Duke thought to himself that it was refreshing to see Lenny do some real journalism for once. The news hawk had led a series of hit pieces on Duke when he’d unceremoniously gotten booted off the force. If it hadn’t been for the repeal of Prohibition at the time, Duke would’ve made 10 front-page stories in a row.
Duke grabbed the bottle of Evan out of the bottom drawer and poured a shot into his morning coffee. He was still nursing his hangover from the night before and needed a little hair of the dog to help him get through it.
Duke focused on the pictures in The Post. Lenny had listened to Johnny and hadn’t dared publish a picture of Mayor Swanson’s corpse. The front-page picture was a shot of the stage after the body had been taken to the coroner. The ripped streamers and knocked over chairs left a pretty powerful statement to go along with the headline. “The guy can sure sell a story,” Duke thought to himself, knowing that this story didn’t need much flair to attract an audience. Little old Charleston had made national news last summer, and this one was about to put it right back in the spotlight. Duke could see the New York Times now. Murdertown USA.
Duke continued onto page 4, where the story finished up, accompanied by another photograph. It was a shot of Mayor Swanson before he was called out on stage. The tough SOB had a grin from ear to ear, having no idea that it would be his last photograph.
There was something else in the photo that caught Duke’s attention even more. The stairs leading to the back of the stage did have a uniformed officer standing guard. The cop didn’t look familiar to Duke, but the guy looked like he could play linebacker for the Green Bay Packers. Duke immediately cut the photograph out of the paper. He wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the events of that day, but he wanted to know why that cop was conveniently gone when Duke had made his flying dropkick from that very location.
As he looked down at his watch, he heard Margo answer a call at her desk. “It’s Detective Stampkin,” Margo called to Duke.
Duke picked up the phone at his desk, “Morning, John, I’ve got that meeting any second now. What do you need?”
“Isabella’s not making that appointment. Meet me down at the station so you can identify the body.”
Duke didn’t need to continue the conversation. He dumped what was left of his coffee in the can and poured himself a strong Evan minus the joe. “Murdertown USA,” he whispered to himself as he downed his bourbon in one gulp.
Chapter 10 – Everybody Needs a Shtick
It was a short drive to the station from Duke’s office. There were a bunch of newspaper guys all lined up in the front for some kind of press conference. A podium had been placed on the top of the stairs, creating a makeshift stage. Duke pushed his way through the crowd, made his way up the stairs, and entered the Charleston PD front entrance. Questions rang out from a couple of the reporters asking about how he’d subdued the suspect, but Duke ignored them as he bulldogged his way into the station.
As he walked in, he could see Captain Slate and a few other members of the brass in their dress blues going over the notes of what they were going to say at the press conference. Duke locked eyes with Slate as he walked by, and gave a subtle tip of the cap with a smile. The bad blood between the two was public knowledge, but Slate had to bite his tongue since Duke’s rise to fame.
As Duke made his way down the hallway to Stampkin’s office, Commissioner Derflinger and an older lady with dark brown hair and vivid green eyes made their way out of one of the side rooms. Her white fur stole was almost an iconic trademark in Charleston, and was unmistakable. Mrs. Celeste Swanson was 50 years old, but looked more like she was in her early 40’s. The dame took care of her appearance and had always been on her late husband’s arm for any public event. Although she wasn’t directly involved in politics, many said that she had been a bug in Mayor Swanson’s ear.
“Ma’am,” Duke said as he took off his hat and gave her a nod.
The widow looked distraught. The mascara that she’d taken so much time to put on had run out from the corners of her eyes, and she gripped the tissue in her hand so tight it looked as if she would squeeze the tears out of it. Celeste gave all the signs of a woman in mourning, and rightfully so. The city might have lost its mayor, but she had lost a husband, and her son had lost a father.
“Mr. Dempsey,” she said, and she tugged the sleeve of Duke’s beige jacket as he walked by.
“I’m sorry for your loss. It is a real tragedy what happened to Morris,” Duke said.
“If it wasn’t for you, the killer would have gotten away. It seems you’re always in the right place at the right time, and I will see to it that the city finishes that ceremony. Morris wanted to honor you, and you’ve proven once again what a true hero you are.”
“I didn’t do anything anyone else in my position wouldn’t have done. I just wish I could have stopped the whole thing before it happened,” Duke said.
“Commissioner Derflinger, please go on and tell the members of the press I’ll be right there,” Celeste said to the commish.
The commissioner made his way down the hall and when he was out of earshot, Celeste grabbed Duke’s arm tighter and pulled him close. “Everyone is not what they seem to be,” she whispered. “Meet me at St. Patrick’s Cathedral tonight at 8 p.m.”
Duke was taken by surprise by Mrs. Swanson, and before he could snap out of his shocked state, she was already making her way down the hall to the press conference. Duke stood there for a minute and watched her walk away, dumbfounded by what she had just said.
“Close the door,” Stampkin said to Duke as he walked into Johnny’s office.
“So, lay it on me. What happened to Isabella?”
“Looks like she never made it back to wherever she was staying. Someone ran her off the road and she died of the head injuries she sustained.”
“Accident?”
“Not unless someone accidentally dragged her body down to the surf and accidentally choked her. Some poor schmo stopped by to help and took three slugs for his trouble.”
“Jesus Christ,” Duke whispered.
“Well, I think we need him on our side. The body count is climbing, and it appears they’re related.”
“It’s the ledger. Whoever did this was obviously after it.”
“That’s where I’m tracking as well. Her car was cleaned out, but I’m guessing she didn’t have it on her. Why else strangle her in the surf unless you need information?”
“I wonder if she gave up the location,” Duke said.
“I doubt it. Mickey at the coroner’s office said that she was busted up pretty bad from the accident. There was no way she could’ve said a word even if she wanted too. Speaking of, you need to get down there and make the official ID.”
Duke finally sat down and the weight of what happened to Isabella started to hit him. He remembered the scared look on her face and the angst she must have felt not being able to trust anyone. “I should’ve never let her leave my office alone. She had nowhere to go and I just let her leave.”
“You said it yourself last night that she knew the risks. She was fueled by revenge, and it cost her,” Stampkin said as he threw his pack of Luckys in front of Duke.
“No, this falls on Bertucci’s plate. She was dragged into this, like innocent people have been dragged into organized crime for years. They’re just cannon fodder and collateral damage,” Duke said as he grabbed the last smoke from Johnny’s pack.
“If this leads back to Bertucci, then you can bet your Virginia Bruce pin-up that there is no island far enough for him to not go down for this,” Johnny said confidently. “It’s on my desk.”
“What’s our next play? Did you go to the Francis Marion yet?” Duke asked.
“I kind of got sidetracked with an unexpected double homicide, but I’m ready to go now. I need you to stay low key for this, Duke. I’m already one strike away from being sidelined and if Slate knows I let you snoop around this investigation, we’ll both be bussing tables at Doc’s.”
“You hear me! Low key,” Johnny reiterated.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
After Duke had identified the body, they walked into a bustling Francis Marion Hotel lobby. The outside was stunning, but the inside was downright breathtaking. The place was the bee's knees in Charleston, and if there was a celebrity in town you could bet your Chick-O-Stick they would be staying in one of the suites, or hobnobbing in the Swamp Fox Lounge. The bellhops in their red uniforms zoomed back and forth trying to cater to every need of their guests.
The lobby itself was exquisite in design and spectacular even for the Charleston native. The 20-foot ceilings were lined with crystal chandeliers that gleamed elegantly off the tope marble floors. The sitting area was lined with plush white couches and chairs that sat on red and gold Persian rugs. The Marion Square Realty Company had spared no expense when they’d designed and decorated the luxury hotel. The mayor at the time had spearheaded the group, and he’d wanted the hotel to be the jewel of the Palmetto State. According to many experts in the industry, he’d done that, and then some. The Francis Marion had built its reputation in the ’20s but it was strengthening that rep well into the late ’30s.
Duke and Johnny bypassed the chestnut brown front desk with golden fixtures, and headed straight for the elevators. The beauty of the Francis Marion keys were the imprinted room numbers on the back, which Duke called, “A clue even a slow coach could follow.” The elevator operator was an older gent in his late 50s and he donned the same red uniform that his counterpart bellhops wore, except for the gold epaulets on his shoulders.
“Good afternoon gentlemen, what floor?”
Stampkin looked down at the key to verify what he already knew, “Floor ten, please.”
The Francis Marion lobby was so hopping that the two never noticed the man in the white suit who was leaning up against the pillar near the staircase. He posed carefully with the latest copy of The Post as he puffed away on a cigarette. Billy had gotten a heads-up that the duo was headed over to toss the room of his hitman. He’d checked into a room on the same floor earlier that morning, after he’d ditched Officer Jackson’s vehicle. Carbone smiled as he finally got a look at the Duke Dempsey he had been hearing so much about.
After Carbone checked in, he’d been able to talk to the Boss in Charleston to get the scoop on the investigation. They had nothing, except what Duke had been able to ascertain from the late Isabella. Billy had already done a full clear of his hitman’s room, and knew they were headed for a dead end.
Johnny and Duke arrived in front of 1002 with Benny Goodman still in their heads from the music playing in the elevator. They opened the door and entered the luxury suite without any issues. The room was as beautiful as the rest of the hotel, with white marble floors and living space with giant windows that looked down upon Marion Square.
“Not a bad place to plan a hit,” Duke said.
Johnny glanced out the window and nodded. “You couldn’t pick a better spot.” The stage was being disassembled by some city workers, but the layout of the area was in perfect view. “I still don’t get it. You put a decent shot right here with a rifle and you have a clean shot at the mayor. Risking a getaway in front of the entire Charleston Police Force is just dumb.”
Duke took the picture he’d cut out of the paper and handed it to Johnny. “Not if you know you’re going to get away with it.”
“Nice photo of Mayor Swanson, but what’s that got to do with…” Stampkin stopped mid-sentence as he noticed the officer in the background. Officer Jackson’s stature was unmistakable, and he was posted up on the bottom step from backstage. “There has to be an explanation of why he moved from his post.”
“Blank canvas goes both ways, John,” Duke said subtly, and paused, letting the magnitude of the implication set in. “The mayor was onstage giving his speech, and I can’t think of an explanation big enough to move from your post at that moment.”
Johnny didn’t need Duke to spell it out for him as his mind started going into overdrive. The events of the day started to become clear to Stampkin. He remembered seeing the assassin duck behind the stage, but there had been no officer there. He would have remembered seeing Jackson guarding the only entrance and exit to the backstage. Then he thought about Officer O’Meara and the shooting at the station. “Goddamnit!” he screamed out loud.
Duke was already scouring the entire suite, but there was nothing in the room. Not a shirt, tie, razor, or anything, the entire place was completely scrubbed. Johnny was looking around, but in a daze from what he’d just learned. He knew cops weren’t squeaky clean, but he couldn’t fathom a conspiracy that involved killing the mayor. He kept telling himself that it had to be limited to Jackson, and there was no way that this could be deep-seated in the department.
“Someone beat us here,” Duke said snapping Johnny out of his fog.
“What? Who?”
“I’m not sure, but this place was scrubbed before we got here. No clothes, no toiletries, not even a damn thing in the wastebasket.”
“This hotel is the belle of the South. I’m sure the staff cleans this place daily.”
“Well, partner, I don’t know a cleaning staff that is going to clean out his closets but not make the bed. Somebody was here before us,” Duke said as he came out of the bedroom.
Johnny peeked into the bedroom from where he stood, and notice the disheveled blankets and sheets. “Damn, you’re right. What if he moved his things before the hit for a faster getaway out of Charleston? Why come back to a hotel that was across the street?”
“Possibly, but where? You would think it would’ve been in his car. The only thing we found in the car was this key, which means he hadn’t checked out, and probably had intentions of coming back here,” Duke said as he poured himself a rocks glass of bourbon from the bar in the living area.
“What’s that?” Johnny asked, as he motioned to the small bar Duke was leaning against.
Johnny grabbed an envelope that was propped against one of the bottles. It had the Francis Marion Hotel logo stamped in the corner, but the front read ‘1 Corinthians 15:26’ in black ink. “Are you kidding me?” Detective Stampkin asked out loud as he read the front of the envelope. “Haven’t we had our fill of this shit?” he asked, and he looked up as if he was speaking to God himself.
John was referring to the past summer when he’d helped Duke track down a killer that had the city at its wit's end. He handed the envelope over to Duke. “Why don’t you do the honors?”
Duke put down his drink, opened the envelope, and pulled out a letter-sized paper folded in three. As he unfolded it, he noticed that it was mostly blank, but the middle had some handwriting that matched the writing on the front of the envelope.
‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but not in front of where the watchmen smile and frown.’
“What the hell is that?” Stampkin said as he took Duke’s drink off the bar and finished it in one gulp.
“Looks like it’s not only a clue, but confirmation that we’ve got company in Charleston,” Duke said as he folded the letter again and put it in his jacket. “Everybody needs a shtick, I guess.”
Duke and Johnny took the elevator back down to the main lobby.
“Keep your eyes peeled. There’s a good chance our scribe is watching us,” Duke said as he walked up to the front desk.
“Hello Sir, can I help… You’re Mr. Duke Dempsey, aren’t you?” the excited front desk clerk asked.
Duke was going to try and run shade over the desk clerk and act like the person staying in room 1002, but had to quickly change his tactic. He immediately shifted gears in his mind. “Shhh.” He glanced down at the name tag of the desk clerk. “Robert, I need your assistance right now. I’m working on a huge case, but I need to be sure I can trust you.”<
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Robert looked shocked at what he was being told and looked at the clerk next to him. “Why, yes. You can trust me,” he whispered to Duke.
“See this room key?” Duke said as he slid it across the counter. “I need you to tell me the identity of the man who checked in. It’s very important, and could blow this case wide open.”
“It’s against hotel policy, and protecting our guest’s privacy is our number one priority.”
“You don’t think I know that, Rob? Why do you think I came to you? It wasn’t by accident. I do my research, especially when it comes to a case of this magnitude. I know you’re the man for the job when it comes to a life or death situation,” Duke said, as he started to lay the secret spy act on pretty thick.
“Well, you do have the key in your possession. Who am I to know who you really are?” he said, giving Duke a wink.
Johnny sat in the background watching the charade unfold, and couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Duke’s immature game.
The desk clerk opened the huge green guest book he had in front of him and quickly skimmed through the listings. “Room 1002, Mr. Franklin Smith. Hmmm,” Robert said.
“What’s the hmmm about?” Duke asked.
“Well, sir, I was here when he checked in, and he didn’t look or talk like a Franklin Smith,” Robert said. “He registered with another clerk, but I specifically remember the conversation, because he wanted room 1002 even though it was currently occupied. He told the clerk he would wait until it was ready. He had a very thick accent. It was Spanish, I believe.”
“Perfect. Is there anything else you could recall about him? Anybody he was with or came here looking for him?” Duke pressed.
“No, nothing that I was around for, but it says here he has a package waiting for him.”
Duke immediately went into his pocket, pulled out three dollars, and slid it across the desk. “I’m going to need that package, son.”
“Mr. Dempsey, I would love to help you out, but I just can’t. What if Mr. Smith came back for the package? I could get fired.”
The Holy City Hustle: A Duke Dempsey Mystery Page 6