Afternoon, Tuesday, September 16, 1947
I made it back to the station at one thirty on the dot, signed in, and got upstairs to my desk, where I found the coroner’s and forensic reports on Ricci waiting for me.
I hung up my suit coat and hat, had a seat, and looked over the reports carefully, taking notes. I also took the time to study the books I’d gotten on spiritualism, séances, the occult, crystal balls, and tarot cards once more. When I had finished, I motioned for Riker to join me.
“How was the lunch date with your aunt?” he said, making himself comfortable in the chair next to my desk.
“Fine, if a little rushed. I didn’t want to be gone too long.”
“I understand. They released Miss Lufkin. I’m assuming she’s back at her apartment by now.”
“Good. I’m sure she’s plenty steamed at us,” I said.
“Yes, I’m sure she is, but you still want to question her about the man she said was her date, don’t you?”
“I do,” I said, “but first things first. The coroners and forensics reports were waiting for me when I got back. I just finished looking them over.”
“Oh? What did they say?”
“According to the forensics report, the bullets from Firestone and Ricci came from the same gun all right.”
“Wowzer, so the same person killed them both.”
“It appears that way. If only we could find the gun. Any news on that warrant?”
“Still waiting on Judge Whitaker. It was delivered to him, so all he has to do is sign it.”
“Can’t rush a judge, unfortunately,” I said.
“I imagine not. What did the coroner’s report say?”
“Firestone was shot from about ten feet away, Ricci from about six feet. Ricci died almost instantly. Interestingly, he didn’t have any scratches or marks on his face or body. No hair or skin under his fingernails, and none of his clothing appeared ripped or torn, just bloodstained and dirty from lying in the alley.”
“So, there was no struggle,” Riker said, sounding disappointed.
“Apparently not. If Ricci had grabbed Florence Lufkin’s chain in an attempt to fight her off or while attacking her, there most likely would have been some marks on his face or neck, or he would have been shot at close range as they struggled, not head-on from six feet away.”
“But then how did Ricci end up clutching Lufkin’s necklace?” Riker said.
“We don’t know for certain it was her necklace. Only that it was similar to the one she wore.”
“But it had an F on it,” Riker said.
“Lots of names start with F.”
“True, but like I said before, it’s too coincidental two people involved in this case wore a chain with the letter F on it.”
“Yes, I know. But at this point, we can’t prove it belongs to her, and we can’t prove it doesn’t.”
“Well, I still think it’s pretty cut and dried. Miss Lufkin and Ricci were having an affair. They perhaps met backstage in Minneapolis when she went there to see Firestone’s show. He got her the gun and convinced her to kill Firestone after telling her about his sexual activities. What Firestone was doing was unnatural to her, unseemly, disgusting. She probably believed God wanted her to shoot him. That note Ricci received was most likely from her, asking him to meet her in that bar. Maybe she decided she wanted money for her part in the killing, or she just wanted to see him, to profess her love for him. He goes to meet her and breaks things off with her, but asks her for her necklace as a remembrance or something. She gives it to him, then shoots him when they go out to the alley, angry and heartbroken.”
“Interesting and plausible.”
Riker beamed. “Thanks. I think so, too.”
“Were you able to reach Mr. Billings at the Blatz?”
“Yes, quite a chatty fellow. He confirmed Mrs. Firestone spent the afternoon in the lobby from about three until nearly five, writing notes and letters at one of the desks and visiting with him. Mondays are slow days in the hotel business.”
“I can imagine. So her alibi checks out. Interesting.”
“Yes, and so does Mr. Goodacre’s. Room service records show he called down for saltine crackers and an Alka-Seltzer at two minutes past three, and then he called again to have the tray picked up at three minutes after four.”
“Good thing for Mr. Goodacre the Blatz keeps good records,” I said.
“Yeah, so now what?” Riker said.
“Now we wait to see if the judge approves that warrant. Just in case your theory isn’t quite correct, I still want to question Miss Lufkin about that supposed date of hers, but we might as well wait until we have the warrant and go over to search her place. At this point, if she is the murderer, I’d rather her think she’s off the hook for now, just in case she hasn’t yet disposed of the gun.”
“And if the judge doesn’t get the warrant back to us today?”
“Tomorrow’s another day. I’m sure the judge will have the warrant by morning.”
“I guess it’s true what you said before. Being a detective is all about waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to appear, waiting for someone to leave, and waiting for just about anything and everything.”
“True words, Riker. If we don’t get that warrant by six tonight, we’ll go have dinner and go to that séance afterward. Better call your wife again. It’s going to be another late night.”