Dr. Hallie Malone Cozy Mystery (4 Book Box Set)

by Liz Turner

  Johnny’s lips creased downward into a frown. “Sir, I can get you that Tom Collins right away,” he said, turning his back on the man.

  “Hey, now wait just a minute,” the man at the bar said. “Do you got any tobacco or not?” His voice was tinged with superiority and annoyance, clearly upset that a lowly bartender had refused to respond to his request.

  Johnny slowly turned around and wiped his hands on his apron. “I can fetch you some cigarettes if that’s what you’re after.” He stared sternly at him, continuing in a low voice, “I know you’re not from around here, but I should think you’d know that tobacco is hard to come by these days. The war may be over, but we’ve still got back-orders going back five years on tobacco. Unless you’re under the impression that the Loch’s Gentleman Club deals in black market products, I would think you’d know better than to ask for tobacco.” Johnny had placed both palms firmly on the bar surface and leaned forward. The newcomer was dwarfed by Johnny’s broad stature.

  He slid the pipe back into his jacket pocket quickly. “Listen, I didn’t mean to make trouble. The drink is fine, thank you.” He took a pack of cigarettes out and lit one, relaxing back into his seat. “The name is Bob Cole,” he said eventually, clenching his cigarette in his teeth and offering a hand for the bartender to shake.

  Johnny reluctantly shook the hand. “Johnny Pincer, tending bar here for ten years. Welcome to Warrenton, Massachusetts, Mr. Cole.” At that, Bob Cole visibly cheered up.

  The evening progressed, and the club became less crowded as the men headed home to join their families for dinner. The sun disappeared under the horizon, and Johnny opened the curtains that had been blocking out the light to reveal the dark streets of Warrenton beyond. The view was that of the main street in the town square. It was quiet this time of night, on a weekday, with most the shops already closed or in the process of turning their OPEN signs to CLOSE. A mother and two children exited the bakery across the street with several white parcels; a group of colleagues, bankers in smart suits, were making their way down to where their cars were parked after leaving the club; a shopkeeper was hurriedly sweeping the stoop of his boutique. The electric streetlights came on and swathed the square in low light.

  Bob Cole had moseyed around to an open table near the window. He was eagerly explaining how the particular encyclopedias he sold—the World Book Encyclopedia—were the most useful to citizens of towns like Warrenton. “Britannica? My man, you’re out of your mind if you think that garbage could hold a candle to these babies. What does a New England professional like yourself need with a poorly bound, poorly researched set when he can have these, all American volumes for the same price? Well, nearly the same price, that is, and the small difference is more than worth it,” he said loudly, clapping a hand down on the metal box he had carried in from the car which contained a half-set of his product. He believed that being a salesman was not so much a job, but a calling. His audience, an elderly partner at a local law firm, was nodding thoughtfully and sipping a tumbler of scotch. Bob was facing the window and had just hoisted his heavy case to the table and was unlatching it, preparing to brandish his shiny encyclopedias, when his jaw dropped open in horror.

  The sound of a metallic thwack came from outside.

  The whole room, which had now dwindled to about a dozen men, jerked their heads at the noise to stare out the window. The elderly gentleman struggled to shift his body to look behind him, before opting to stand up and turn around, at which point he gasped.

  “A man just fell clean out the sky!” shouted one gentleman, running up from a table in the back, pointing. “Did you see that? His body dropped from somewhere above like a sack of potatoes!”

  “Holy smokes, where’d he come from? Is he alright?” asked another.

  “My car!” Bob shouted. He stammered out of his chair and rushed outside. The men in the club were close on his heels, including Johnny Pincer.

  The man who had fallen was dead, that was immediately apparent to everyone. He lay unnaturally on his back on top of the crushed-in roof of a blue Ford.

  A circle of people, mostly patrons at the club, gathered around to view the spectacle. Some let out whistles of amazement. Most simply gaped at the body, afraid to take a step too close.

  Blood streamed out of the man’s body from several places, pooling in the dents of the car. The man’s face was bruised, and his legs were splayed haphazardly. One arm was bent unnaturally underneath the body. The man’s eyes were open, frozen and looking heavenward, a few splatters of blood drying in his eyelashes.

  “How did this happen?” Bob cried, running his hands over his face vigorously as he surveyed the roof of his Ford, now collapsed in so that it touched the back seats, and the shattered windows. “A brand-new car; I was tempting fate… oh hell.”

  Johnny Pincer glared at him, pushing him roughly aside from where he stood examining the roof of his car. Johnny put his hand on his mouth in concern. But as he stared at the scene, he suddenly exclaimed, “Jeez, oh God, that’s Captain Tannen!” Johnny began to breathe heavily.

  At his exclamation, a few of the bystanders also gasped with recognition. Finally, Johnny said what they were all wondering, “Where in God’s name did he fall from?”

  He and most of the crowd looked toward the sky. They were all thinking the same thing: The building in which Loch’s held residence was eight stories tall, high enough for someone to jump from if he wanted to. As more people passing in the street began to stop and mill around, letting out cries of shock and dismay, Johnny shook off his bewilderment and quickly took charge.

  “You there, go call the police. Tell them we’ve got an emergency over at Loch’s,” he said briskly, pointing at a stout man beside him. “I’ll go fetch the medical examiner. She doesn’t live far from here.” He began to jog away, but paused to add, “And Mr. Cole. You stand watch here, make sure nobody tampers with the body—and stop that whining about your car! A man is dead, for God’s sake.”

  Chapter 2

  Suicide?

  D r. Hallie Malone had been sorting through her notes from her day’s work at the hospital. It had been a particularly busy day as flu season had begun as the weather began to turn cold. The hospital had been inundated with patients—mostly those older than sixty and mothers toting sniffling toddlers—who each believed they had a bad case of influenza. In fact, most had shown symptoms of a common cold, but protocol at the hospital meant they had a test for influenza for every person who came in and wished to be tested.

  Hallie sighed; ever since the public service announcement about the importance of getting flu shots—to prevent situations like the one today—her neighbors had taken only part of the announcement to heart, it seemed: the part about influenza’s deadliness (not so much, the part about the efficacy of flu shots to prevent it). She appreciated the public’s interest in their health, but she wished they would have come in weeks ago to get the preventative shot. It seemed, instead, that many had only remembered the PSA when their child or grandfather began showing signs of illness, and rushed them to the hospital preemptively to ensure they did not have the deadly flu.

  Hallie chastised herself. You should be glad nobody actually had influenza, not complaining that they wasted your time, she thought with chagrin. And it hadn’t all been bad, most of the patients had agreed to get a flu shot in the end. But not without first hearing my lecture about the importance of prevention! Hallie grinned to herself.

  She got to work at her desk, recopying the notes that she had written in a hurry, her flourishes not quite legible. “‘Not showing signs of….’ What is this word, Hallie you goof? ‘signs of… coughing’? Is that it? No….” She was saying all this aloud when she heard the sirens.

  She looked up in concern. The sirens sounded close. She slipped on her loafers and a light duster and went out onto her front porch, switching the light on outside.

  The sound was gathering force as the police cars barreled down on—it seemed—some place very ne
ar her own home. She had a thought to head into the hospital in case there had been some sort of accident that required immediate medical attention. She had faith in her coworkers, but she always wanted to be there, nonetheless.

  Just then a man appeared at the end of her street, practically running for her home, but he slowed when he saw her outside. Crossing her arms to shield herself against the chilly autumn breeze, she tried to make out who it was in the darkness. “Johnny Pincer?” she yelled tentatively. She couldn’t be sure, but it certainly seemed like the man had Johnny’s telltale lopsided gait and chestnut-colored hair.

  The man put up a hand in a wave. “Hello there! Doctor Malone?”

  Hallie smiled. It was Johnny. They had met at a book club a few months ago. Johnny, a bartender, knew more about literature then most of the teachers and businessmen in the club. They had immediately gotten along, Hallie deciding to befriend the man. But she hadn’t seen him around lately; she knew he must be busy managing the Loch’s Gentleman’s Club.

  As he reached her, she asked, “Johnny! What a surprise. Now what’re all these sirens about? Is there a fire in town? What happened?” She stopped talking when she saw his somber face.

  “I’m afraid that’s what I’m here about. We’re going to need a medical examiner to tell us what happened.” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders heavily.

  Hallie peered at him, confused. As she watched him, noting that he was not acting like his assured self, she felt a sense of alarm jolt through her. What had happened?

  “Come with me,” he said, gesturing her to follow him. “It’s not far at all. We’ll probably arrive at the same time as the police.” Hallie nodded in agreement, snaking her keys from their hook just inside and locking up her home.

  As they walked, Johnny explained the events of the evening: the inexplicable fall of Captain Tannen onto the street, or rather, Bob Cole’s car, and everybody’s shock at his death.

  “You’ve only been here a short while, Doctor Malone, so I don’t expect you to know much about a fellow like Tannen. But believe me when I say he had more integrity, more grit, than anybody in Warrenton.”

  “I don’t think I ever met Captain Tannen, but I think I’ve heard his name around here. People seem to only have positive things to say about the man. He’s a war veteran, isn’t he?”

  Johnny nodded. “That’s right. Both world wars. He was a local hero around here. A captain and a pilot, too. He runs—or ran, I should say—his own private airline and flying school a couple of miles outside of town. With his son. The business attracts people from all over New England. He was the best of the best when it came to flying planes.” Johnny swallowed hard. “It’s not that we were especially close, I just can’t fathom it…why he would…”

  “Why he would what, Johnny?” Hallie asked.

  A gust of wind blew his hair out of his face. He squirmed uncomfortably. “Take his own life, I guess is what I mean to say.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  Johnny stopped walking and looked at her, wide-eyed. “Well, er, what other explanation is there? His body came crashing down from the top of the building? I can’t imagine he fell accidentally. What would he have been doing up there in the first place?”

  Hallie nodded, squeezing his shoulder amicably. She regretted pushing Johnny so quickly. Her medical experience had taught her to never assume anything—assumptions could lead to the death of a patient. The best course of action in diagnosing the cause of a situation is to go in with an open mind and let the facts speak for themselves. She supposed that mindset was why she was naturally skilled at the meager police work she did for the force sometimes.

  But her experience had also taught her that while she might want to take her time examining all possibilities before diagnosing, most patients and family of patients wanted immediate answers, quick and painless closure. Hallie shot a calming look at Johnny.

  They arrived at the scene outside Loch’s as two police cars pulled up. There were a few bystanders still milling around the crushed car.

  Sergeant Jackson got out of the first car and strode purposefully toward the body. Upon seeing it up close, he put his hands on his hips and hung his head, shaking it slowly back and forth.

  “Sergeant, did you know Captain Tannen?” Hallie asked, approaching the scene.

  Sighing, he nodded. “We go way back. He was like a mentor to me.”

  Hallie and the sergeant had worked on a few cases together, often with Hallie serving as the medical examiner, but sometimes her duties had expanded beyond the morgue. She knew the sergeant to be one of the most level-headed men she had ever met. He was also one of her closest friends in town. Their mutual commitment to serving the community was one of the things that had immediately endeared them to each other. Right now, although Jackson was working the scene like any other, Hallie could detect strong sorrow emanating off him. Her heart went out to her kind friend.

  Suddenly, Johnny blurted out, “Do you think he was drinking at the club and then that somehow led to his…. To his…”

  Hallie laid a hand on his shoulder for the second time that night. She felt sorry for the young bartender as well; he clearly felt responsible in some manner. “We’re going to get the bottom of this, Johnny,” she said gently, offering a small smile of encouragement. The bartender stood straighter, shaking his head and sighing.

  Hallie began to walk around the scene. Captain Tannen had taken a nasty fall, that much was certain. He appeared to have sustained a number of fractures from the fall, aside from the head injury that likely caused his death. He probably died on impact. She took a small notebook from her pocketbook and began to sketch the position of the body for review later. She noted the places where the bones were raised at strange angles and where bruises were still blossoming on his bare hands and neck.

  She noticed a man standing near the scene alone, his arms crossed over his chest. “Did you know Tannen as well?” she asked.

  The man harrumphed, looked as though he might get angry, then softened. “No, I don’t even live here. But this is my car.” He moved a hand in the direction of the scene before them.

  Something clicked for Hallie. “Oh, I see,” she said, smiling wanly. “I’m sorry. I’m Doctor Malone, the medical examiner.” She held out her hand to shake his, but her mind was working fast. Tannen jumped, straight onto a parked car? She wondered.

  “Bob Cole. Salesman,” the man replied. “Now listen, this is a tragedy, I’m sure, but I wonder what the town’s policy for reimbursing victims of vandalism is? Especially visitors to the town? I mean… I can’t afford to just replace my whole car just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers.

  “You would probably want to speak to the sergeant,” Hallie said, somewhat taken aback. Vandalism? Hardly.

  “Oh, I did speak to him alright, but he wasn’t any help at all!” Bob’s face was darkening into a purply red.

  When Hallie flinched and nodded politely, he huffed and moved over to a payphone and called a cab, angrily puffing on a cigarette.

  Hallie wandered back over to Sergeant Jackson, who was busy taking the statements of Johnny and some other bystanders who had seen the body fall. After listening for a few minutes, she interjected, “Johnny, did you see Tannen jump off the roof?”

  Johnny shook his head. “All we all saw was just what was visible through the club front windows. Just his body falling.”

  Sergeant Jackson turned to Dr. Malone. “We’ll probably rule this as a suicide, but we’ll order an autopsy just the same.”

  “It does look like he jumped right off the building,” Hallie agreed. “There’s nothing else around. I’ll do the examination tomorrow morning, if you’ll have Tannen transported to the morgue.”

  “Do you think he ended his life after drinking at my club? If I’d have seen him, I would have known something was wrong,” Johnny said, looking stricken.

  “Did you notice him at the club?” Hallie asked curiously.

  “No, but th
ere were so many people… we weren’t close, it’s possible he came up for a drink quickly and didn’t recognize me. I was pretty busy all night slinging drinks. I probably missed him.”

  Hallie thought for a moment. “Is there roof access from the club?”

  “There is. But it’s not generally open to the public. The club owner instructs me to only open the staircase that leads to it when he’s hosting a special event up on the terrace. It’d be too much to keep track of patrons if they could go up there whenever they’d like. I guess Tannen must have known where we keep the keys.” Johnny scratched his head.

  Sergeant Jackson started to walk into the club. “It’s a real shame,” he said, sighing. “Let’s go up to the rooftop terrace and look around. Perhaps Captain Tannen left us a clue as to why he would have been up there.”

  The three followed him into the dark rooms. Loch’s Gentleman’s Club, which earlier in the night had been cozy and filled to the brim with boozy laughing and gentle conversation, was now deadly quiet. Dozens of nearly empty glasses rimmed each table and cigarettes smoldered in crowded ashtrays. A chair was overturned. Hallie crinkled her nose. She knew that she and her friends would never leave a place where they were patrons in this state, fallen body or not.

  Johnny took the lead and stopped at a door in the second room. “You see?” he said. “I can’t see this door from the bar, but I didn’t think anything of it because it’s always locked.” He jiggled the padlock on the handle.

  “You mean it’s still locked?” Sergeant Jackson asked. “From the inside?”

  “Yes sir. Look!” Johnny replied. He turned over the lock in his palm. It looked brand-new, or hardly used. And it was certainly locked.