Persephone Cole and the Christmas Killings Conundrum

by Heather Haven

  Waller watched for a moment then moved to a small refrigerator in his office. His hand reached absentmindedly for an ice pick lying on top of the appliance, as he spoke. “I would appreciate your telling me what’s going on, Miss Cole.”

  “All in good time, Waller. Just get me that ice.”

  The jeweler shrugged and struck at a chunk of ice within the top freezer. Shards of ice fell into the lower tray. Looking around, but finding nothing, he pulled a large, white handkerchief from his pocket and began to fill it with chips of ice.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have an ice bag, Miss Cole.”

  She crossed over, took the handkerchief, and twisted the four ends of the cloth together. “This will do.” With care, she held the hanky to the side of her head with the bruise. “Ahhh! That feels good. Now, I need your phone.”

  He nodded and gestured to the black upright sitting on his desk. She lifted the earpiece, set it on the desk, and dialed a memorized number with the same hand, as she slowly sat down. The other hand continued to hold the ice to her head. Percy picked up the earpiece again and listened, while saying, “Sit down, Mr. Waller. When I get through with this call, I need to ask a couple of questions.” The other line answered and Percy leaned into the mouthpiece.

  “Police Department? Yeah, is Detective Hutchers there? Good. Put me through. Tell him it’s Percy Cole. I’ll wait.” She turned to Waller who sat and waited expectantly, much like the dog who had followed her into the office and sat at her feet.

  “Who’s running the store?” Her head gestured to the front of the jewelry shop.

  “Janet is there. My father went home about thirty minutes ago. I close shop in about forty-five minutes.”

  Percy heard Hutchers’ voice on the line. “Hey, I got something for you,” she said into the mouthpiece. “He might fill your bill for the elf and angel murders.”

  “What?” Mr. Waller nearly leapt out of his chair. “Tell me!”

  “Easy, boy,” Percy said to the jeweler. “One step at a time.” She spoke again into the phone. “If nothing else, Hutchers, I’ve got a good assault and battery charge to hang on him. That should make your day. Meet me over at Santa Land. How soon can you get there?” She listened. “Ten minutes? Nothing faster? Oh, all right. That gives me time to get the swelling down. I’ll meet you there.” She replaced the receiver on the hook.

  “What’s going on?” Waller sat upright in his chair and for the first time, made this an assertive question. “Tell me. I have a right to know.”

  “I’ll ask the questions right now, if you don’t mind. That’s what you’re paying me for.” She moved the makeshift icepack around a little before staring at the middle-aged man. “Why was the storeroom door leading to the tunnels left unlocked?”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “The door leading to the tunnels was unlocked?”

  “If you keep repeating everything I say, we’re going to be here a long time. But I’ll ask it again. Why would a storage room door, leading to a place where you keep very expensive baubles, be left unlocked and available to just about anybody on the block?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She stared at the man long and hard. “How long has this business been here? Thirty years?”

  “Forty.”

  “And you don’t know the door on the other side of the storage room connects to a series of tunnels? What are you, a moron?”

  He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in anger. “Now see here, Miss Cole, that’s the second time you’ve called me that and I don’t appreciate --”

  “Then stop acting like one and answer a simple question.”

  The jeweler wiggled around in his chair, ill at ease. He recrossed his legs and ran his finger along the precisely pressed seem along one leg of his slacks before he spoke, as if needing the time to think. When he answered, his voice was so soft, Percy had to lean in to hear it.

  “Actually, I do know about the tunnels and the door leading to them, but it’s a very unpleasant memory. I never go near that door.”

  “Why, is it electrified or something?”

  Percy let out a small laugh. Waller stared at her then cleared his throat.

  “When I was a small child, I opened the door once, even though my father told me expressly not to. I went into the tunnel and the door closed behind me accidentally. It was pitch black. I was terrified, and began to scream. I must have been in there for over an hour, shrieking. I’ll never forget it. My father finally rescued me then spanked me soundly for disobeying him. He placed the lock at a higher position so I couldn’t reach it.”

  “You can reach it now.”

  He went on as if Percy hadn’t spoken. “To my knowledge, the door has been locked ever since.”

  “No, it hasn’t. It was open right now. I just came in that way.”

  Waller shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’m rarely in the supply room, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s not exactly what I mean, but let’s let it go.” Her voice, harsh and clipped, lightened with the next statement. “You’re quite an obedient son.” She gave him a genuine smile. “Oliver would have gone back the next day to check out that tunnel, but he would have brought a flashlight with him.”

  “I’m not an aggressive character.”

  She studied him for a moment. “No, you’re not.” She stood up and handed him the dripping handkerchief containing the melting ice. “Thanks. My bump feels a lot better. I’ll see you shortly, Waller.” Percy moved for the door, followed by the dog.

  He leapt up, trying to keep pace with her. “Don’t you have an update to give me? I heard you tell the detective you may have found the killer.”

  “Possibly. I’ll give you a full report later.”

  He scurried after Percy, still asking questions. “How’s my daughter? How’s Lily?”

  “She’s fine.” Percy turned and faced him. “Look, I’ll have something to tell you soon, Waller. I promise. First I need to clear up a few things.”

  Waller’s eyes went to the dog at her feet. “You’re sure that’s not the man’s dog from Santa --”

  “No, it’s not,” Percy interrupted with finality. “But I am going to ask you to hold on to him for a few minutes. Think you can do that?”

  “Well, I suppose I could lock him in the office. He’s house trained, isn’t he?”

  Percy looked down at the dog that waited patiently at her feet. “You bet. He’s a good dog.” She squatted down. “Listen, doggy, you stay here. I’ll be right back. Stay. Now you stay.” The dog sat, cocked his head, but didn’t move. “I wish everybody else paid attention to me the way this dog does.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Hutchers got out of the unmarked, black police car and slammed the door in annoyance. “You better know what you’re talking about, Perce. I broke several laws to get here in less than ten minutes.”

  “Get a speeding ticket, Hutchers? If you did, I might be able to get that fixed for you. I know somebody in high places.”

  “Very funny. So what gives?” He looked first at Percy then at the two uniformed policemen who tumbled out of the car, as well. “What are we doing here?”

  “Come with me,” Percy said, opening the front door of Santa Land. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  She hurried past the throngs of noisy children, followed by Hutchers and the cops. Once back in the corridor, she threw open the office door to Harry’s office and barged inside.

  Harry was standing in the center of the room having an intense conversation with a shorter man in his early thirties, who was wearing what appeared to be thick, dark prescription glasses. The slight man was leaning into the older one, his body shaking. Harry had one arm around him, when they both turned to the sound of the opening door. Neither said a word as the four people descended upon them, but stood frozen in place, guilt and fear written all over their faces.

  “Hutchers, allow me to introduce you to Ha
rry’s son, Ernie. He lives down in the basement and patrols the tunnels. He cracked me on the head and tied me up down there. I’ve got the knot to prove it.” She pointed to the side of her head. “Also, here’s a little journal you might find interesting.” She pulled the diary out of her pocket and offered it to the detective.

  “That’s mine,” said Ernie, coming to life once he recognized the diary. “You have no right to read that. No right at all. Tell them, Papa. That’s not right,” he whined.

  Ernie wrung his hands together but didn’t make a move toward the detective. His speech was slow, with careful enunciation. As he spoke, his features and expressions were not quite normal, although it was difficult to pinpoint what the problem was.

  “Shhh, son.” Harry began to stroke his son on the arm, in an effort to sooth him. “Don’t get upset. It’s all right. It will be all right.”

  Hutchers glanced at a few pages of the journal. With a surprised look, he pointed to a paragraph on a page dog eared by Percy. “What’s this? It says right here you killed the elf.”

  Harry stepped in front on his son in a protective manner. “He didn’t kill anyone. It’s just pretend. He plays games with himself. He tries to write like he reads in the comic books, like Dick Tracy, but he’d never really hurt anybody.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Percy rubbed her head. “He sure hurt me.”

  “You frightened him,” Harry retorted. “He doesn’t like anyone in his tunnels.”

  “Take off those dark glasses, mister.” Hutchers pointed a finger at Ernie. “Let me see your eyes.”

  “Please don’t ask him to do that.” Harry put an arm around his son, his voice resonant with apprehension. “It’s too bright in here. The light hurts him.” He noticed the doubt on the detective’s face. “You see, when he was born, something happened with the umbilical cord around the baby’s neck and the doctor’s say Ernest was ‘oxygen deprived.’ Then…then…they were so upset over that, the doctor accidentally put too much silver nitrate in the baby’s eyes. They were severely burned. He can’t look at the world the way the rest of us do.”

  “Take them off.” Hutchers put the professional growl in his voice, ignoring Harry’s protests, but his eyes showed a flicker of doubt.

  Ernie removed the dark glasses, but kept his eyes closed.

  “Open your peepers,” Hutchers demanded. “And keep them that way.”

  Harry’s son blinked a couple of times then strained to keep grotesque bulging eyeballs, red and dripping, open.

  “My God,” said Hutchers. “That’s enough to make a killer out of anyone. Put those things back on. Okay, let’s go. You’re under arrest. Take him away.” He turned to the two policemen at his side.

  “No, no!” Harry wrapped his arms around his son. “He doesn’t do any of those things he writes. He just reads too many detective stories. He couldn’t hurt anybody.”

  “I’ll bet that’s what Mrs. Capone says about her baby, Al,” Percy remarked.

  “You back away, mister,” said Hutchers, in a threatening manner to the father. “Or I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice. You see if I don’t.”

  Harry dropped his arms, in one futile sweep. The two cops pushed the older man aside, went to either side of the weeping younger man, and led him away. He sobbed loudly but did not resist.

  Harry turned around, grabbed the back of his chair with both hands and leaned heavily against it.

  “Thanks, Perce.” Hutchers took his beat-up hat off, tipped it at her in a mock manner, and nodded. “I see you can be of some use.”

  “More than you, apparently,” she said, as he moved to the door.

  The detective replaced the hat on his head and laughed.

  “Glad I amuse you, flatfoot.” Percy followed him out and closed the door behind her. Reaching out, she grabbed Hutchers by the arm. He stopped and turned around to her, a questioning look on his face. Percy released his arm and put her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, signaling for him to follow her down the hall and away from the office door.

  Puzzled, he trailed behind, but not before he said, “Perce, I’m in a hurry.”

  “Listen, Hutchers,” she said in a whisper, “you got the right man for slugging me, but I’m not so sure about the murders.”

  “What are you talking about? You handed him over to us on a silver platter. There’s this journal where he admits it. Maybe I can get a day off now.” He waved the book under her nose.

  “I know, I know,” she said, pushing the book away. “But I’m thinking.”

  “Ah, jeesh,” he said out loud then lowered his voice with a glance around him. “It’s no good when a woman starts thinking, particularly you.”

  “Oh, shut up. Hutchers, did you dust the handbag for prints?”

  He stared at her. “Lily’s bag? Yeah, sure we did. You think the DA would let us get away with not doing something like that?”

  “Inside and out?”

  “What do you mean, ‘inside and out’? Why the hell would we dust the inside of a purse, Perce?”

  Again with the double purse thing. The man’s got a thing.

  “You told me, yourself, the gun was wiped clean of prints. If she was smart enough to wipe the gun clean, why would she be stupid enough to put the weapon back in her own bag and stow it under the elf? I think it’s a frame.” Percy poked him on the chest with her index finger for emphasis. “Check the inside of the bag, Hutchers. You might come up with something that surprises you.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  “I’m just thinking it out, Hutchers. That’s all I’m doing.”

  Hutchers wasn’t satisfied. “Listen, Perce, I’m working on so many cases right now, I haven’t had a day off in two months. I got better things to do….”

  “Speaking of your cases, you find Danny DeLuca yet?”

  “Funny you should ask. They thought they had him over in Jersey an hour ago, but it was a false alarm.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Now I’m your personal information center. I swear, Perce…” The detective broke off, slapped his battered fedora on his head, stepped around her, and marched down the hallway toward the exit.

  “Hutchers,” Percy called after him, her voice urgent and commanding.

  He stopped abruptly and still with his back to her, let out a huge sigh. The detective wheeled around.

  Percy glanced at Harry’s office door then hurried up the detective. She didn’t speak until they were almost nose to nose. “I’m telling you,” she whispered. “Check the inside of the bag.” She stressed each word as she spoke. “Please.”

  “Ah, nuts. All right, already, I’ll do it.” He shook a finger at her. “But if I don’t find anything other than your little lady’s prints, you owe me.”

  “I’ll buy you a hotdog, Nathan’s finest.” She grinned. “Maybe two.”

  He gave her an annoyed look then relented and laughed, shaking his head.

  “You’re on,” He said, pivoted, and continued down the hall. “But Jesus, am I a jackass or what,” she heard him say to himself right before he hit the exit.

  Percy paused outside of Harry’s office door, not looking forward to the exchange that would probably follow.

  A parent can be pretty fierce when it comes to protecting their kid. And forget about something like this. We’re talking murder.

  Expecting the worst, she opened the door. Harry, seated at his desk, didn’t turn around when he heard the door close but his head popped up. He shook it, as if in disgust, while Percy walked to the edge of his desk. They both were silent for a moment.

  “How could you let them do that?” Harry said after a beat, staring at the blank wall in front of him. His voice had a chiding but defeated air. “You know he didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Tell me about Gertie.”

  “Gertie? You mean Gertrude, my bookkeeper?” Harry swiveled in his chair around to her, coming to life as he tried to digest the question.
Percy could see his mind grappling with the change in subject. “What about her?”

  “What was she doing here so late? Why did she have so much access to this building? The truth now. All games are over.”

  “She…Gertrude…We…”

  “Used to have ‘relations’? I believe that’s what the word is for it now.”

  Harry bristled. “Listen, you don’t know what it’s like being married to Rita. She’s --”

  “Spare me the ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ routine,” Percy interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it; I don’t care. I want to know about Gertie and her little trips in the tunnels.”

  “What makes you think she was in the tunnels?” His voice held a challenge, but he picked up a paper on his desk with shaky hands, pretending to read the contents.

  “The first time I saw her, her costume was covered with schmutz, just like my clothes are now. It doesn’t take much to figure out that’s how it got so dirty.”

  “Where’d you learn a word like ‘schmutz’?” He smiled up at her suddenly.

  “You live in the tenements of New York, you learn a lot of words. But scratch the charm, Harry. I’m not one of your business pals or girlfriends, either. You’ve got three seconds to tell me the truth or I’m going to make you sorry for not being square with me. I’m running out of patience.”

  Harry ran a pudgy, red hand over his face before answering. Percy waited.

  “You’re right,” he said, in a weary voice. “I told her not to wear that costume when she went down there, but would she listen to me? No. Gertrude was a strange one, but she spent a lot of time with Ernie. Companionship, you know; his pal. They’d wander around in the tunnels together for hours, just the two of them. I could never figure it out, myself, but she was great in the hay, you know?” He gave Percy a weak, self deprecating look and turned away. “Sometimes she’d bring back odd things from down there. Like once she brought back this crappy old doll --”

  “Sometimes she’d bring back a piece of jewelry, too,” Percy interjected. “Not quite so crappy.”

  Harry flushed and turned away. “I wouldn’t know about that.”