,” she said.
“Yes, a long time.”
She moved her head up and down slowly. “You’re a police detective now?”
Riker looked embarrassed. “You may recall I enlisted in the Navy, and I joined the police force when I got out. I made detective just a short while ago.”
She reached over and pinched his cheek hard. I noticed her hands were large, with long fingers. That had to hurt and was sure to leave a mark. “Little Grant, all grown up. Good for you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, rubbing his cheek where she’d pinched him.
She nodded slowly. “And I’m still here. A little older…”
“You look the same.”
She smiled. Her oversized teeth were dull and gray, but her dark eyes sparkled with joy. “Flatterer. You always were. I’ve gained a few pounds, my hair’s gotten grayer, and the lines on my face are deeper, but you? You look good, Grant. You were always a handsome lad, but now you’ve grown into yourself. Married?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I have a little girl, Jane Marie.”
Mrs. Webster beamed. “That makes me so happy, my dear. I always thought you’d turn out okay. I was so worried when you went off to war. You never kept in touch. I didn’t know what became of you.”
“I’m sorry about that. I meant to, honestly. I did write you once from overseas, but the war just consumed me, it consumed all of us.”
“Yes, of course. I understand. Most of the boys who leave I never hear from again. But it’s good to see you now. Good to know you’ve done well for yourself. You must bring your wife and little girl by for tea sometime. I’d like to meet them.”
“Oh, uh, yes, sure. Mrs. Riker is pretty busy these days, what with the baby and all, you know.”
“I suppose so. But surely you could find time to bring them over for a little while, couldn’t you? Oh, I do love babies. I never had any of my own, of course.”
“Well, I’ll ask her. I’m afraid I can’t promise.”
She gave him a hurt look. “You’re not ashamed for her to meet me, are you?”
“What? Gee, no, not really.” I could tell Riker felt suddenly awkward. “She’s just busy, that’s all. But I’ll be sure and ask her.”
“Good, good. Don’t forget.” She looked back to me then. “Now then, why do you want to speak to Scotty? Is he in some kind of trouble? He’s a good boy, you know.”
“We just want to ask him some questions.”
“So I understand. But you still haven’t told me what you want to ask him questions about.”
“His whereabouts last night, for starters.”
She frowned ever so slightly. “I see. Well, if you’re here inquiring about his whereabouts, you must think he’s gotten into some kind of trouble. But I can assure you Scotty was playing pinochle with me last night. I lost nearly every game.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, about you losing, I mean,” Riker said.
“I hope you weren’t playing for money.”
“We just played for fun,” Mrs. Webster said.
“Of course,” I said. “I was only joking.”
“Witty, you are,” she said dryly.
“Some people think so. Was Scotty with you the entire evening?”
“That’s right. We played several games.”
“I see. Well, we’d still like to talk to him. We’re investigating a murder, and Scotty may have some vital information.”
Her ample bosom heaved up and down. “I don’t see how. I’m sure he doesn’t know anything about a murder. He’s a nice boy.”
“Yes, I’m sure he is. But we still want to talk to him.”
“Please, Mrs. Webster. I’d really appreciate it,” Riker said.
Her expression softened once more. “Well, I’ll ask him, but he’s very private, you know. I think he’s up in his room. He shares it with the Jenkins boy. Come on in and have a seat in the parlor, and I’ll check. I don’t allow visitors upstairs, so he’ll have to come down if he’s willing.”
“Thank you, we do appreciate it,” I said.
We removed our hats, and Riker and I stepped inside as she stood back, closing the door behind us. She motioned toward a cozy-looking room through a red-draped doorway to our left.
“Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen,” she said. “I’ll be back shortly. Well, perhaps not shortly. My rheumatism doesn’t allow me to move as quickly as I used to.” She climbed slowly up the stairs toward the second floor.
When she had gone, I looked around at the room we were in. There was nothing special about it, really. The furniture and furnishings were clearly old and worn, but everything was clean and tidy. An upright piano was opposite the doorway, with an overstuffed sofa in front of one of the windows and a couple of mismatched chairs facing it in front of the fireplace. I paced about as Riker looked around, clearly reminiscing.
“You all right?” I said.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, fine, fine.”
“That Mrs. Webster is interesting.”
“Yes. She has gotten a bit older, yet she’s still the same. Just like this place. It looks exactly the same as it did all those years ago. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear those were the same wilted flowers on the piano that were here back then, too.”
“I get the feeling Mrs. Webster doesn’t make a lot of money on this place.”
“She doesn’t. Never has, I don’t think. Fellows were always behind on their rent, and she always let it slide. Sometimes for months. She has too big a heart.”
“She certainly is unusual.”
“What do you mean?” Riker said. He sounded defensive.
But before I could respond, a tall, gangly, rail-thin young man appeared in the draped doorway, dressed in an undershirt and baggy trousers, barefooted. He looked nervous as he glanced at us.
“Hullo,” he said dully.
We both turned to look at him. “You’re Scotty?” I said.
He nodded, his eyes bloodshot and so dilated they looked almost entirely black. “That’s right. Mrs. Webster said you wanted to see me. Said you was cops.”
“That’s right. I’m Detective Barrington, and this is Detective Riker.”
“What do you want?”
“What’s your full name, Scotty?” I said.
“What’s it to you?”
“We’re investigating a crime, we’re talking to you about it, and we need your full legal name for the record.”
“Smith.”
“Really? Is that the best you can do?”
“People do have the last name of Smith, you know.”
“True, but somehow I doubt that’s yours.”
He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “Aw, who cares? Scott Herbert Hale, if you must know. Quite a name, ain’t it?”
“Yes, a good name,” Riker said.
“It’s okay. It’s really Herbert Scott Hale, but I switched it around so it sounds better. Anyway, I didn’t do nothin’, and I didn’t see nothin’ either.” His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth between us as he spoke, his speech now rapid.
“In regard to what?” Riker said.
“In regard to anything you think I might have done or seen in regard to that crime you said you were investigating.” He was nervously wringing his hands.
“That covers a lot of territory,” I said. “Won’t you sit down?” I motioned to one of the chairs.
“I’m fine,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’d prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself. Where were you last night, say between ten and midnight?” Riker said.
He swallowed a couple of times and blinked his eyes rapidly. “I was here. Ma said this is about that fella’s murder. I don’t know nothin’. And I didn’t know him.”
“Ma?”
“Mrs. Webster. Most of us call her Ma. She said to say I was here playing pinochle.”
“Were you?” I said.
He sniffed and wiped his nose with a dirty handkerchief he’d pulled from his back pocket. “Aww, no use in lying, I guess. I don’t even know how to play pinochle. Do you?”
I shook my head. “No, I never learned. Cribbage is my game of choice.”
“I don’t know that one either.”
“It’s an entertaining diversion. So, if you weren’t here playing cards with Mrs. Webster, where were you?”
He put his handkerchief away and shoved his hands in his front pockets, causing his trousers to slide down precariously low before he pulled them back out and yanked up his pants. “I never met a detective before, but I’ve known my share of cops. Can’t say as I care for them.”
“There are good ones and bad ones, trust me,” I said.
“Maybe.”
“Mrs. Webster seems to think highly of you,” Riker said. “In my opinion, that means a lot.”
“Ma’s kind. She looks out for me, for all of us, tries to protect us.”
“Quite admirable,” I said.
“I don’t trust cops, but I find it doesn’t do much good to lie to them. They always find out.”
“Sometimes. It’s generally better to come clean, unless you have something to hide. By the way, how did you know it was a man that was murdered?” I said.
“Huh?”
“You mentioned you don’t know anything about the fellow that was murdered, and that you didn’t know him. How did you know it was a man?”
He shrugged his bony shoulders. “It’s always a man, ain’t it? Who goes around murdering women?”
“Tell that to Jack the Ripper.”
“Who’s that?”
“Never mind, it’s not important. Mr. Birdwell told us he called you last night about a delivery job.”
I watched his face, expecting a reaction, but there was none.
“Oh.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Guess I’m not surprised. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know what I might have to hide, and you wouldn’t know how to find me unless you already talked to Mr. Birdwell.”
“You’re very perceptive, Scotty. How old are you?”
“Nineteen. I’ll be twenty next May.”
“Where are you from?”
“Sparta. I came to Milwaukee when I was seventeen. Someday I’ll get out of here. Not just this place, but this place, if you know what I mean. I’ll make something of myself. When I turned sixteen, I tried to enlist. I lied about my age, but they wouldn’t take me. Then the war ended, so here I am. But it’s only temporary.” He sniffed, blew his nose with the dirty handkerchief again, and then shoved it once more into his back pocket.
“Of course. I wish you well. But about last night…” I said.
“Yeah. All right, so I was there.”
“Where?” Riker said.
“Don’t play dumb.” Scotty sneered at us. “You know where. The alley. Near the Blatz Hotel. It’s not far from here.”
“Why were you there?” I said.
He snorted again, this time wiping his nose on his bare arm, not bothering with the handkerchief. “A flower delivery, like you said before. I was supposed to meet a fellow. Again, I’m sure you know all this. I was there for the delivery job Birdwell called me about.”
“You were there to meet a fellow wearing a green carnation,” I said.
“That’s right. That’s how it works. I figured you already knew that. I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t care. I met him like I was supposed to. He seemed okay. Kind of fancy, had one of those round eyepieces over one eye. Saw that in a movie once, but I never saw one in person before.”
“A monocle.”
“Yeah, that’s what they’s called. Different. I asked him if he wanted to go somewhere, but he said he was from out of town and had nowhere to go, so we just did it there in the alley. We’d just barely got started when shots rang out. First one, followed by another. I thought it was a truck backfiring at first cause it sounded like it came from the street, but then the guy fell over. He was bleeding and gasping, and I knew he’d been shot. I got up and ran, and I didn’t look back.”
“You got up?”
Scotty gave a half laugh. “I was on my knees. If I hadn’t a been, I might have gotten shot too.”
“It’s possible. Did you see where the shots came from?” Riker said.
“No sir, I didn’t see nothin’. I heard the shots, saw him fall over, and I got up and took off down the alley. I ain’t no sap. I came straight back here.”
“And you didn’t call the police?” I said.
“No. That would have been stupid, now, wouldn’t it? I kept my yap shut.”
“Why would that have been stupid?” Riker said.
“Because they would have wanted to know what I was doing there. But I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
“That’s debatable,” I said.
“I ain’t what they call musical, if that’s what you’re thinking. I ain’t like that.”
“Musical?” Riker said.
“Sure, you know. Guys say ‘I heard he was musical’ when they’re talking about somebody, only they ain’t talking about playin’ no instruments. They’re talking about fairies and pansies.”
“I see,” I said.
“Yeah, I ain’t that way, see? I only do it for the money. I have a girl back home. Rose. Rose Fielding. Sweet and pretty.”
“In Sparta.”
“Yeah. When I get out of here, I’ll send for her. We want a big family someday.”
“I wish you well, Scotty, but I must caution you about this way of earning a living. No good will come of it,” I said.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s not so easy to quit. Ma suspects something, I think. She’s told me a hundred times to clean up my act, get all my ducks in a row.”
“She’s a wise woman,” Riker said.
“Yeah. You gonna arrest me now? Take me away and lock me up?”
I studied Scotty for a brief moment, pondering what to say, what to do. “We certainly could. Prostitution is illegal in all forty-eight states. But I have to ask myself, would it do you any good?”
He snorted again. “Do me any good?”
“I mean, if we arrest you, you will go to jail. Then someone, possibly Mrs. Webster, will post bail and get you out, though it sounds like it would be a financial hardship for her. The case would go before a judge, and most likely he’d find you guilty.”
“Depends on the judge. I had one as a client once, you know,” Scotty said with a smirk. “He was a regular. Big tipper, too.”
“Be that as it may, if the judge finds you guilty, you may serve time in prison. I don’t like to think what would happen to a boy like you in prison,” I said.
“Aw, I can take care of myself.”
“Sure you can. You’d be real popular, no doubt. And when you eventually got out of prison, you’d have a police record. Then what? Would prison have reformed you? Even if it did, would you then be able to get a real job? Hard to do with a police record.”
“Hard enough to do without one,” he said. “I’ve tried a few times.”
“You do have options, Scotty,” Riker said.
“Geez, what do you care?”
“Because I stayed here once when I was about your age. I lived here at the boardinghouse,” Riker said. “Like you.”
Scotty looked at Riker suspiciously. “Oh yeah? For real?”
“Yes, for real. You probably don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
“Aw, so what?”
“Believe it or not, Scotty, the police are not your enemy. We’re here to enforce the law and to protect the citizens. Even though you’re breaking the law, I don’t think you’re a threat to society. At least not yet. But if you continue, we’ll have no choice but to arrest you. Birdwell’s will be shut down either way,” I said.
He looked thoughtful then. Finally, he nodded slightly. “If you shut Birdy’s down, I won’t have any money coming in.”
“How much do you typically make in a week?” I said.
“Depends. Sometimes fifteen to twenty bucks, sometimes less, sometimes more.”
“That’s a lot of flower deliveries,” I said.
“Some of it is tips or referrals, you know. If I do a good job.”
“You’ll have to find a new job now,” Riker said. “A more upstanding source of income.”
“Yeah, sure, that’s easy for you to say. What can I do? Jobs are hard to come by these days for a bum like me.”
“Now that you’re of age, you could still enlist in the service. Once you’re out, you may find it easier to get employment,” Riker said. “That’s what I did. I was a Navy man.”
“But you’ll need to get help with your nose problem first,” I said. “Which is where I suspect most of your money is going.” I took out my pencil and notebook and jotted down a name and phone number, then handed the paper to him.
He looked suspicious as he took it. “What nose problem?”
“That’s the number for Dr. Wilchinsky. Give him a call. He’s treated others like you, and he’s discreet.”
“I can’t afford no doctors, especially if you’re really going to shut down Birdy’s.”
“Just make an appointment for him to treat you. I’ll take care of the payments,” I said.
Scotty looked at us suspiciously. “Why would you do that? Why do you fellas care? Did you used to live here, too?” he said to me.
“No, I didn’t. But Riker’s telling you the truth when he says he did. He went through a rough time also, but he turned himself around, and I believe you can, too.”
“But the Army won’t take you until you’re clean,” Riker said.
“The Army, huh? I bet I’d look good in a uniform. Rose would like me like that.”
I looked at Riker and then back at Scotty. “No doubt she would.”
“I’ll think about it, I suppose.”
“Make the call, Scotty. Today, not tomorrow. Or we will be back.”
He stared down at the paper I handed him. “Sure. I suppose I should thank you. Both of you.”
“For what?” I said.
“For not arresting me, I guess. So, thanks.” He stuffed the paper in one of his front pants pocket, wiped his nose with his arm once more, and then turned and went out into the hall.
Riker looked over at me as I watched Scotty take the stairs two at a time to the second floor.
“Ready to go, Heath?”
“Yes. I think we’re through here for now. We can see ourselves out. No doubt Mrs. Webster is busy in the kitchen. I believe she said she was baking today.”
“And she’s an amazing cook. If we stick around, we might get to sample some of her cookies or pies.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still hungry after an egg salad sandwich, chips, and two malteds.”
Riker grinned. “Maybe a little.”
“Honestly, I don’t know where you put it. But we don’t have time to waste. Come on.”
We stepped out on the sagging front porch of the boardinghouse and put our hats back on, pulling them low to shade our eyes from the afternoon sun as we went down the broad wooden steps.
“That was all quite fascinating,” I said.
“What was?”
“Mrs. Webster, for starters.”
“What about her?”
“She was tall for a woman, and such big hands and feet. It looked like she was wearing a size ten or eleven shoe.”
“She’s always been bigger than life.”
“I’m sure. And that voice. It’s rather affected, wouldn’t you say?”
Riker bristled. “Maybe. Who cares? What are you getting at, Barrington?”
“Only that Mrs. Webster has an Adam’s apple.”
“So?”
“So, that, sir, was no lady.”
Riker stopped short on the sidewalk and looked at me. “I beg to differ. Mrs. Webster is more a lady than any lady I know.”
“But she’s a he,” I said. “Or at least she was. I’ve never met anyone like that before.”
“I bet you have.”
I shook my head. “No, I would have been able to tell. I can always tell.”
“I seem to remember you were fooled on the first case we worked on together.”
“That person was just dressing up for a role, but Mrs. Webster is different.”
“To me she’s just Mrs. Webster. Always has been.”
“But how does she live her life? Does she date?”
“I’ve never known her to date, but she might if she was given the chance. It’s not about sex, though, it’s about her being true to her heart. Does that make sense?”
I scratched the back of my head and adjusted my hat. “I think it does. In a way it’s just like you and me, I suppose. But it can’t be easy.”
Riker shook his head. “I never said it was easy, and neither did she. In fact, I’m sure it’s quite hard, harder than it is for us. She keeps to herself, though she does have a few friends. She doesn’t go out much and has no family to speak of. She gets the groceries delivered, and she makes her own clothes. But she’s happy enough, which is more than a lot of people can say. And she has her boys to keep her company, at least. We all know. Most of us never cared. The ones that did care didn’t stick around long. And the rest of us just didn’t talk about it. She took care of us and watched out for us when no one else would. She was like a mother to us, which is why most fellows call her Ma. Does it bother you?”
I paused and looked at him. “No, I guess it doesn’t, not really. It’s just different, that’s all.”
“We’re all different. It’s what makes life interesting. Normal is just a word in the dictionary, Heath.”
“You know something, Grant? You’re absolutely right. She seems like she’s a nice lady.”
“Yeah, that’s who she is. A nice lady.”
“But I got the impression you didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of your wife meeting her,” I said.
“Oh, well, that. Mary Jane wouldn’t understand someone like Mrs. Webster.”
“But you’re not embarrassed by Mrs. Webster?”
“No.” Riker shook his head slowly. “But Mary Jane is really naïve and innocent.”
“And Mrs. Webster is, well, different?”
“Touché, Heath. You’re right. You know, I think maybe I will bring her and the baby around when this case is finished. Maybe it’s time to open up her eyes a little bit.”
“That’s up to you, Grant. Just be aware if you do, it might raise questions about yourself that you’d rather not answer, questions about your past, and even your present.”
“Yeah, but I think Mrs. Webster would be hurt if she thought I was embarrassed and didn’t want Mary Jane to meet her.”
“No doubt, but she’d get over it. I’m not sure Mary Jane will, if you decide to go ahead with it.”
“I think perhaps that’s a chance I’m willing to take. I owe it to Mrs. Webster. And to myself.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Speaking of Mrs. Webster, though, I hate to say this, but I think we must consider her a suspect.”
“What? Why? What motive would she have for killing Firestone?”
“To protect Scotty. Perhaps she thought if she shot Firestone, it would scare Scotty straight, so to speak. Get him to change his ways once and for all. And think about it. She said Scotty was in all night playing pinochle with her.”
“To give him an alibi,” Riker said.
“Yes, but it also gave her an alibi. When she went upstairs she told him to say he was playing cards with her all night. I’m sure she didn’t expect him to tell us the truth, so the pinochle story protected her and Scotty both.”
Riker scratched his head. “Gee, that makes sense.”
“It does. She probably took the call from Birdwell, let Scotty know he was wanted on the telephone, and then perhaps listened in to what was said from another extension. She heard Birdwell say he had a delivery for Scotty to make. At ten o’clock at night, that made her suspicious, so she followed Scotty. She fired two shots into the dark alley when she saw Scotty drop to his knees. Perhaps she didn’t intend to kill Firestone, but merely scare him and Scotty both, but Firestone got in the way. And someone like Mrs. Webster would be likely to have a gun, and to carry it on her person whenever she went out.”
“Why do you say that?”
“For protection against prejudiced, ignorant people who could be cruel and threatening. You said yourself she rarely goes out anymore, and that’s probably why. It makes sense she’d have a gun for protection, just in case.”
“I suppose so. That’s pretty sad.”
“Yes, it is. But I’m only supposing right now. She must be considered a suspect, and further investigation is warranted, but right now I’m just guessing.”
“You’re usually a pretty good guesser,” Riker said.
“Sometimes. Sometimes guesses lead me to other guesses. It’s a process, hard to explain.”
“Okay. I really hope it doesn’t turn out that Mrs. Webster killed him, though.”
“I do too, but we have to consider the possibility. There’s also a chance Scotty is our killer.”
“How do you figure?”
“Perhaps he thought Firestone looked like he had money. When Firestone dropped his pants, Scotty stepped away, maybe on the premise of making sure the coast was clear. Then he turned and shot him. Before he could grab the watch and wallet, he got scared off by something, or someone.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s possible, but my gut tells me he’s innocent. Of murder, at least, and the same with Mrs. Webster.”
“Time will tell, hopefully. My instincts agree with your gut, but that only goes so far. By the way, it was nice what you did for him back there.”
Riker shrugged. “I’ve been there. Never the drug thing, thankfully, but I knew kids like him. Let’s hope he turns himself around, if he’s not a murderer. It was nice what you did, too, offering to pay for the doctor and all.”
“I hope he’ll make that call.”
“He will. I’ll telephone Mrs. Webster later and make sure he calls, or she’ll box his ears but good.”
“I’m sure she would, and that would hurt something awful,” I said. “She looks pretty strong.”
“She is,” he said, rubbing his cheek once more where she’d pinched him. It was still rather red. “Where to next?”
I pulled out my pocket watch. “It’s half past five. I think we’ve covered quite a bit for one day. Let’s head back to the station and wrap things up, start fresh again tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good to me. It’s getting dark, and I promised Mary Jane I’d be home by six.”
“You’ll never make it. By the time we get back to the station, sign out, and you drive home, it will be half past six at least—and she was already irritated with you.”
“Yeah, I know. But this is my first real case, I can’t just get up and leave in the middle of questioning a suspect because I told my wife I’d be home for dinner.”
“I’ll drop you off at your place directly from here. Then I’ll go back to the station and type up the preliminary notes on the case. When I’m done, I’ll sign us both out.”
“But taking me home is out of your way, and my car is at the station.”
“You can take the streetcar in tomorrow and get your car. Besides, I’ve got nothing to do but go home to an empty apartment.”
“Not seeing Alan tonight?”
“No, I’ll give him a call, though, just to say good night, and maybe ask him if he wants to go to the movies tomorrow night. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir is playing at the Downer.”
“Doing more research on ghosts and spirits?”
“No, just a coincidence. It’s supposed to be a good film.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that. Tell Alan hello for me.”
“Will do. Now let’s get you home.”
“Thanks, Heath. Mary Jane will appreciate that, I’m sure.”
“I’m happy to do it, but meet me at the station tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. I want to pay a visit to the president of Firestone’s fan club.”
“Florence Lufkin? Think she’ll be home on a Monday morning?”
“I had Sergeant Stilke do some checking for me. Miss Lufkin was working as a secretary for the First National Bank but was discharged a couple of weeks ago and apparently has not found gainful employment as of yet, so she should be home.”