Morning, Monday, September 15, 1947
We entered the police station and checked in on the blackboard by the sergeant’s desk. “Morning, Sparrow,” I said.
“Barrington, Riker,” Sergeant Sparrow said, looking up at us. “You two were out and about early this morning. I came on duty at ten and saw you’d already come and gone.”
“Hot on the trail, as they say. Any messages?”
He glanced at a few notes on his desk. “Nope, nothing for you two. A courier from the Milwaukee Journal dropped off an envelope for you, though, Barrington. I had Porter take it up to your desk. I had to tip the courier a quarter, you know.”
“Great, thanks. I owe you one.”
“Sure, still waiting on those ballgame tickets you promised me, too, by the way.”
“Baseball season’s over,” I said.
“I have a feeling I’ll be waiting next year, too.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. How’s the wife and kids?” I said.
“All doing well. Baby number five is due soon. Still hoping for a boy this time.”
“Name him after me,” I said, “and I’ll buy you a cigar and get you those ballgame tickets.”
“Sure you will,” Sparrow said. “But it will probably be another girl.”
“As long as she’s healthy,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But a boy would still be nice.” The phone on his desk started to ring. “Gotta go,” he said, picking up the receiver.
“See you in the funny papers, Sparrow,” Riker said. We turned and climbed the stairs to the detectives’ room, running into Spelling on his way down.
“Morning, Barrington,” Spelling said, glancing at Riker and then back at me. “I see you took my little student here under your wing. The chief said you actually requested him.”
“I did. Riker has got a sharp mind and a photographic memory, and he’s already been a big help to me. Your loss, my gain. How’s your vandalism case?”
“I think I’ve got it covered, and I did it all on my own.”
“Good to hear. I guess I’m not as swift as you. I’ll take all the help I can get,” I said.
“You’ll need it,” he said, smirking. “I heard about that All-Seeing spiritualist fellow. Shot dead in an alley in the middle of the night, no witnesses, no motive. Good luck trying to solve that one.”
“No witnesses we know of at present,” Riker said.
“Somebody told me he was shot taking a leak against the wall. They found him with his pants down.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Spelling,” I said. “Now if you’ll excuse us…”
“Sure, sure. Be my guest.” He bowed and waved us up the stairs as he continued down. “Say, I just had a thought,” he said, calling after us. We stopped at the top and looked down at him.
“What?” Riker said.
“My cousin Bertha’s got a Ouija board. Maybe she’ll let you use it to solve your case. You know, ask the dead guy who shot him.” Spelling snorted and laughed like a braying donkey as he turned and disappeared down the hall.
“Jackass,” I muttered.
“Hee-haw,” Riker said. “Don’t let him get to you. Come on, let’s take a look at those photographs the courier dropped off.”
I shook Spelling out of my head and walked with Riker to my desk, where the large manila envelope had been placed in my inbox. “These are the ones the photographer from the Milwaukee Journal took the night Firestone was murdered. Let’s go into the briefing room and take a look at them.”
I spread out all six of the black-and-white 8x10s on the table and studied them. They were mostly closeups of Mr. Firestone and Miss Lufkin at the restaurant table, but there was also one of the two of them with Mr. Goodacre. I wondered which one the paper would have used if Firestone hadn’t been murdered. Instead they ran a stock photo of him in his theatrical garb along with the attention getting headline: The All-Seeing Almanzo Shot Dead in Dark Alley, Alley Cat Killer On the Loose.
I picked up one or two of the pictures and studied them closely, then set them back down. “Not much to see here, I don’t think. Just standard photos of Firestone, Lufkin, and Goodacre in the restaurant at the Blatz. Oh well, it was worth a shot.”
“What’s our next step, Heath? It seems we’re no closer to figuring this thing out.”
“I know. I feel like we’re still missing a piece or two of the puzzle.”
“Do you think there’s a chance we’re over thinking this? Do you think it could have been a random mugger or burglar?”
“I’m not ready to rule that out, but I don’t think it’s likely. We have six good suspects, all with moms,” I said.
“Moms?”
“Motive, opportunity, and means. Mrs. Firestone, Mr. Ricci, Mr. Goodacre, Miss Lufkin, Mrs. Webster, and Scotty.” I walked over to the blackboard and picked up the chalk, writing each suspect’s name across the top. Down the side I wrote Motive, Opportunity, and Means.
“Mrs. Firestone had the insurance money among other things as a motive. Ricci’s motive was wanting a chance at the spotlight. Goodacre’s motive would be to prevent Firestone finding out about him embezzling, if in fact he was. Miss Lufkin may have felt she was doing God’s work. They all could have easily followed Firestone, and they all had access to the gun. And we’ve already gone over Mrs. Webster and Scotty. So they all had moms.” I walked back to the table once more and looked at the pictures from the newspaper photographer. Miss Lufkin was grinning like an idiot in every picture, Goodacre wore a very practiced smile, and Firestone just looked grumpy. “I wish these pictures were more helpful. I’m not sure what I was hoping for.”
Riker picked one of them up again and studied it. “Hmm, maybe they are,” he said.
“Helpful? In what way?”
Riker handed the photograph he’d been holding to me. “Take a closer look.”
I studied it but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Just a picture of three people.”
“You mean you don’t see it?” Riker said.
“See what?”
“Actually, it’s more what you don’t see. In every one of these photos, Firestone isn’t wearing the carnation in his lapel.”
“Right, he went to the flower shop after dinner, remember?”
“I do. And do you remember what Miss Lufkin said when she described Firestone? She mentioned he was wearing a navy suit with a red tie, a carnation in his lapel, and a monocle.”
“Say, you’re right! And she said when they parted after dinner, she never saw him again.”
“But she definitely said Firestone had a carnation in his lapel. There’s no way she would have known about that unless she saw him after dinner.”
“Good thinking, Riker. I would have missed that.”
“I think we may know who the killer is, Heath. She followed him after dinner, saw him buy the carnation, saw him go into the alley, saw what he was doing, and shot him dead, being the good Christian woman she is. If so, it wasn’t premeditated.”
“But why would she be carrying a gun if it wasn’t premeditated?” I said.
“Maybe for protection, like you said about Mrs. Webster. And Miss Lufkin is a fairly attractive young woman out walking the streets at night. It makes sense.”
“Yes. Yes, it does. And perhaps she had an accomplice. Remember the note she sent to Ricci.”
“Jeepers, that’s certainly possible. Now what?”
“I think we need to have another talk with Miss Lufkin and Mr. Ricci.”
“Because you think Ricci and Miss Lufkin may have been in on Firestone’s murder together?”
“Maybe. Your comment on the carnation and how Miss Lufkin described Mr. Firestone jarred something with me. Ricci described Firestone as wearing a baby blue tie that night. He also stated he never saw Firestone again after briefly stopping at the dinner table where Firestone, Goodacre, and Miss Lufkin were looking over their menus, having just sat down.”
“Ah, yes! But Miss Lufkin initially described Firestone as wearing a red tie with the carnation, until she spilled her soup and he went up to change it out for a blue one.”
“Exactly. And according to the police report, Firestone was found wearing a baby blue tie. So Ricci apparently saw him later in the evening also, even though he says he didn’t.”
“So, they both lied,” Riker said.
“It would seem so. But to what end we have yet to determine. Let’s start with Miss Lufkin, then we’ll swing by and talk to Ricci again.”