“Hey,” I said, to get the driver’s attention. “Stop at the next corner. I’m gonna need some lunch.”
10
With a bologna sandwich down, and a spare in my inside jacket pocket, we were let out at Edwards’ address. I’d wondered for a moment how Dave had known it, and he confessed that he had read it, upside down, in the file Scott had. Mystery solved.
Sergeant Edwards’ now former residence was a mostly typical townhouse. The items atypical were subtle, but I was there to work, so picked up on them. On the little front porch, I commented on a few, as Dave rang the bell.
“Between the paint, the drapes, and the neighborhood, you think Mrs. Edwards brings home some change herself?”
Dave considered the items a moment. They weren’t outright extravagant, but beyond what would be typical for a cop of Edwards’ tenure. He gave no opinion, instead leaning over toward the window to take a peek inside, and then straightening suddenly. Someone was at the door. It opened and we found we weren’t the first ones to Edwards’ home base.
“What are you doing, Stevens?” I blurted.
Young Officer Stevens stood in the door, looking grim, but more sure of himself than I was used to.
“Came to inform Tammy of the bad news,” he answered mournfully, then he stepped out with us, pulling the door to behind him. “What’s going on?”
Dave spoke fast.
“Mr. Tucker and Mr. Scott found wisdom in our cooperation on this Barbingola matter. We were told we might find you here, possibly, and to say that they think you should take immediate lead on the case, since you have involvement in all its facets already.”
Stevens blinked a few times at us, and said,
“Well, I’m spending the rest of the day here, with Mrs. Edwards.”
“Tammy?” I clarified.
He gave me an eye that he might have wished lit me on fire, but went on to Dave.
“It’s just I was his partner, and all. She needs some support.”
Dave and I were both laying on some token assurances that he was certainly doing a noble thing, when the front door opened again and a woman came out.
“Is everything alright, Billy?” she asked Stevens, placing a hand delicately on the back of his arm.
Stevens, whose friends must know as Billy, reached over and patted her hand, and told her,
“It’s just some men from work.”
“Tammy Edwards?” Dave jumped in. “David DeGrabber. This is my colleague John Trait.”
Dave had his hand out, and the new widow took it from nearly behind Stevens where she still clung. She looked to be about the same age as Dave and myself, which put her ahead by nearly a decade to the young man in front of her. She was pretty too, and, at least to Stevens, affectionate, so it made me wonder why Edwards had sought foreign fields so frequently.
“Were you working with my husband?” she asked.
“We were indeed, Mrs. Edwards,” Dave chimed. “When was the last time you saw him?”
She furrowed her brow and thought a minute, then turned to Stevens for council.
“When did you start that stake out, Billy?”
The young man stammered for a moment, obviously trying to buy time. While they cooked something up, I happened to turn my eyes toward the street, and spied a black and white turning down the lane. I was able to see the operator too, so I slapped Dave on the arm to let him know the jig was up. Tucker was approaching. Dave hurried through the abort process.
“Mrs. Edwards, I fully empathize with this trauma that has befallen you. There’s nothing in it that can’t wait until you’ve recovered. You have our most heartfelt condolences, but we must be on our way to another meeting. Right, John?”
“Sure thing,” I tacked on.
The sudden change in tempo hadn’t been lost on Stevens either, and he looked around and spotted his superior drawing ever closer as well. He led the abbreviated farewells, and ushered his widow inside, possibly to hide behind the couch until their next caller gave up. As for Dave and I, we hooked a couple of lefts off the stoop, and went in between the houses, walking fast, until we were a few properties down the middle lane that allowed for the block’s rear garage accesses.
With hands stuffed in pockets, and heading toward the main road, I talked and, I guess, Dave listened.
“This is a mess now, Dave,” I started. “Just like that, we’ve got suspects coming out of nowhere. Stevens might have had his partner killed to get at his old lady, or the old lady might have had him killed to get with the partner. Or maybe the wife killed him, because Stevens spilled it about his extramaritals. Or she might have found out, without Stevens’ assistance, and he could just be in the dark.”
“John, please,” Dave muttered. I bowled over him.
“I tell you one thing I don’t put any money on. Stevens isn’t over there sitting with her out of some sentimentality for his lost partner. That hanging on and first name basis stuff takes time to develop.”
Dave just sighed, and said we should get to the office to check the messages and get the car. There were no loose cabs around that part of town, so we had to walk a couple blocks to a drug store to find a phone and call for a ride. By the time the car showed and it conveyed us through the after school traffic, the day was nearly shot, and our night in police custody had caught up with me.
In the office, while Dave returned a couple calls, I yawned freely. As he placed his phone back on its cradle, I was at the end of another big one, and spoke through its finale.
“Where to next, boss?”
Dave got up quick and gathered a few things from his desk, so I roused myself and did likewise, checking that I had a fresh pencil. He explained on the way out the door.
“We must have a candid conversation with our employer. I suspect he will dislike it, but with one of the Police’s own now connected to the matter, such a discomfort is inevitable.”
I puffed a long breath out, and left it at that. It’s not so much that I’m so very scared of Don Barbingola, it’s more a respect for his type of character. Dave had just last week been thrown into the cold river, and presumed dead, by a similar group of men whom are not widely known for their hostility by comparison. As Dave guided the old sedan through the sunset washed streets toward Barbingola’s building, I daydreamed about a few ways that Dave might say something that got taken the wrong way, causing the Don to snap his fingers, and Fange to throw a tight wire over our heads and into our throats. When we pulled up, and Dave parked near the corner, I put all that out of mind and we went in.
The offensive line at the front desk were as friendly as the time before, and this time so were the men upstairs in Barbingola’s entryway. We were allowed to keep our equipment, without any mention of it. One of the men rang the bell for us, and in a moment the door was opened by “Old” Sandy, whom we’d met the night before our little operation on the street was put to a stop.
“Fange got the night off?” I asked her.
“No. He’s here. He’s in the back room with Barbs, but they’re just finishing up.”
She indicated toward a set of double doors on the far side of the condo, and Dave and I made our way for them. As we approached, the doors opened, and Fange and another heavy came through on each end of a long rolled area rug with a lump in the middle. I made sure to tell my face to act normal while we waited for the procession to pass.
Barbingola had his bulk perched on the corner of a pool table, inspecting a white jeweled necklace in his hands. I recognized it as the one Jewels had on at dinner, and covertly swallowed the lump in my throat that it gave me.
“Hey, John,” came a jovial woman’s voice from behind me and to my left. I twisted my neck and spotted Jewels sitting in a big high backed leather chair, with her feet in the seat, unharmed. I returned her greeting, trying to hide my relief.
“Detectives,” Barbingola welcomed, not offensively. “You might have called. I could have pushed this bit of business back.”
The p
ossibilities of the rug’s contents hadn’t seemed to bother Dave, and he spoke in his matter of fact way.
“I do apologize for dropping in. Our schedule has been unpredictable these last 36 hours.”
The Don shrugged, letting his shoulders drop.
“Don’t worry about it,” then he turned and spoke to Jewels in the corner. “I told you we’d get your necklace back.”
He tossed the thing to the girl and she caught it. She looked down on it, none too satisfied.
“It’s too bad about Marge,” she said.
Barbingola gestured excitedly, saying,
“You had to hold the girl in your arms all night, cause she steals.” He relaxed and waved it all off. “She had it coming. If it were’t us, somebody else would have caught her going through their drawers.”
Jewels moved her feet to the floor and got up and went to the Don. She kissed his cheek, and told him thank you, and left the room, giving my jacket sleeve a gentle stroke on the way by. That reminded me to ask her about the one I’d let her borrow, but no sooner than the doors shut behind her, Dave jumped right to business.
“Mr. Barbingola, you are, no doubt, aware of the slaying of Mr. Edwards, of Chicago vice, found dangling from a rooftop near a brothel. Was that establishment under your management?”
The Don frowned.
“What is this, DeGrabber?” he began. “You come into my house to give me the hot light and wobbly chair treatment?”
Dave dismissed it with a wave, saying,
“Sir, the police are prepared to produce you for such an audience at the slightest provocation. In fact, they may yet, and have only delayed by our influence. They dismiss the murders of your men offhand, and now see only yourself and their dead associate.”
Barbingola held his arms out, stating,
“It’s gotta be the same guy, DeGrabber. You see that, don’t you?”
Dave nodded.
“I share your suspicion, and am virtually certain that you had no involvement in Mr. Edwards’ death. That is why I am here to ask you these things, so that your responses may satisfy any outside possibilities.”
Barbingola shook his head, and repositioned himself, maybe no more comfortably, on the corner of the table. He gave up, and answered Dave’s first question.
“That one wasn’t one of mine. I don’t know what Edwards was doing over there. He was a kinked up guy.”
I thought that was queer, and said so.
“He would have to be, to pass his time with all these girls like he did, wouldn’t he?”
Barbingola turned an eye on me that made me wish I’d kept my mouth shut, but then seemed like he hadn’t taken offense.
“Edwards was never happy with what he had. Most guys get a favorite girl, and they stick with her. Especially after they’ve come around a few times, see. Sandy was Edwards’ main squeeze, here. For some reason he liked to check that the grass wasn’t greener elsewhere, maybe. I think he didn’t want to make anybody jealous, so he’d drop in to these,” he searched for a word. “Unincorporated spots.”
Dave asked a follow up.
“Did Mr. Edwards confide this in you, or had you some agents keeping watch on him?”
Barbingola huffed, and said,
“Nah. I wasn’t worried about Edwards, if that’s what you’re driving at. He told all that to Sandy, and she told me over dinner. She’s pretty tore up about him, but she’s good at hiding it.”
The conversation lulled for a moment. Dave stood motionless, looking at the floor with his arms folded, then asked,
“May we speak with Sandy?”
Barbingola stood and chuckled. He explained.
“She wouldn’t tell you anything if I called for her. She’s too loyal, or at least she likes to look like it. I doubt she knows anything that I’d try to hide from you two, but she still wouldn’t talk.” He snapped his fingers on his big right hand, and said, “I got it. When you leave, try to get her to talk on the sly. She might tell you something then.”
Meeting adjourned. Dave turned to the door abruptly, leaving me for an awkward parting handshake and thank you. Before we were across the threshold Barbingola came closer, lowered, his voice, and said,
“Listen, DeGrabber, if Sandy does happen to tell you something along the lines of her being the one getting my people killed, you let me know. I’ll have another rug bought by tomorrow morning.”
With that, he patted Dave on the shoulder two hard times, and grinned. We departed.
Sandy was nowhere to be found as we made our way back through the condo. Fange had returned, and waited by the front door to see us off. He asked us how we were doing, as if he hadn’t just carried a body away, and we responded cordially, the whole time keeping an eye peeled for our next interview. Just as things were getting stale, Dave spotted Sandy and came to life.
“Sandy,” he called across the room. She was in the kitchen, and stuck her head out. Dave went to her, saying cheerily, “You simply must show me the collection of preserves you use for your pies.”
Fange cocked his head at me, and I raised my shoulders and said, “I do love pies,” and chased up behind Dave.
He breezed into the kitchen, collected Sandy, who looked wholly confused, and ushered her into a large walk in pantry, saying, “Jewels told us about your peach cobbler, and I’ve been dying to make one.”
I shut the pantry door behind us, and found the pull chain for the light, so we weren’t standing in the dark. Sandy looked from me to Dave with a perturbed smirk on her face, and said,
“Well, this is a fresh way to turn a trick, I guess.”
“No tricks, just questions,” I stated.
“What do you want to know?”
Dave took it.
“Have you the whereabouts of the woman from that cautionary tale that Jewels relayed to John?”
I was knocked off balance, and nearly took a shelf of canned goods down catching myself. Sandy had pushed me in the chest with both hands. She seethed,
“I told her not to go out with you.”
I collected myself and righted my collar, and responded,
“Well, she did. Was any of that true, about the pregnant woman, and Barbingola putting her out?”
“Sure it’s true. What, you think I’d make something like that up for Jewels’ benefit?” She turned back to Dave. “As for your question, I haven’t heard from, or laid eyes on, Mable in years.”
“The place near where Edwards was left, could she have been associated with it?” Dave wanted to know.
A flash of sadness came across her face, but she covered it quick with a frown.
“Could be. I’d hope she’s working indoors, but I doubt it. When Barbs cut her off things got pretty bad for her. This isn’t the sort of life with a lot of chances to move up.”
“Thank, you,” said Dave.
Sandy snapped her head to one side and back again, and sidled by me on her way from the pantry. Before she got past, I held her by the arm, and asked,
“What does this Mable look like?”
Her eyes followed my arm down to the hand, as if she expected her sleeve to be caught on a shelf corner. She brought them back up and said,
“By now, she probably looks like an old dish rag. Anything else?”
I let her go, and just shook my head that there was nothing further, and we all three exited the pantry. On the way from the kitchen, and until we were in the blue sedan, Dave banged on about jellies and preserves. I commented about what sort of pies I like over others, because that was the act, but really my thoughts were on the plight of the working girl, whom I was learning more than my fair share about.
11
Night had summarily fallen by the time Dave drove us to the vicinity of the office, and continued on by. I yawned again, and asked,
“Where are we going now?”
“First, to the location that Edwards’ body was found, but only as a formality. I want to find this Mable, that Sandy told us of.”
&nbs
p; “Gosh, Dave, needles and haystacks come to mind. Where do we even start?”
He didn’t say. I caught a good look at his face as we passed beneath a streetlight. It was stern, but betrayed a little uncertainty at the corners of the mouth. I stretched my legs out as far as I could into the floorboard, and tried to muster some energy for what would surely be another long night. When we turned onto the block that had the building Edwards had picked out for him, Dave leaned over the steering wheel and looked up at the high rise.
“Interesting,” he said it to himself, but I heard. He parked the car on the mostly barren street.
“What do you think about it?” I wondered, as we unloaded ourselves.
“It is a rather extravagant thing for our killer to do, to suspend a victim some fifteen stories up, don’t you think?”
I pulled my head back at the idea.
“Surely, they didn’t mean he hung from the top. There must be an awning, or something like that, on the other side.”
Dave started for the edge of the building, and I followed behind. He complained as he went.
“John, did you even read Detective Scott’s file? Beyond the written report, which indicated what you doubt explicitly, there was also a photograph.”
I twisted my lip, and chided,
“Oh, sure, Dave. How could I have missed it? Tucker wanted to put us away for the rest of our adult lives, and all, but you’re right. I should really brush up on my snooping in those spots.”
He paid me no mind. He’d led us down the small pathway between Edwards’ building and another one. It wasn’t quite wide enough for a car, and was really just a place to exit if need arose to use the fire escape. Dave tried the handle on a back door there. It was locked. I prepared myself for the familiar order to, “Open this, John,” but he didn’t give it. Instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and strolled on through the passageway.
When we came out again, around the corner, I spied a dilapidated front across the street with cracked glass in some of the windows and plywood to shore up other breaches.
Work at Odds Page 8