The Bedroom Bolero

by Michael Avallone

  The nightmare came full cycle at Headquarters at eight o’clock that morning. I felt like three days without sleep, a week without a shave and the emptiness of Grand Canyon grandeur. It was a lousy way to feel.

  Evelyn Eleven came up from the morgue where she had made identification and confirmation. Sanderson, James T., brought her into Monks’ office. She looked positively ghoulish. The lank hair, the long, sloppy trenchcoat, the pale unmade face with the bony contours were a combined mockery of mixed values. Even dead in such a horrible way, Ada had looked more alive.

  The Evil Evelyn saw me and smiled her ghastly smile.

  “I wonder when we will all see Ada again. It would be interesting to compare notes without being confused by fleshly passions.”

  “Stop it,” I rasped. “She’s dead and I’d rather see you cry than make jokes about heaven and hell.”

  “Poor Noon. You’re frightened, aren’t you? I don’t wonder. I understand she was with you when it happened.”

  “Miss Grabowski,” Monks interposed quietly. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted to do this to your sister?”

  She looked surprised. “My name is not Grabowski. It is Eleven. Why ask about enemies? You don’t think anyone else besides this Bolero killer is responsible, do you?”

  Monks’ smile matched her own. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Really. A child would say the same. Mr. Noon here is involved in a murder case. A woman he befriends, shall we say, is murdered. Is it at all possible that there is no connection?”

  “Is that what you really think?”

  Her long lashes blinked. “Yes.”

  Monks nodded. “Is there anything you can tell us about your sister that might give us a few leads?”

  “No,” she said coldly. “Nothing. We have never been close. I only kept her with me till she found her own way toward the light. I knew so little about her.” She looked at me. “I’m sure Mr. Noon learned more about her wants and desires in two short days than I ever did.”

  Only a bitch would have made a remark like that considering the occasion. A dead Ada pushed me from the grave and unbidden words tumbled out of my angry mouth.

  “She was warm. She made love. A human being. She wasn’t a phony or a pretender or a cultist. She was twice the woman you’ll ever be, sister. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you because you have your own ideas about what being a woman is. But I’m warning you. Lay off Ada. I cried for her this morning and I’m willing to fight for her too.”

  The look that Evelyn Eleven sent across the room toward me would have made Evil Eye Fleegle blush with shame. The alarming stare held Hex, Voodoo, Drop Dead and the whole book of demonology. Measured in terms of her natural contempt for the male animal, the look would have shriveled houseflies who happened to buzz across her line of vision.

  But she turned to Monks with great calm. “Is that all? I must perform tonight and I must have a long sleep in the afternoon to prepare for it.”

  Monks nodded again, seeing a coffin instead of a bed. Wordlessly, she levitated from her chair and vanished from the office.

  “Not natural,” Monks husked when the door closed.

  “Ghouls don’t cry.”

  “She hated her sister?”

  “Hate isn’t the word.” I dug out my Camels. “Evelyn doesn’t know any emotion besides the world of witch’s brew and trouble, trouble, toil and bubble.”

  Monks sighed. “Ed, this is tough. You’re on the hook and I’ve got to get you off. Any ideas?”

  I watched a lazy tendril of smoke climb to the ceiling.

  “She’s right about the murder. It ties in. But why our friend didn’t take advantage of a sleeping detective, I’ll never know. That’s the weird part of it all. He had me like a baby if he wanted me. Did he kill Ada because she knew something? Or what? Mike, Mike, Mike. I apologize. The more I try to help the more fouled-up I make it.”

  Monks eyed me suspiciously. “Never mind that. You seem to have met this Evelyn before. Is there something about this Evelyn you know that I ought to know before I find out for myself and get mad all over again?”

  I shrugged. It was too early to spring the police informer notion on him and I still didn’t believe that anyway. But it was unsettling.

  “You saw her, Mike. You heard her. She’s a sensational performer trying to cash in on a page one murder case. She’s also screwy if you ask me.”

  “Screwy enough to kill her own sister?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. I really didn’t.

  He pyramided his fingers. “Well, we got the Torrance and Hale women safe so far. And as soon as I get the report from Bostwick maybe we can cover more ground. But like I told you, I’m not hoping for too much. This killer is pretty smart, crazy or not. It’s funny. I never saw a case with so many pieces of equipment and information to trace that turned up zero. If the trial comes up, there’ll be so many exhibits for the prosecution, they’ll need Yankee Stadium to try the case.”

  “Nothing at all yet?”

  “Zero,” he repeated. “There’s the red paint on the walls of those three rooms. Those lengths of cheap electric lights. The three records of the Bolero. None of the corpses owned any of those things and since Torrance and Hale both admit they don’t own records or electric lights and we heard about the red room arrangement, it’s safe to assume the murderer did a lot of shopping. But we can’t do a damn thing on that score. There are a million hardware stores and record shops in town. They sell lights like that every day. According to Sam Goody’s and all the stores in mid-Manhattan, the Bolero sells like hot-cakes. Nobody’s inventory is all it should be anyway. And that red paint is a lulu according to the lab.”

  “Go on.”

  “We scraped specimens off all three walls. It’s just a plain, flat indoor paint you could pick up in any paint store in the world. Nothing special about it at all.” He sneered. “Bolero red.”

  “What about the cantharides?”

  “Ed, I’ve got a hundred reports on my desk from every hospital from the Bronx to Brooklyn. You know how drug checks are. They can account for every drop of narcotics they’ve got.”

  I lit another cigarette, using the end of the old one.

  “Well, Bostwick could be the answer. The stuff could have been acquired long before this. And out of town.”

  “I hope so. There’s too much going on for me to give all my attention to just one case. But the Chief has dumped it in my lap.”

  “Election time coming up again?”

  “Something’s in the wind. I’ve never seen him so hot for police action.”

  There wasn’t much to talk about after that. I left Headquarters a free man but several inquisitive looks were saved for me by the uniformed and plainclothes personnel. I left without feeling innocent at all.

  I found a barber shop a few blocks off Centre Street and got the works. Shave, haircut and facial massage to relieve the tight lumps on my eye and mouth. Then I had breakfast in a noisy cafeteria where a lot of truck drivers were jollying the waitress. The sounds of life and laughter were somehow comforting. Not to mention about three cups of my life’s blood. Coffee.

  I phoned Melissa before going uptown. She answered the phone with considerable awe in her voice.

  “God, how have you stayed alive so long? The radio announcer said —”

  “Never mind that. I’m a freak. I’m on my way in. Anybody waiting for me?”

  “Yes. A chubby man named Mr. Orelob. Says you know him. He insisted on waiting for you.”

  “He’s okay. Let him sit. Anything else?”

  “Your answering service called. Flo Cooper. She wanted to know if you were okay. We talked awhile — she seems very nice. Invited me to lunch tomorrow with her at her office. I may go.”

  “Flo’s fine,” I admitted. “Anybody else?”

  Melissa giggled. “Miss Fenson, the walking jewelry store? She sent a messenger over with a check for one hundred dollars which I signed for. Why
don’t you take her case, Ed? There’s probably a lot of money in her and she just doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer.”

  “I know what she wants for an answer. See you in fifteen minutes, Melissa. If Fats tries to take off, sit on him. He doesn’t run very fast.”

  When I got to the office and saw Fats Orelob sitting in the chair in the reception room, I felt sorry for him. His fat, full face was sweaty with worry and even though he was wearing a nice, cream-colored suit, his beefy hands were thoughtlessly staining the material with palm prints as he rubbed them anxiously on each thick thigh. His eyes popped with relief when he saw me. He tried to get up in a hurry and dropped his matching cream-colored hat. He was dressed terribly for the winter.

  “Mr. Noon — I’ve been waiting —”

  “Down, Fats. You can come in in a minute.”

  I swept by, leaving him in a pool of anxiety. Melissa Mercer looked up from her desk. Her dark face lit up the room.

  “Ed, I never know if I’m every really going to see you again. You get in all kinds of trouble.”

  I nodded. “Sure. If I’d been a dame I’d probably be the softest touch in town. What time did Fats get here?”

  “Oh, ten o’clock maybe. Not much later than that. Is it all right?”

  “Very. Shoot him in after I get set. Give me five minutes.”

  It took five minutes to set up the simple tape-recording machine on my desk. I moved the client’s chair closer to the apparatus. To Fats, sitting across from me, he would think it was just another intercom box. When I got set, I buzzed Melissa. “Send Mr. Orelob in, Mel.”

  He came in like a man in urgent need of a toilet in Grand Central Station. He plopped himself hurriedly on the chair as if he were afraid I would change my mind and dismiss him. He dropped his hat again. When he picked it up with a fat man’s grunt, I felt sorry for him again. But not too sorry. Ada Grabowski was still dead.

  “Okay, Fats. What do you want?”

  He sucked in some air. “Mr. Noon, you must help me. Howie says you’re the only one who can.”

  “Howie who?”

  He looked surprised. “The waiter at the Cellar. You talked to him the other night when we — when I —”

  I smiled. “Oh. My little friend. I love him too. Why’d he send you to me and why are you still hanging on to that Orelob name?”

  He smiled weakly. “I thought it would help you remember me too. I need help. That is, we need help. Evelyn and me. She wouldn’t ask you, I know, but I have to.”

  “I saw her this morning. She looked all right to me.”

  His eyes darted around the room, looking for hiding places.

  “If she knew I was here, she’d throw me out. But she’s in great danger, Mr. Noon. I think she knows who this Bolero killer is.”

  “Sure,” I said tiredly. “Is that all you came here to tell me?”

  He blinked fearfully. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying? She knows who the killer is. He’ll kill her —”

  I got mad. “Look, hasn’t she got enough publicity out of this mess? Aren’t four corpses enough for her?”

  His face widened into an outsized balloon right before my eyes.

  “Four? But there are only three —”

  “Fats,” I said unkindly, “don’t tell me you didn’t know that Ada was killed this morning in my place —?” Before I could finish, it was obvious he didn’t have the slightest idea. I say that because he looked at me stupidly, tried to suck in more air and get to his feet. He never made it.

  His eyeballs rolled and he fainted dead away. Right where he sat, his cream-colored hat hitting the floor again.

  13 — Nobody Loves a Fat Man

  Fats wasn’t hard to revive. His faint was a combination of fright and shock which Ada’s fate had capped. I ran some water for him from the cooler in one corner of the office and helped him get it all down after loosening his tie and extending his chunky legs. He was breathing more normally in five minutes.

  “Thank you —” he gasped out of his fat. “Don’t know what came over me —”

  “I know,” I said gently.

  “You do — what?”

  “Death came over you. You’re afraid of it because you can’t run fast enough. And you know it.”

  “Yes, of course. That must be it —”

  “What I can’t understand, if you feel like that, is why you’re hooked up with a zombie like Evelyn.”

  He mopped his lips. “Don’t say that. Evvie’s a good woman.”

  “Sure. And so was Ilse Koch.”

  He shivered. “Ada — it’s terrible — terrible — what did Evvie say about it?”

  “She was all broken up about it. You okay now?”

  He nodded and I returned to the desk and sat down again. The recording setup seemed like a waste of time. Fats was a know-nothing on the inside who didn’t know what the inside was all about. The type of person who could work by the side of a murderer for years and on the day of conviction say, with complete candor and honesty: “I can’t understand it. He was the nicest person in the world.”

  “Fats, why did you come to me?”

  “Because of Evvie. I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “I see. And you really think she knows who the killer is?”

  He trembled, the jello image again. “She must. She’s so other-worldly if you know what I mean. She’s extrasensory. You’ve seen her act. It’s not all a trick. Evvie has a gift that makes her know things.”

  “Is that all you have to go on?”

  “Yes. Isn’t it enough? She’s a genius, Evvie is. I’d stake a million dollars if I had it that she knows what this murdering is all about. And if she does, that means the killer must know too, doesn’t it? Oh, Mr. Noon, I want you to protect her. She’d never ask you herself and I know how she’d feel about me coming to you like this —”

  “Fats,” I said. “I have to ask you an embarrassing question. Ordinarily I couldn’t care less about your private life but I have to know how all the pieces fit.”

  “What do you mean?” he said in a funny voice.

  “You have to tell me where you stand in Evelyn’s life. What you are to her. Otherwise, I’m going to have to find out. And I’d rather hear it from you.”

  He gulped. “Really, Mr. Noon —”

  “Really, Fats.”

  “I’m sure I —” He looked down at his hat and punched the crown in helplessly. When he looked up, there was a fierce gleam in each little eye. “We’re lovers,” he said with great dignity.

  “But she’s a Lesbian.”

  “She is not!” he yelled suddenly. “She’s a great woman. She just has her own notions about love and — I don’t see what this has to —”

  “You mean you have normal relations with her?”

  “Well —”

  “Yes or no?”

  “That depends on what you mean by normal,” he said with smugness.

  “Fats,” I said wearily. “Love is a key and a lock to me. Not two keys or two locks. I won’t play semantics with you now. So spell it out for me so I’ll know exactly what we’re talking about.”

  He looked frightened again. “She’d kill me if she knew I told you about us.”

  “Tell me,” I said quietly. “Just between us men. She’ll never know I know. Take my word for it.”

  His face got childish now, small laughter in the eyes, a crooked smile to his mouth. “It’s really quite unique, you understand. Her method I mean. True, the Orientals and Romans excelled themselves according to the Satyricon but —” He moistened his small fat mouth with a pink tongue. “She takes me. But it’s not as simple as that — the trappings are quite exotic. You didn’t see that other room when you were down at her place. It’s set up like a harem. I play her sacrificial lamb and —” By the time he had finished, I felt like opening all the windows and throwing him out of one of them. But the information was necessary. It confirmed what Ada had said. Maybe Evelyn was not a rock-boun
d Lesbian but she was abnormal enough to keep a battery of psychiatrists busy for a year.

  Fats glowed all through his recital. I could see the oddness of his own libido enjoying itself being paraded before the so-called enemy. Me. I cut him short and showed him the door.

  “You won’t tell Evvie I was here?”

  “No.”

  “And you will come to the club tonight?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I wish you would. Maybe you could see for yourself. So many odd people and strangers come every night now. Attracted by all this Bolero business. She’s at the mercy of any maniac who would try something —”

  “We’ll see. Give my regards to Howie.” I closed the door behind him and went back to the desk. I played back the tape in the quiet of the office. When it got really sickening, I clicked it off. Sighing, I clicked it back on again and erased the tape. The record of Evelyn’s shame wasn’t worth immortality.

  A flood of newspapermen started to trickle into the office before I remembered what had happened to me early that day. Between Melissa and myself, we kept them out. I locked the office door, barricading us in and took a few seconds to call Flo Cooper and instruct her to take all messages. The news on Ada Grabowski had finally leaked out from the main source. Police Headquarters. Melissa Mercer didn’t ask me any questions but just did what I told her. I didn’t want to talk about Ada Grabowski just yet. Not even to Melissa.

  I stared out of my office window and longed for the good old anonymity of the mouse auditorium. A fancy location and a nice messy murder case had given me the sort of status where I was fair game for reporters. It figured. Nearly everything in life figures.

  “How long will they stay out there, Ed?” Melissa asked me about three-thirty.

  “You don’t know newshounds. The only thing that would budge them from that door is an air raid signal.”

  She sighed. “Working for you sure has been crazy.”