Late morning, Tuesday, September 16, 1947
We stopped briefly at the front desk of the Blatz Hotel to get the key Mr. Suskind had left for us to room 402. Mr. Billings wasn’t on duty, but the clerk handed it over to us no questions asked once we showed him our badges. From there we went directly to the elevators and then to room 402, not bothering to knock. The door swung open quietly, and we stepped in, closing it behind us. The drapes were open, the bed made, and the lights off. Ricci’s dirty clothes were piled on the desk chair and a pair of his soiled underwear hung from the table lamp. Stale cigarette smoke hung in the air.
“He certainly wasn’t the clean and tidy type,” Riker said, looking about.
“No, he wasn’t. Smells in here, too, like a mix of vomit, bourbon, and cigarette smoke. I feel sorry for the hotel maid who has to clean this place up.” I opened the closet, noting a green suit, a couple of neckties, a pair of brown leather shoes, a pair of brown trousers, and two dress shirts. On the floor next to the suit sat a battered leather suitcase. “Take a look through the dresser and the desk, and through the pockets of the clothes on that chair, while I look through the things in here.”
“Right, will do.”
I searched carefully but found nothing out of the ordinary—a button in one of the suit pants pockets, a piece of unchewed chewing gum, and a lone sock, balled up inside the suitcase. I put everything back where it was and closed the closet door, turning to Riker. “Find anything?”
“No, sir, not really. Just his socks and underwear in the dresser. In the pockets of the clothes on the chair, I got a brown shoelace, and two phone numbers on slips of paper, one for a girl named Agnes, and another for a Dolly Sinclair. Dolly’s has two stars drawn next to it, along with an address here in Milwaukee.”
“Ricci worked fast. They just got to town on Friday, and according to him, he didn’t go out Saturday night.”
“But remember Mrs. Firestone said he did go out Friday night. That’s where he most likely met Dolly, and maybe Agnes, too.”
“Two for a Friday night,” I said. “What about the desk?”
“A fresh bottle of bourbon in the bottom drawer, an ashtray with four cigarette butts in it, all Camels, a box of matches, a fresh pack of cigarettes, and a theater program for the performance Saturday night. That’s about it.”
“Hmm. I’ll search the bathroom. Take a look under the bed and through the nightstands,” I said.
“Okay.”
The bathroom didn’t take long. Just the usual toiletries lined up on the sink, an open package of condoms, and a wad of used tissue in the wastebasket. The floor had what looked like a dried puddle of urine on it. I poked my head out when I’d finished. “Any luck?”
“I found a hotel envelope with two playing cards in one of the drawers. Kind of odd. A six of hearts torn in half, and the king of spades.”
“That’s it?” I said.
“That’s all that was in the envelope. Must have been some kind of magic trick or something. But he certainly liked his girlie magazines. There must be four or five of them in the one nightstand drawer. I flipped through them all, thinking maybe the note had been tucked inside, but unfortunately not. Some of the pages were stuck together, but I managed to get them apart.”
“I don’t want to think about why they were stuck together.”
“Ricci clearly liked the ladies.”
“And they clearly liked him, including Agnes and Dolly. Good thinking to look between the pages of the magazines, but I doubt he would have gone to much trouble to hide that note. In fact, there wasn’t even a reason for him to keep it. So, if it wasn’t on his person, and it isn’t lying about, it’s probably not here.”
“He must have thrown it away or destroyed it,” Riker said.
“Seems likely. But it was worth a shot.”
“What next?”
“I’ve an idea. Hand me that slip of paper with Dolly’s phone number, will you?”
“Sure,” Riker said, retrieving it from the pants pocket draped over the chair. “Here ya go.”
“Thanks.” I moved over to the desk, lifted the telephone receiver, asked the hotel operator for an outside line, and then dialed O.
“Operator,” a soft female voice said.
“Klondike 5 4947, please,” I said, reading from the scrap of paper with two stars on it.
“One moment, please.”
She connected me, and it rang four times. Finally, on the fifth ring, another female voice, less soft, answered.
“Hello?”
“Dolly, it’s Larry Ricci,” I said, trying to mimic his voice as best I could. “Lorenzo.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve. You were supposed to take me to dinner last night. I canceled my bridge game and sat by the phone until almost ten o’clock.”
“Sorry, doll, I got tied up.”
“I bet, and I bet I know who tied you up. The one who walked in on us in your hotel room Sunday night. The one you said was just a friend, only you seemed a little too friendly. I should have known. Men. Lying, dirty, double-crossing men.”
“I’ll make it up to you. It was all a misunderstanding.”
“And why should I believe you? You can drop dead for all I care.”
“Now listen, dollface—”
“You listen. You’re a typical love ’em and leave ’em type, I should have known better. You’ll be leaving town, and I’ll never see or hear from you again, and that will be too soon for me!” She slammed the phone down. I hung up and turned to Riker.
“What was that all about?” he said.
“Apparently, Ricci was supposed to go to dinner with Dolly last night, and she was pretty irked that he stood her up, so she’s not aware yet that he’s dead. Also, someone walked in on the two of them here in Ricci’s room on Sunday night,” I said, “someone he may have also been involved with.”
“You think it could have been Mrs. Firestone?”
“Possibly. Or maybe Miss Lufkin, or even Agnes. Or all of the above, or someone else entirely. Obviously Ricci wasn’t a one-woman kind of guy.”
“But you said one of them walked in on Mr. Ricci and this Dolly, and I get the feeling they weren’t playing canasta at the time,” Riker said.
“I get the feeling you’re right. If he was also involved with whoever walked in on him, that person must have been pretty angry, I’m guessing. Curiously, Dolly never said it was a woman specifically.”
“You mean it may have been a man?”
“Possibly. Maybe Ricci played for both teams, like someone else I know,” I said, looking at him.
“That’s hard to believe, but I guess he could have. And don’t look at me like that. By the way, you’re pretty good with voice impressions. You sounded a lot like Ricci.”
“Thanks, I guess I was believable.”
“You were. Now what?”
“Now we break the news to Mrs. Firestone and Mr. Goodacre about Mr. Ricci’s demise, assuming they haven’t already heard.”
I locked the door to 402 behind us, and we went next door to the Valentine Suite, knocking on the door to the sitting room. Getting no response there, we moved down the hall to the suite’s bedroom door, but there was no answer there, either. Finally we tried Mr. Goodacre’s room at the end of the hall. Better luck this time, as he answered the door, looking crisp and neat in a white shirt, blue tie, and black pleated trousers with freshly shined black cap toe shoes.
“Oh, you two again.”
“We get that a lot, it seems. Good morning, Mr. Goodacre. Do you by chance know where Mrs. Firestone is?” I said.
“She’s here with me, actually. We were just discussing plans and arrangements for the future.”
“Plans and arrangements?” I said.
“That’s right. How best to go about finalizing everything, now that the tour’s been officially canceled. Some of the theaters are willing to give us our deposits back, but some aren’t. Some have already sold tickets that will need to be refunded. It’s complicated.”
“I can imagine. I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’d like to speak with both of you if we may.”
“If you must. You can put your hats on the dresser.” He stood aside and motioned us in. Mrs. Firestone was by the window, still dressed in black but not wearing a hat, veil, or gloves. She looked tired.
“Mrs. Firestone,” I said. “I hope we’re not intruding.”
She turned her head and stared at us. “Of course you’re intruding. What a silly thing to say. What do you want?”
“It’s about Mr. Ricci,” Riker said.
“What about him?” she said.
“Yes, what about him? I knocked on his door earlier but there was no answer,” Goodacre said, closing the door and moving into the room with us. “As much as I dislike the man, I figured he should be in on this conversation. Have you checked the bar?”
“Then I take it neither of you have heard,” I said, ignoring his last comment. “I regret to inform you Mr. Ricci is dead.”
“What?” Goodacre said.
“It happened late yesterday afternoon,” I said, looking from Goodacre to Mrs. Firestone.
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Firestone said. She sat down on the bed by the window. “Maybe he’s just in an alcohol-induced coma.”
“No, ma’am, he’s definitely dead. I know this must come as a shock to you both, so soon after Mr. Firestone’s death,” I said. “Please accept our condolences.”
“But how? Why? Did he fall and hit his head or something?” Goodacre said.
“No, sir, it does not appear to be accidental or self-inflicted,” Riker said. “He was murdered.”
“Murdered? Him, too?” Mrs. Firestone said. “Oh my, I need a glass of water.”
Riker went to the bathroom and returned with a tumbler full of water. He handed it to her on the bed. “I’m sorry it’s not very cold, ma’am.”
She took the glass and sipped the water delicately, leaving red lipstick prints on the rim. “It’s fine. Thank you. You say it happened yesterday afternoon?”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re just now informing us?” Mr. Goodacre said.
“My apologies for the delay, but I’m surprised you hadn’t already heard. It was in this morning’s newspaper,” I said.
She looked at me. “We’re from out of town, Detective. Why would we read the local news? I don’t even listen to the radio news broadcasts. It’s all too depressing, and most of it doesn’t apply to us.”
“Some people like to know what’s happening in the world,” I said. “But maybe in your line of work you rely more on crystal balls, tarot cards, and all that.”
“Even at a time like this you like to make fun, to mock,” she said.
“You’re right, of course. My apologies,” I said sincerely.
“I can’t believe it. Why would someone kill Lorenzo?” Goodacre said. “One of his lady friends, perhaps, in a jealous fit.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said. “It’s also possible whoever killed him also killed Almanzo. They were both shot to death in alleys.”
“Oh dear. But if that’s the case, that means it probably wasn’t a random mugger,” Goodacre said.
“That would seem to be correct,” I said. “By the way, where were the two of you yesterday afternoon between three and five?”
“Here—where else would we be?” Mrs. Firestone said.
“Together?”
“No, of course not. I was in the lobby most of the afternoon catching up on my correspondence. I had to write friends and family and let them know about Alfred. It was a difficult task, but it had to be done. I also chatted with that nice Mr. Billings at the front desk. Mr. Goodacre was here in his room, I presume.”
“That’s right, I was. I had a frightful headache and a terrible stomachache. I don’t think the fish I had for lunch agreed with me.”
“Neither of you were near that alley where Mr. Ricci was shot?” Riker said.
“No, sir, I certainly was not. Dark alleys frighten me,” Mr. Goodacre said, and then looked at Mrs. Firestone, who glared at us.
“I certainly was not, either. Unlike my husband, I stay away from dark alleys, Mr. Barrington.”
“Of course, but I had to ask.”
“Because that’s the type of person you are,” she said, finishing the water and setting down the glass.
“Also because that’s the type of person I am, I have to ask if anyone can prove you were where you say you were yesterday.”
“Mr. Billings would vouch for me,” Mrs. Firestone said, “if you feel it’s necessary to check. I went to the lobby around two in the afternoon, and stayed until nearly five.”
“You were in the lobby the entire time?”
“I went upstairs to powder my nose once or twice, but otherwise yes, I never left.”
“And you, Mr. Goodacre?” Riker said.
“I was in my room, so no witnesses, really.”
“I see.”
“I did call for room service, though. About a quarter of three, I called down and asked them to bring me up some saltines and an Alka-Seltzer. When they got there I asked them to come in and set it on the desk. I got up, ate the saltines and took the Alka Seltzer, and went back to bed. About an hour later, I called for them to come pick up the tray.”
“So, the switchboard and room service can confirm you were in your room from at least three to four.”
“Yes, I’m sure they could.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, Mr. Goodacre,” I said.
“Thank you. So am I, though this is all most upsetting.”
“Most definitely. So, now what?” Mrs. Firestone said.
“Ma’am?” Riker said.
“I mean, my husband and his associate have both been murdered, just days apart. Am I to be next? Or Mr. Goodacre?”
“Me?” Goodacre exclaimed nervously.
“There’s no reason to believe either of you are in danger,” I said.
“Had he asked, I’m sure that’s what you would have told Ricci yesterday morning, yet here he is dead,” Mrs. Firestone said.
“I do suggest you both take precautions. I would advise against going out of the hotel alone at any time,” I said.
“How long do you intend to force us to stay in this dangerous city?” Goodacre said.
“I don’t think it will be long. What do the cards tell you, Mrs. Firestone?” I said.
“I haven’t consulted my tarot card deck, and it’s not used for that, regardless. It doesn’t answer random questions.”
“I have a random question perhaps you could answer,” I said. “I understand you visited Florence Lufkin early yesterday morning.”
“Yes, that’s right. How did you know that?”
“It’s my business to know things, Mrs. Firestone. Why did you call on her?”
“I wanted to thank her for being so kind to Almanzo on his last night on earth. She was the president of his admirers here in town, you know.”
“Yes, all sixteen of them.”
“I also wanted to invite her to the séance this evening. She seemed delighted by the idea and assured me she’d come.”
“Surely you’re not still planning on going ahead with that?” Riker said.
“Of course I am, now more than ever. Two unexpected deaths of people who were close to me, so close together. It’s an opportunity that doesn’t present itself often. I hope you’ll both be in attendance. It could even prove beneficial to you in solving your case.”
“I would find that most unusual and surprising, Mrs. Firestone.”
“You are a true disbeliever, Mr. Barrington, but the dead can sometimes have much to tell us. As a spiritualist, I don’t see it as an end, but merely a continuation to a different plane, a different form of existence. I’m saddened and shocked by the loss of my husband, and by Mr. Ricci’s death, but I take comfort in knowing I can contact them at any time, and that I will see them both again soon.”
“How fascinating. And what about you, Mr. Goodacre? Is that how you see death?”
“Well, uh, I must admit this has all been very distressing to me. Most upsetting. And frightening, but I understand what Mrs. Firestone is saying and why she feels the way she does.”
“If you insist on holding this séance, Mrs. Firestone, I think you can count on me and Mr. Riker here attending.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but you won’t get much out it if your mind is closed, Detective.”
“Oh, I think I can pry it open for an evening, and I’m sure Mr. Riker can do the same. We’ll see you at seven, in the sitting room of your suite.”
“Where is Mr. Ricci now?” Mr. Goodacre said.
“His soul has moved to the afterlife,” Mrs. Firestone said. “Or near it. I can feel it hovering between the two worlds.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Goodacre said, suddenly irritable. “But I mean his body. Where is he? Where is it?”
“The city morgue,” I said. “The same place as Mr. Firestone until someone makes arrangements for his internment or the transfer of his body, perhaps back to his hometown. The department is attempting to contact his family. We found a letter from a sister in Albuquerque on his person. Are you aware of any other relations?”
“No, not really, I’m afraid,” Goodacre said. “Muriel?”
“He spoke of his sister, Margaret, in New Mexico a few times, but other than that no one. If there is anyone else, his sister will know,” Mrs. Firestone said. “As for Almanzo, I’ve sent a wire to his cousin and his one remaining uncle. They both live in Dubuque. Once I hear from them, I’ll proceed with funeral arrangements. And as I said, I notified everyone else I could think of via post yesterday afternoon.”
“Okay. And do either of you know why anyone would wish to kill Mr. Ricci?” Riker said.
“Perhaps someone had a grudge against spiritualists. Thankfully I’m just a manager,” Goodacre said.
“But you’re still a part of his entourage, Clive, so I’d keep your door locked, if I were you,” Mrs. Firestone said.
Goodacre shuddered at the thought. “Say, maybe it was that fan club girl. She didn’t seem to care for Lorenzo much.”
“She’d be one of the few females who didn’t,” Mrs. Firestone said. “Though come to think of it, while Clive was trying to clean up the rug where she’d spilled her drink, she did sit at the desk that had the gun in its drawer. She could have easily taken it.”
“Did you notice that, Mr. Goodacre?”
“I did see her sit over there, mainly to get out of the way while I was busy on my hands and knees. The hotel would certainly charge us for a stain like that on the carpet. I wasn’t paying much attention to what any of the others were doing at that point, but she could have stolen the gun and murdered Ricci. I’m not sure why she’d want to kill Almanzo, though, but she may have had her reasons. She is an unusual girl, and she did seem emotionally unstable.”
“Yes, I noticed that, too,” Mrs. Firestone said.
“Right, well, my condolences to each of you once again. We’ll see you tonight,” I said. We picked up our hats and left, Mr. Goodacre closing the door behind us. Riker and I took the elevator to the lobby, and then we walked out to Wells Street.
“I’m confused, to say the least,” Riker said.
“In what way?”
“In every way. I’m not used to people like that.”
“There’s no one kind of person, for better or worse,” I said as we headed for my car.
“That’s the truth. Interesting they didn’t give each other an alibi.”
“I noticed that, too. They could have easily said they were together yesterday afternoon if they were guilty.”
“Right. Curious.”
“Unless only one of them is guilty, or neither of them, and they’re both telling the truth. Or they’re both more clever than they appear.”
“It’s all enough to give me a headache. Say, how about some lunch? I’m hungry.”
“Sorry, but I can’t today. I have a tea date with my aunt Verbina at the Pfister.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember you saying you have tea with her once a month.”
“More or less, yes, when I can. She’s quite a gal. You’d like her.”
“No doubt. I’ll just eat my meatloaf sandwich, green beans, and chocolate cake in the break room back at the station then. By myself.”
“Sounds tasty.”
“Leftovers from last night. I’ll hold down the fort in case anything comes up.”
“Right. Do me a favor, though. Give Mr. Billings a call and follow up on Mrs. Firestone’s statement that she was in the lobby all afternoon yesterday. Also, verify Goodacre’s alibi with the hotel switchboard and room service.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Thanks. I’ll drop you back, but we’ll have to hurry. My aunt does not tolerate tardiness. If you need me, call the Pfister and have me paged. I should be back by one thirty.”