1965 - The Way the Cookie Crumbles (2 page)

Wearing a chef’s apron, cut down to size, Edris was finishing polishing the last of the glasses when Louis, the maître d’hôtel, came in.

‘They want to talk to you, Ticky,’ he said. ‘Just answer their questions. The less everyone says about this the better for Mr. Browning.’

Edris hung up the glass cloth and took off his apron.

His odd shaped face was a little drawn and there were shadows under his eyes. He had been working non-stop since six o’clock and he felt pretty pooped.

‘Okay, Mr. Louis,’ he said, slipping into his white drill jacket. ‘You leave it to me.’

He trotted out of the room and into the bar. At the far end of the bar a photographer was taking pictures of the dead woman. Chief of Police Terrell, a big man with sandy hair, flecked with white, and a jutting, square jaw, was talking to Browning. Apart from a slight stubble of beard, Terrell showed no sign that he had just rolled out of bed and into his clothes at Beigler’s telephone call.

Dr. Lowis, the Medical officer, a short, fat man was waiting impatiently for the photographer to finish. Two fingerprint men who sat at the bar, looking longingly at the rows of bottles, also waited.

Fred Hess and Detective 3rd Grade Max Jacoby, a notebook in hand, sat in one of the banquettes. Looking up and seeing Edris, Hess beckoned.

Edris trotted over.

‘You the waiter who served the dead woman?’ Hess demanded.

‘Yes.’

Hess studied the dwarf. His expression said plainly he didn’t think much of what he saw. Edris stared back at him, his face expressionless, his stubby hands clasped before him.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Ticky Edward Edris.’

‘Address?’

‘24, East Street, Seacombe.’

Seacombe was an extension of Paradise City where most workers of a low-income group lived.

While Hess was questioning Edris, Jacoby, a young bright looking Jew, recorded the answers.

‘What time did she arrive here?’ Hess asked, lighting a cigarette.

‘A little after eleven: eight minutes past to be exact.’

Hess looked sharply at the dwarf.

‘How can you be as sure as that?’

‘I own a watch. I use it.’

‘Was she alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Had she reserved the banquette she’s in now?’

‘No. It was late. Nearly everyone had left the bar and had gone to the restaurant. There was plenty of room.’

‘She seem all right?’

Hess was aware that Browning and Terrell had come up and were listening. Glancing over his shoulder, Edris saw Browning frowning at him and he said, a little hurriedly, ‘She was all right.’

‘When she came in, what did she do?’

‘She went to the banquette and sat down. I asked her if she was waiting for anyone and she said no. She ordered a whisky sour. I served it and beat it.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘I had to go down to the restaurant with drinks. When I came back the curtain was drawn. I asked the barman if anyone had joined her, but he said she was still on her own. I reckoned she wanted privacy so I didn’t go near her.’

‘You’re damned right she wanted privacy. Then what happened?’

‘We close around two-thirty. When most of the people had gone and the curtain still remained drawn, I went along to collect. I rapped on the stall, but got no answer. I looked in and there she was.’

‘You didn’t go near for three and a half hours?’

‘That’s right. I was busy. I work in the stillroom. We had a heavy night. There was plenty to clear up.’

Browning suddenly grunted and turning to Terrell, said, ‘I’m going home. Louis will lock up. This is a hell of a thing for me. Could ruin my business. Get your men out of here as quickly as you can, Frank. I want Louis to get some sleep.’

‘We won’t be long now, Harry,’ Terrell said, shook hands and then watched Browning walk down the stairs and out of sight. He went down the bar to where Dr. Lowis was now examining the dead woman.

Edris said, ‘When you asked just now if she seemed all right, I didn’t tell you the truth. I’d like to answer that question again.’

Hess glared at him.

‘Look, your mother might have thought you were cute, but I don’t. You mean you were lying?’

‘I didn’t want to lose my job.’ Edris took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweating face. ‘I like this job. The boss was listening. If I had told the truth and he had heard me, he would have booted me out.’

‘What makes you think he won’t boot you out if you tell the truth now?’

‘If you don’t tell him, he won’t know, will he?’

Hess eyed the dwarf thoughtfully, then shrugged.

‘Okay. So she didn’t seem all right?’

‘No. As soon as I saw her, I knew she was in trouble. She was white and shaking. I knew when she got that way, she’s likely to make a scene. Scream, get hysterical. So when I saw she was ready to flip her lid, I got her into the banquette and got her a drink. I pulled the curtain. I didn’t want her to make a scene. The boss doesn’t like scenes.’

Hess and Jacoby looked at each other, then Hess said, ‘You mean you know this woman?’

Edris glanced over his shoulder to where Louis was standing talking to Bert Hamilton, then lowering his voice, he said, ‘Yes, I know her. She lives in the apartment opposite mine.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you say so before?’ Hess snarled.

‘You didn’t ask me, and besides, I told you, Mr. Browning was listening. If he finds out I knew her and I put her in the banquette, he’ll boot me out.’

‘What do you know about her?’

‘She’s a junkie and a whore. I’ve known her off and on for eight years.’

Hess leaned forward.

‘You mean she’s your girl, Ticky?’

Edris looked at him for a moment, his eyes sad, then he said, ‘You think any girl would be my girl?’

‘You steered some of the rich playboys her way and she gave you a rake off? That’s it, isn’t it, Ticky?’

‘She happened to live in the apartment opposite mine,’ Edris said with quiet dignity. ‘From time to time, she used to talk to me. I guess she looked on me the way you and the rest of them do: like a freak. Just because she talked to me doesn’t make me a pimp, does it?’

They stared at each other. Hess was the first to look away.

‘What did she talk about?’

‘Lots of things. Her husband, her daughter, her life, her lovers.’

‘She married?’

‘That’s right.’

Louis came over.

‘You Mr. Hess?’

‘What of it?’ Hess snapped. ‘I’m busy.’

‘You’re wanted on the telephone,’ Louis said, his aristocratic nose tilting.

Hess got to his feet.

‘Stick around, pint size,’ he said to Edris. ‘I’m not through with you yet.’

He went to the bar and picked up the receiver.

‘Yeah?’

‘This is Joe,’ Beigler said. ‘We’ve got a murder in our laps. The Chief with you?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Tell him I’ve found this guy she mentions in her note. He’s got five holes shot in him. I want you over here.’

‘Okay. I’ll tell him. Nice, ain’t it? Doesn’t look as if we’re going to get any sleep, does it?’

‘That’s a goddamn fact. Hurry it up, Fred,’ and Beigler broke the connection.

As Hess replaced the receiver, two white-coated interns came up the stairs, carrying a folded stretcher.

‘The stiff ready yet?’ one of them asked.

‘Pretty near. Hang on. I’ll see.’ Hess started down the bar. As he passed Edris, he said, ‘Okay, Ticky, you can beat it. We’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get down to headquarters at eleven and ask for me . Hess is the name.’

He continued on to Terrell and Dr. Lowis.

‘Yes, you can take her away,’ Lowis said as he finished packing his bag. ‘I’ll have a report on your desk by tomorrow at ten. I’m going back to bed.’

Hess grinned at him.

‘That’s what you think, Doc,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’ve got another stiff for you. Beigler’s just phoned. He’s waiting for you at 247, Seaview Boulevard.’

Dr. Lowis’ fat face was a study.

‘That means I won’t get any sleep tonight,’ he protested.

‘What do guys like us want with sleep?’ Hess said, his grin widening. ‘We’re supermen.’

As Lowis hurried away, Terrell said sharply, ‘What’s this, Fred?’

‘Joe just called, Chief. Reports a shooting murder. He wants us over there, sir.’

Terrell looked down at the woman who had been laid out on the floor. She was about forty; a thin, good-looking woman with a good figure.

‘A junkie, Fred. Her thighs are riddled with needle scars.’

‘The dwarf has been shooting the breeze. He knows her. Says she’s not only a junkie, but a whore too. Browning will love this when it comes out.’

Like a vulture smelling decay, Hamilton of the Sun was moving down the bar towards them.

‘We’ll leave Max to take care of this end,’ Terrell said. ‘Let’s get over to Joe.’

‘What’s happening now?’ Hamilton asked. He was a tall, grey-haired man in his early forties. Someone had told him once he looked like James Stewart and he had cultivated a plum-in-the-mouth drawl that made him even more like the famous actor.

Terrell started down the long bar.

‘Tag along and you’ll see,’ he said, over his shoulder.

‘What’s cooking?’ Hamilton asked as he fell into step with Hess.

‘Another stiff. She knocked him off and then knocked herself off,’ Hess said. ‘The kind of crap that’s right up your alley.’

As the two men passed him, Edris stepped back and looked after them. Then he watched the two interns lift the dead woman on to the stretcher and hurry away with her. It wasn’t until he had trotted into the stillroom and closed the door that his face lit up with an evil little grin.

With sheer exuberance, he began to dance round and round the room, waving his stumpy arms in time with his dancing.

* * *

Seaview Boulevard connected Paradise City with the town of Seacombe. At the Paradise City end of the long boulevard the villas were large, lush and costly. Each of them had an acre or so of ornate garden, a swimming pool, triple garages and electronically controlled carriage gates.

At the Seacombe end of the boulevard, the villas were small, shabby and cheap. They stood in tiny gardens and the sidewalk was chalked out for kids’ games. Seaview Boulevard represented as nothing else could the upper and the lower stratas of American life, the haves and the havenots, the rich and the poor.

The first pale fingers of dawn were lighting the night sky as Sergeant Beigler pulled up outside No. 247: a bungalow type of villa, screened by a high overgrown hedge.

He took a flashlight from the glove compartment of his car, then crossed the sidewalk, pushing open the wooden gate and using the beam of the flashlight to light his way up the short path to the front door. He lifted the well-worn mat and picked up the key the dead woman had written would be there.

He paused for a moment to look at the bungalow low opposite which was in darkness, then loosening his gun in its holster, he put his thumb on the bell push and kept it there. He didn’t expect anyone to answer the door, but he was a careful cop. He wasn’t using the key until he was sure that no one but the dead was in the bungalow.

A two-minute wait satisfied him, and slipping the key into the lock, he opened the door. He stepped into a small hall, shut the door and swung the beam of his flashlight around until he located the light switch. He snapped down the switch and the ceiling light came on, showing him a passage ahead of him with closed doors either side.

He was a little surprised to find, apart from grubby white nylon drapes, the two front rooms were unfurnished. The third door further down the passage gave onto a bathroom. From the towels on the hot rail and the pink sponge in the bath rack, he concluded someone used the bathroom. The door opposite led into the kitchenette. The empty, dusty cupboards and drawers told him no one living in this bungalow ever ate there.

He moved on to the two rooms at the end of the passage. He opened the left door, switched on the light and entered a bedroom. He saw at a glance this was no ordinary bedroom.

In the centre of the room was a king-size bed. The sheets and the pillowcases were immaculate and hadn’t been used. There was a big mirror fitted to the wall opposite the bed and another mirror covered the ceiling.

The carpet was thick and the colour of old claret. The bottle green coloured walls were decorated with framed photographs of smiling, naked showgirls. There was a big closet on one side of the room and Beigler walked over to it and opened the doors. A brief look showed him that here was all the perverted paraphernalia of a call girl from albums of erotica to whips and canes. He closed the cupboard, then walked out of the room and paused as he faced the closed door of the remaining room. He reached forward, turned the handle of the door and pushed it open.

The door swung slowly back. There was a light on in the room. Facing him was a single bed. A man was slumped down in the bed, a newspaper spread across the sheet.

Death had caught him in the harmless occupation of reading the evening news. He wore blue and white pyjamas; the front of the jacket was stained with blood. There was blood on his clenched hands and a smear of blood across his suntanned cheek.

Beigler stared at him for a long moment, then moved into the room.

The dead man was powerfully built with the shoulders of a boxer. His crew-cut hair was the colour of Indian ink. A pencil line moustache gave him a swaggering, sexy look. He belonged to the regiment of playboys you see on the beaches of Paradise City; flaunting their muscles, their maleness and their virility; their only assets, for the dollar never comes easy to men like them.

Beigler saw a telephone on the bedside table. He dialled La Coquille’s number. He had just finished speaking with Hess when the front door bell rang. He went to the front door to Find Detective 2nd Grade Tom Lepski standing on the doormat.

‘The Chief said there was trouble out here,’ Lepski said as he stepped into the hall. He was a wiry, tall man, tough, with a lined, suntanned face and clear ice-blue eyes.

‘Yeah a stiff. Come and see him.’

Beigler led the way back to the bedroom. Lepski stared at the dead man then pushed his hat to the back of his head.