I followed Willie back to Cal’s office, hoping that he’d taken the time to clean it up a bit, knowing that Willie was coming.
“Hi, sweetie,” Willie said to Cal as she walked into the room.
And to my astonishment, Cal was rushing around, making a valiant attempt at cleaning up, but he was losing the battle. He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair as he eyed her. “Interesting outfit,” he said wryly. Since we’d just come from St. Joe’s, she was still wearing her light purple scrubs.
“Get used to it,” she grinned. “It’s all I have with me. He,” she jerked a thumb at me, “didn’t pack anything.”
“I couldn’t go back to the house,” I said defensively as I plopped on the ratty couch across from Cal’s desk.
“I’m teasing,” she said as she snuggled up next to me.
Cal sank into his chair and swiveled around to face us. “Have you figured things out?”
I shook my head. “Dewey apparently did, but I’m apparently slower.”
He shook his head. “You’ve been on the run all day. You just need time to think it through.”
Willie smiled. “That’s what I said.”
She told him about Dewey’s last entry. While she did, I took the journal from Willie and opened it to the beginning. What was I missing? Sam’s list fell out and I looked at it again. H.H.F. O.S. W.C. E.P. Well, I thought, W.C. is Walt. I had that figured out. And E.P. was Eugene Powell, Lorraine Fitzsimmon’s father.
“And now we’re here,” Willie was saying.
I looked up at Cal. “Can you do me a favor?”
He smiled. “What?”
“Earlier today, I tried researching Earl Trevaine, but it was a bust, and then I had to get Willie.” I gestured at the computer. “Can you see what you can find on him?”
“You got it.” He swiveled back around and his hands flew across the keyboard, the maestro performing a concerto. “Man, it’s hard to find stuff on these old dead guys.”
“We have faith in you,” Willie said as she rested her head on my shoulder.
I closed my eyes, and we sat in silence for a bit while Cal hummed and worked.
“Here we go,” Cal announced after a while. “Earl Trevaine died of a heart attack in 1968. He had two kids, three grandkids.”
“Nothing remarkable there,” Willie said.
“Hold on,” Cal said, slightly annoyed. “I’m getting to the good stuff. He started working for Henry Halloway, Jr. in 1929, but this is what’s interesting. It looks like he made a lot of money during the ’30s.”
“During the Great Depression,” Willie said. “Not an easy thing to do.”
“Uh-huh.” Cal kept typing. “But the only work I can see that he did was as a manager for Halloway’s charity.”
“Halloway paid him really well?” I asked.
Cal shrugged. “That would be one really generous boss.”
Willie yawned.
“And here’s something interesting,” Cal said.
Willie shifted away from me and I leaned forward on the couch. “What?”
“The Halloways made a lot of money at the same time,” he said.
I shook my head. “They already had a lot of money.”
“Well, sort of,” Cal said. “Henry Halloway, Sr. had made a lot of money, but Junior lost a lot during the stock market crash of ’29. Junior was working at a bank for a while. And then a few years later, his fortunes seemed to turn, but no one really knows why.”
“Where are you getting this?” I asked.
He laughed. “I found some biographies on the Halloways.” He continued reading. “And the Henry Halloway Foundation, which Trevaine worked for, started helping European Jews during that time as well. The Halloways didn’t let anyone know they were doing that at the time. It only came out years later.”
“Huh,” I said. “I…wait…what’d you say?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”
“What was the foundation name?”
“Henry Halloway Foundation.” He frowned. “Not very original. Those rich guys like to have their names on everything.”
The words that Dewey had said rang in my ears. I’d been looking at it all wrong. And strangely, I also heard Deuce’s voice, because he’d said the same thing. Spooky.
Willie nudged me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got it,” I said. I opened the journal and pointed a finger at the notes Sam Webb had written.
“H.H.F.,” Willie read.
“Henry Halloway Foundation,” I said. I traced a finger over the initials. “Sam wrote this.”
Willie stared at the page. “So?”
“I saw those initials,” I said, talking fast. “When I followed the man in the Mercedes who had met Walt Cummings, he went to an office downtown. I’m sure I saw those initials on the building directory.”
They gave me blank looks.
“The Halloway Foundation!” I said. “I’ll bet that man worked for the Halloways.” I thought for a second, then flipped to the end of the journal and scanned the last pages. I snapped my fingers. “I know what Dewey figured out!”
“What?” Willie asked.
“Halloway mentioned John. He said he would need to talk to Earl and John. He couldn’t have known about John Milner unless he was somehow involved. I’ll bet the Halloways were behind the whole thing, profiting from it.” I waved a hand at the monitor. “You said the Halloways started making a lot of money in the ’30s. They had the perfect setup. They send Trevaine to Europe to help provide the visas for the families to escape. He scopes out what valuables the family has, tells Milner, who shows up and says he heard the family is leaving and he can help ship their things.”
“And the Halloways put up the money to get the family out, but behind the scenes they’re stealing the artwork that was supposed to be shipped out of the country for them.”
“Unbelievable,” she said. Then she swore, unusual for her.
I looked at her askance, and nodded. “Yes, but we’re hearing more and more about how people took advantage of the Jews during World War II, along with the Nazi plunder of artwork and other valuables.”
“Just like in that movie, The Monuments Men,” Cal said.
“Exactly,” I said. “Cal, look up the Halloway charity.”
“Sure.” He typed on the screen for a moment. “Here you go.”
I scanned the first page. “Click on ‘About’.”
He did and a list of the board of directors came up. The first picture was of a man in his sixties with thick gray hair.
“It’s run by Henry Robert Halloway III,” Cal read. “He goes by ‘Rob’.”
I stared at the screen. “That’s the man in the Mercedes who visited Walt Cummings!” It all started to make sense. “The Halloways were behind all of it, and Dewey figured it out.”
“And the Halloways murdered him?” Willie asked.
I nodded. “I’ll bet the Halloways hired someone to do their dirty work. They had to keep their secret. And they did, until Sam Webb started calling around, stirring things up. Then they took care of him.”
“And then they tried to find the files, and when they couldn’t, they decide to eliminate Brad in case he knows something,” Cal suggested.
“Yes,” I said. I flopped back on the couch and received a little dust cloud for my efforts. “The problem is, I can’t prove any of this. It’s all speculation.”
“Maybe you can publicly shame the Halloways,” Willie said.
“What do you mean?” Cal asked.
“You confront him,” she gestured at the picture of Henry Robert Halloway III. “Get him riled, and then he’ll confess. Isn’t that what always happens in some of your old detective stories?”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, it does. But it’s not always that simple.”
“You could try,” she grinned.
“Sure,” I said. “But how am I going to go talk to Rob Halloway? I don’t think I’d get away with showing up
at his mansion like Dewey did.”
“Yeah, and Dewey died after he visited a Halloway,” Cal said. Willie and I both glared at Cal. He raised his hands defensively. “I’m just saying…”
Willie sighed. “He does bring up a good point. You can’t just go talk to the Halloways about it.”
“I know,” I said.
“What about this?” Cal said as he pointed to the monitor.
I leaned over to look at the screen. “What?”
“The Halloways are having a charity benefit at their house tomorrow night.”
“We could crash it!” Willie suggested, sounding surprisingly excited about the prospect.
I snapped my fingers. “Maybe my parents can help.”
“How?” she asked.
“They used to go to some of the Halloway events.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “Maybe they still get invites.”
“You know what that means,” Willie said. “You’ll have to talk to your mother.”
Cal grinned. “And she’ll want to talk wedding stuff.”
I let out a huge sigh. “The Great Detective endures many treacherous situations in his profession.”
They both grinned, but I wasn’t exactly kidding. Most of the time, talking to my mother counted as a treacherous situation. I picked up my phone and called her.
“Well, hello, dear,” my mother said. “It’s a bit late for a call.”
“I know, Mother,” I said. “But I need to ask you a question.”
“Oh, it must be important. Is it about the bridesmaid dresses? I didn’t upset Willie, did I? I just gave her a suggestion.” She was off and running. “I know that the bride’s side of the family plans the wedding, but –”
I sighed. “That’s true, Mother.” Willie must’ve been able to hear my mother because she was covering her face to smother a laugh. I put a hand over the phone and mouthed, “Stop it,” at her. She shook her head and continued to laugh. “Our side of the family plans the rehearsal dinner,” I said to my mother.
“I know that, dear, I was just trying to be helpful.” And now she was miffed, part of her standard repertoire when I had a conversation with her.
“I’m sure Willie knows that,” I said. “And she’s glad to have your help.”
Willie rolled over on the couch, still giggling. And to make matters worse, Cal started snickering, too.
“Anyway, Mother,” I said. “You’re familiar with the Halloway Foundation, right?”
“Of course, dear. When we lived in Denver, we attended a number of their benefits.”
“That’s what I thought. And there’s one coming up.”
“Yes, tomorrow night. At their estate outside of Genesee.”
“Not at the mansion downtown?”
“Oh no, dear, that place is tiny compared to the one in Genesee. The one in Genesee is practically a palace, with a grand staircase, a ballroom for dancing and spacious grounds for people to walk around. The gardens are beautiful this time of year. We still get the invitations to their events, but since we’re in Florida now, we won’t be going.”
“Do you think Willie and I could go in your place?”
“I didn’t know you were interested in such ‘hoity-toity benefits’. Isn’t that what you’ve called them before? Now they’re not what you think, but you don’t seem to want to believe me. They’re a lot of fun and –”
“Mother,” I interrupted. “Can you get the invitation switched so Willie and I can go?”
“I was just explaining about the events,” she said huffily. “But yes, I’m sure you could go in our place. I’ll call tomorrow and make the arrangements,” she said, having been successfully redirected to my issue. “Why do you want to go?”
“It has to do with a case of mine,” I said. “I think the Halloways may be involved in some illegal activities.”
Rather than sound surprised, she said, “Hmm. Well, there’ve been some rumors about them from time to time.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. What I heard was that the senior Halloway made his money in illegal bootlegging during Prohibition and then he had political connections that helped his stock investments. Is that what you heard?”
“Not quite,” I said.
“Well, you be careful. I also heard the Halloways don’t trifle with their enemies.”
“I will be.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, and then I ended the call.
“It’s all set.” I glared at Willie and Cal. “And do you two think you could possibly be quiet when I’m talking to her?”
Cal shook his head. “No. It’s too funny to watch you squirm.”
I tried for angry, but then I couldn’t help laughing myself. My mother was too much. Although in this situation, she’d really come through for me.
“So we’re going to the benefit?” Willie asked.
“Yes. I’m sure Mother won’t have any trouble arranging it.”
She stood up and gestured at her scrubs. “I can’t wear this.”
“We’ll go back to the condo tomorrow, change, and go to the party,” I said.
“No, I don’t have anything that nice. I’ll have to go shopping. I wonder what kind of dress to get.” She paused, tapping her foot as she mulled that over. “I know, Darcy can help. I’ll call and see what she thinks would be good to wear.” She grabbed her phone and left the room.
Cal eyed me. “Looks like you’ll be going shopping tomorrow.”
I sighed. “I think you’re right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
1955
The two detectives stood in the inner office of Dewey Webb, staring at the body sprawled face-down on the floor in front of the oak desk. The first detective was over six feet tall with cold black eyes. He wore a neat gray pinstripe with a black tie, and he had the demeanor of someone you shouldn’t mess with. The second one was shorter and softer, with a round face and a disinterested expression. His suit was brown and rumpled. It would be easy to believe he was coasting in his job, but that would be a mistake. He was, in fact, the best detective on the force.
A third man, who was stocky and almost bald, had pushed aside two club chairs and was kneeling down by the body. He made small clicking sounds with his tongue as he examined the body.
“Already hot,” the first detective said as he took off his hat and fanned his face. “Not even nine o’clock in the morning.”
The second detective ignored that and focused on the medical examiner. “What about a time of death?”
The bald man glanced up, then used the back of his wrist to wipe sweat off his brow. “Hard to tell, Newton, but I’d say sometime late last night.”
“Uh, Detective Ramos?” A uniformed officer stood in the doorway to the outer office, fidgeting with his hat. The tall detective turned to him. The officer shifted, clearly uncomfortable that he was interrupting the goings-on in Dewey’s office. “You wanted to talk to the wife.”
Ramos nodded. “Where is she?”
“She’s waiting outside,” the uniform said. “A friend drove her over.”
“She discovered the body?” Newton asked.
The uniform cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
“Newton and I will be down in a minute,” Ramos said.
The uniform nodded and left. The detectives studied the room.
Ramos scratched his head. “He was killed sometime last night. That’s not much to go on.”
Newton turned in a small circle, taking in the entire office. It was sparse and functional and smelled faintly of cigarettes. He sighed and then said, “Get a team in here to check for fingerprints. Ask around the other offices to see if anyone heard anything. I’ll go talk to the wife.”
“You got it,” Ramos said, his face registering relief that he didn’t have to talk to the grieving widow.
Newton took another look around, then walked out of the office, down the stairs, and out the front door. Sitting on the steps was a brunette of abo
ut forty. Her long hair was wavy, and she wore a yellow dress. When Newton approached, she looked up with sad gray eyes.
“Mrs. Webb?” Newton took off his hat and sat down next to her. “I’m Detective Newton. I know this is difficult, but I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”
“Yes, and please call me Clara.”
Newton nodded. “I understand you found…the body.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Your husband didn’t come home last night?” It wasn’t accusatory of anything, just a question.
“He came home for dinner last night and then went back out.”
“Where did he go?”
“He said he had to follow someone, something about one of his cases, and that he might not be home until very late. So I made him some sandwiches and a thermos of coffee, and he left. It got late, so I went to bed. When I woke up this morning, he still wasn’t home. I called the office, but he didn’t answer, so I walked our son over to the neighbor’s house and a friend drove me over here. She waited in the car while I came into the building. The office wasn’t locked, so I let myself in. That’s when I…” her voice broke and she bent her head down and cried.
“I’m sorry,” Newton murmured, then waited.
“I…uh…” Clara finally composed herself. “I sat with him for a minute, and then I called the police.” She gulped. “I used the office phone. Oh, did I mess up the crime scene?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Newton said. From what he saw, the crime scene was clean and he doubted they’d find fingerprints that would help them identify the killer. “What cases was your husband working on?”
She shrugged. “Dewey didn’t talk about his work, so I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” Newton said. “We’ll see what we can find. Did he have any enemies? Anyone threaten him lately?”
She shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“No financial trouble?”
“None. Things were okay.”
Newton stared out at the grass. This was going nowhere. The wife didn’t know anything, which was to be expected. He put his hand on her shoulder. “I know this has been difficult, and I appreciate your time. If we think of anything else, we’ll call you.”
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