Early morning, Monday, September 15, 1947
Ever eager, Riker was waiting for me as I climbed the stairs to the detectives’ room, his hat in his hand. He looked more rested than he had the day before, his eyes clear and alert. The time, I noted, was half past eight.
“Morning, Heath.”
“Good morning. I figured you’d be the first one in again,” I said.
He gave me a smile, and I swear he was practically blushing. “I almost wasn’t. Mary Jane was feeling romantic this morning, happy I was home for dinner last night, thanks to you, and the baby was sleeping soundly for once. I just made it to the streetcar stop on time.”
“So, all is forgiven for not picking her up after church and not getting home until dinner?”
“More or less. But I had to promise I’d be home for dinner tonight. Six o’clock on the dot.”
“I see. Well, while you were being romantic I’ve been thinking on the case.”
“Oh yeah? What are you thinking?”
“Lots of things, but too soon to hypothesize anything yet.”
“Big words for so early in the morning. Well, I’m ready, willing, and able, so let’s go see what Miss Lufkin has to say.” He was almost bouncing up and down as he spoke.
“Slow down, Trigger,” I said, laughing. “Let me put my liverwurst sandwich in the icebox, check my desk, make a couple phone calls, and have a cup of coffee first. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be set, deal?”
“Okay, deal. I’ll just go over my notes again or something while I wait.”
I had my cup of coffee and finished up what I needed to do in just over fifteen minutes, aware Riker was chomping at the proverbial bit to get going.
“All right, Trigger, saddle up and let’s ride,” I said, coming up to him as he paced the floor in front of the file cabinets.
“Yes, sir!” He took the steps down two at a time ahead of me, and we signed out on the board at ten minutes to nine. It was a brighter day than yesterday, the clouds having lifted as sunshine and light surrounded us. We chatted back and forth about the previous day and our thoughts, suspicions, and ideas as we drove. When we reached Oakland Avenue, I slowed down and Riker checked the addresses. A few blocks later he said, “This is it, Heath. 1410 Oakland Avenue. She must live above that pawnshop.”
“Right, let’s go then.” We left the car at the curb and entered a side door to the left of the pawnshop’s plate glass window. The door was unlocked, so we climbed the rickety wooden stairs to the second floor and knocked on the first door to our right.
The door to 2A was opened by a fairly attractive-looking girl, probably in her early twenties. Her shoulder-length hair was auburn, with a wave, and she had a beauty mark above her lip. She was wearing a gray skirt with a pink cashmere sweater over a white blouse, low sensible black shoes on her small feet, and a simple gold chain about her neck from which hung a capital letter F. I couldn’t help but notice she fit the description of the person who wrote that mysterious note to Ricci.
“Miss Lufkin? Florence Lufkin?” I said.
“Yes, that’s right. Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m Detective Barrington, and this is Detective Riker of the Milwaukee Police,” I said, showing her our badges. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“What about?” She fidgeted with the chain around her neck, the F attached to it bouncing back and forth.
“About the murder of Almanzo Firestone. I understand from his agent you had drinks and dinner with him the night he was killed.”
“Oh, that. It’s just awful what happened to him. I heard about it on the radio, and of course it was in the papers. I just couldn’t believe it, so unexpected. Have you caught the person who did it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine, miss,” Riker said, “exactly who is responsible.”
“Yes, of course. You might as well come in.” She stepped aside and Riker and I entered. It was a small place, but clean and tidy enough. The smell of rose water hung in the air.
“May I take your hats?”
“Thank you,” Riker said. She placed them on a small side console, then ushered us to the chintz sofa as she seated herself in the armchair by the window. A large crucifix hung on the wall over the sofa, and on the coffee table was a well-worn Bible, along with multiple books on the occult, the spirit world, and fortune telling.
“Nice place you have here,” Riker said.
“Thank you. It’s small but affordable. The man who owns the pawnshop downstairs is my uncle, Hugo Petersen. Sometimes I help him out cleaning in the store or running the register in exchange for a deal on the rent.”
“Seems like an equitable solution,” I said.
“It’s okay, but it’s not free. He reminds me frequently he could get more for this place renting it to someone else, and he gets livid if I’m late on paying. I still owe him for this month’s rent.”
“Doing business with relatives can always be tricky,” I said. “So you live alone?”
“I do. I should probably get a roommate to help with the bills, but I like my privacy too much and it’s only a one-bedroom, and a small one at that. Oh, did you want something to drink? I don’t have a lot, but I could brew a pot of tea.”
“No thank you, Miss Lufkin. We won’t keep you long, but we do have a few questions,” I said.
“About dinner and drinks Saturday night, yes. Strange thing, that. I mean how it all came to pass. Like it was ordained to happen.”
“How so?”
“Well, I’d never met Mr. Firestone before, not in person anyway, though I’d seen his performances a few times. I’m the president of the local chapter of his admirers. So, when I heard he was coming to Milwaukee, I wrote him a letter welcoming him. Just a few days later, I received a letter back from Mr. Goodacre, his agent, asking me if I’d like to have cocktails and dinner with the All-Seeing Almanzo, and he also included an autographed picture of Mr. Firestone, which I put in my scrapbook, and two free tickets to the Sunday matinee. Can you imagine? Of course I replied immediately in the affirmative. I planned on taking my friend Shirley to the Sunday show.”
“I’m sure that must have been thrilling for you,” Riker said.
“Oh, yes. It certainly was. I even splurged on a new dress and a visit to the beauty parlor, and so did Shirley. My hair is generally flat, so I had them add this wave,” she said, touching her hair ever so gently.
“It’s quite attractive,” Riker said.
“Thank you, I wanted to look my best, though it looked better on Saturday. I wash my hair on Mondays, so it will be completely gone after today. I was just thinking of doing that when the two of you arrived unannounced.”
“Please forgive the intrusion,” I said.
“It’s all right. I can do it after you leave if you don’t stay too long.”
“This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, Miss Lufkin. Now then, about Saturday night?” Riker said.
“Yes, well, the agent arranged it all. I was to meet him, Mr. and Mrs. Firestone, and Mr. Firestone’s protégé, Mr. Ricci, in Mr. and Mrs. Firestone’s suite at the Blatz at a quarter past eight o’clock. The Valentine Suite. Isn’t that something? Such a romantic name.”
“Actually the suite is named after Valentin Blatz. He was the founder of the Blatz brewery,” Riker said.
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Still, I’d never been in a hotel suite before, much less for cocktails. It all sounded so glamorous. I had to take the streetcar and a bus to get there from here, but I was a little early. I got there at just a few minutes after eight, which gave me a chance to use the ladies’ room and freshen up. Then I went upstairs to the fourth floor and knocked on the door of the suite. I expected Mr. Firestone to answer it, but it was a little fellow who turned out to be Mr. Goodacre. He invited me in and got me a rum and ginger ale. Mr. Ricci was there already, fairly drunk, I must say. Mr. and Mrs. Firestone arrived closer to half past eight. They came right from the theater. They were both dressed so beautifully.”
“And how did you find the All-Seeing One?” Riker said.
“It’s funny. He was shorter than I thought he’d be. Onstage he seems larger than life, but he was still quite attractive, and taller than Mr. Goodacre. Mr. Firestone and Mr. Ricci look a lot alike, actually.”
“We met Mr. Ricci earlier. I noticed the resemblance,” I said.
“Yes, he’s handsome, but I can’t say I cared for him. He drinks too much, in my opinion, and he’s a bit of a letch.”
“So I’ve heard,” Riker said.
“You heard correctly. At one point in the evening, after Mr. and Mrs. Firestone got there, Mr. Ricci got a handgun out of a desk drawer and started waving it about. It startled me so much I spilled my drink on the rug. I’m a little clumsy, but it really wasn’t my fault. Mr. Ricci was clearly intoxicated, and I was afraid the gun might go off. It made me terribly uncomfortable. I could tell Mr. Firestone was angry with me. I was so upset I nearly cried.”
“I’m sure he understood, Miss Lufkin,” I said.
“Oh, I could tell he was upset the way he was glaring at me. But then, I looked at him and he just handed me his handkerchief and put his arm around my shoulder and I felt okay, I felt safe. A short while later, Mr. Goodacre said the three of us should go down to dinner. Believe me, I was more than happy to get out of there at that point.”
“Understandably. So, the three of you dined? Mr. Firestone, Mr. Goodacre, and you?” Riker said.
“Yes, right there in the hotel, though after what happened in the suite, I’d lost my appetite.”
“Still, you managed to finish your lobster,” I said.
She looked surprised. “My heavens, how did you know that? How did you know what I ordered?”
“Just doing my job, miss.”
“I see. Well, I’d never been in a fancy restaurant like that before. It was the kind of place someone like Mr. Firestone would dine, all right. And I’d never had lobster before, either. It was the special, so all three of us had it. I must say it was delicious.”
“And how did the rest of the evening progress?” Riker said. “Did it get any better after the cocktail party upstairs?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. I could tell Mr. Firestone was still upset about the stain on the rug, and I knew he wasn’t too keen on having dinner with me. I’m sure it was his agent’s idea, you know, publicity. Speaking of publicity, just as we were finishing, a man from the newspaper showed up. He took our pictures and asked some questions.”
“Famous spiritualist has dinner with president of local fan club,” I said.
“Yes, it was supposed to run in the Sunday issue of the Journal. But naturally…”
“Of course. To be honest, I wasn’t aware spiritualists had fan clubs,” I said.
“Admirers, Detective, not fans. I’m the president of the local chapter of his admirers. Sixteen members total, including me and my friend Shirley.”
“I stand corrected, Miss Lufkin,” I said. “But I wasn’t aware they had admirers, either.”
“Almanzo was so much more than a spiritualist, don’t you see? He was so talented, so gifted, a real showman. People listened to what he had to say.”
“A showman he was. So, the two of you got to know each other?”
“Sort of. Almanzo was polite and cordial, but I could tell he wasn’t really enjoying himself. He’s not a very good actor or conversationalist. Or wasn’t, I guess I should say. Still, it was a night I’ll never forget. He was a sight to see, resplendent in a navy suit with a red tie, a carnation in his lapel, and a monocle. I’ve never seen anyone wear a monocle before. I kept wanting to ask him how he kept it from falling down. It seems like it would be so uncomfortable, you know?”
“They are unusual, but Mr. Firestone was a bit flamboyant,” Riker said.
“Definitely. I’m afraid I’m terribly clumsy, though. Just as I think he was forgetting about my spilling my drink in the suite, I dropped my soup spoon and the soup splattered all over Mr. Firestone’s tie. Isn’t that always the way? I could tell he was quite annoyed, though he was too much of a gentleman to scold me. Most men would have left it, but Mr. Firestone went up and put on a fresh tie, leaving me alone with Mr. Goodacre for quite some time. It was rather awkward.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know, it just was. He kept asking me silly questions, treating me like a bobby-soxer. I’m twenty-two, you know. I’m not a kid anymore. Anyway, I was glad when Almanzo finally came back, even though he still looked perturbed. He’d put on a pretty blue tie this time. We finished dinner but skipped dessert, which is fine by me. I have to watch my figure.”
“You parted ways at that point?” Riker said.
“Yes. We all stood, and he shook my hand. I was surprised at how soft his skin was. His fingernails even had clear polish on them, can you imagine? I couldn’t help but stare. My father’s hands are all calloused and rough, but Almanzo’s were as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
“I imagine summoning the dead and foretelling the future doesn’t require much heavy lifting, Miss Lufkin,” I said.
“That’s true, I suppose. It’s more mental.”
“It certainly is that,” Riker said. “So, he shook your hand?”
“That’s right. I thanked them both kindly and Mr. Goodacre told me he would see me home if I liked. Mr. Firestone, however, said he wanted to go for a walk. He seemed most anxious, checking his watch several times all through dinner like he had another appointment, but he said he just wanted to get some air. Anyway, I told Mr. Goodacre not to bother. The bus stop the next block over takes me to the streetcar stop, which practically takes me all the way back here to my place. Mr. Goodacre shook my hand and said he was pleased to have met me, and then I left, never to see either one of them again.” She sighed, her eyes half closed. “It’s a night I’ll never forget, in spite of everything that happened, or maybe partly because of it.”
“Certainly a tragedy,” I said. “Mr. Firestone’s death, I mean.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. I’ve seen lots of his performances. I even went to Minneapolis last winter to see him at the State Theater. Do you know how cold and miserable Minneapolis is in the winter?”
“I’ve never been, but I’ve heard tell,” I said.
“Well, you heard correctly. Much worse than here. Except for that awful blizzard we had last January.”
“That was one for the history books indeed.”
“Yes. I’m not too keen on the cold, but still I went to Minnesota. My cousin Frida lives there in the Twin Cities, and she goes steady with a boy named Wally who works at the theater there in the box office. So, I got a ticket and even a backstage pass, can you imagine? How could I not go?”
“Indeed, that does sound too good to pass up,” Riker said.
“Yes. I took the mid-morning train and got there in time for the show. I spent the night at Frida’s, and then took the early afternoon train back.”
“You mentioned you had a backstage pass, but you didn’t get to meet Almanzo?” I said.
She shook her head. “No, unfortunately. I went to his dressing room, but there was some hullaballoo over something, so I didn’t get to go in. Not sure what it was all about.”
“That’s too bad,” Riker said.
“Yes, but still, he was magnificent in the performance, well worth the trip. He had such a way of speaking. Absolutely mesmerizing. But now his voice and his talent have been forever silenced. A tragedy, as you said. But God’s will, of course.”
“God’s will? How so?” Riker said.
She shrugged. “It just is. I believe everything is God’s will. That blizzard in January, for example. God brought that down on us sinners for something we had done. Humans are just instruments in his hands. We do his bidding, you see, and he punishes us as he sees fit.”
“Frankly, Miss Lufkin, I don’t see,” I said. “That sounds to me like removing personal responsibility from your actions.”
She pouted. “You sound like my neighbor, Mr. Levitz. He lives in the back apartment, 2B. He doesn’t see the truth either, or refuses to see it. He thinks God is benevolent and forgiving.”
“Actually, Miss Lufkin, it does state in the Bible, ‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only son,’” Riker said. “That sounds pretty benevolent to me.”
“Yes, well, in Mr. Firestone’s case, God gave him his talent, and God took it away,” she said.
“Someone with a revolver took it away,” I said.
“But only as God directed them.”
“And what reason would God have for doing that?” Riker said.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Detective,” she said, fiddling with the gold letter about her neck again. “We may never know for sure, but most likely Mr. Firestone did something to anger God, and he was thus struck down.”
“Convenient,” Riker said.
“Not really, it’s just how it is. I believe his was a death foretold in the stars.”
“Oh? You mean you somehow knew beforehand?” Riker said.
“No, of course not. But it was foretold, nonetheless. Nothing could be done to stop it.”
“Isn’t it unusual for a fan—excuse me—an admirer of a fortune-teller and spiritualist to also be religious?” I said.
“I don’t think so. I think it’s all intertwined. Almanzo was a man of God. God gave Almanzo the talent to see the future, to speak to the dead, and he used it well.”
“To turn a profit by being a prophet,” I said.
She scowled at me. “I can tell you’re a nonbeliever. But beware, Detective. Both of you. He is watching.”
“If he’s watching me, I’m sure he’s getting quite a show. By the way, Miss Lufkin, what was in the note you sent Mr. Ricci earlier?” I said. It was a gamble, but it paid off.
Her face turned pale. “Note?”
“Yes, we happened to be in his room when the bellboy delivered it. We spoke with the bellboy afterward, and his description of the girl who gave it to him fits you to a T.”
“Oh, that note. Well, uh, yes, of course. I wrote Mr. Ricci a condolence note, that’s all.”
“How kind of you. But what about Mrs. Firestone?” Riker said. “It seems she would have been the one to send a condolence note to.”
“Yes, I suppose so, but I only met her briefly at the cocktail party in their suite, so I thought Mr. Ricci would be a better choice.”
“But you said you never met Mr. Ricci, either, except briefly during the cocktail party. In fact, you said he was obnoxious and rather annoying and you didn’t care for him,” Riker said.
“Yes, but I, uh, wanted to show there were no hard feelings. Because of the incident with the gun and all.”
“Did you send a condolence note to Mr. Goodacre?” I said.
“No, I didn’t. I guess I should have sent one to him and Mrs. Firestone, too. Maybe I still will.” More fiddling with the necklace.
“Yes, I guess you should have sent them both notes. Or perhaps not.” Riker said.
“By the way, why were you discharged from your position at the First National Bank?” I said.
She looked surprised. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my supervisor, Mr. Mungston, claimed I was tardy seven times in sixty days.”
“Were you?”
“No, it was only six times and all with good reason, but it’s for the better anyway.”
“How so?” Riker said.
“It’s God’s will, of course. He wanted me to leave the First National Bank because he has something else destined for me to do, I’m sure.”
“And what would that be?”
“I really couldn’t say. It hasn’t been disclosed to me yet, but I’m sure it will all come to light.”
“Fascinating. By the way, your necklace is quite interesting. Is that F for Firestone?” I said.
“What? Oh, no, I’m not that big an admirer. It’s for Florence, my first name. Most people call me Flo.”
“A charming name,” Riker said.
“Thanks. I was named after my aunt. I wear this necklace every day. It reminds me of her, especially as she gave it to me just a month before she died.”
“She must have been a lovely lady.”
“She was.”
“Well, we won’t keep you any longer, Miss Lufkin, but we’ll be in touch,” I said as the three of us got to our feet.
“Why will you be in touch? I’ve already told you everything I know.”
“As things come up, we may have more questions, things we didn’t think of before.”
“I see. Well, right now I need to wash my hair, so if you’ll excuse me…”
“Yes, thank you for your time,” I said. “Good day.”
“Good day, gentlemen.”
We gathered up our hats, left her apartment, and returned to the street, where we walked the short distance to my car.
“What do you make of her?” I said.
“She’s something. That bit about the note she sent to Ricci didn’t ring true to me.”
“Not at all. If that was a condolence note she sent, I’m the Queen of England. I’m willing to bet it was something else entirely, and not signed,” I said.
“Not signed?” Riker said.
“Correct. If I had to guess, I’d say it said something like, Meet me in Lake Park by the old lighthouse, or something, on Monday, at four p.m., or something like that. I’ll be in a green dress, or blue, or whatever.”
“But why? What could she want to meet Ricci for? And why wouldn’t she sign the note?”
“That remains to be seen. It’s also possible, I suppose, that the note was signed. That she was lying about never having met Mr. Ricci, and that they are comrades, of a sort, in a dirty business.”
“You mean they were in on Firestone’s murder?”
“It’s possible. That whole scene in the suite with the gun, Ricci making advances on Miss Lufkin, it could have all been an act,” I said.
“So, she’s a suspect along with Mrs. Webster, and maybe even Scotty.”
“Yes.”
“But what’s her motive? In love with Mr. Ricci? Even if that’s true, it wouldn’t be a motive to kill Firestone.”
“No, it wouldn’t appear so. Perhaps she acted alone, thinking she was performing God’s will. Or maybe she’s totally innocent. There are other suspects, of course. Mr. Goodacre, Mrs. Firestone, and Mr. Ricci, and possibly some combination of them all. Detective work is really about considering each of the possibilities, and then slowly eliminating them until you’re left with one.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It’s actually not difficult if you pay attention to the details and all the little things. Like how you noticed the carnation on Firestone’s lapel. If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have paid any attention to that.”
“Huh. I think I understand. It’s like solving a crossword puzzle. You look at the clue, then come up with possible solutions, paying attention to the letters, if any, that are already there, to help you.”
“Yes, that’s a pretty good analogy. Come on, let’s head back to the station,” I said, as we reached my car. “Those photos from the Milwaukee Journal are supposed to be delivered this morning, and they may be more letters to our crossword puzzle.”