by Michelle Cox
“Sounds like bullshit, I’d say,” said the second man as he drew back his hand to strike him again.
“Kelly! We’d better leave the questioning to the boss. You know what he’s like. Don’t want ‘em too roughed up.”
“Yeah, all right. But a couple of good punches’ll get this canary singin’, I reckon.”
“You’re making a terrible mistake!” Henrietta whined. “I’m not Polly!”
“Tell it to the boss,” said Kelly, glancing out the little side window. “He’s on his way up now.”
“Honestly!” Henrietta said, panicking. She could hear footsteps now on the back stairs. Desperate fear filled her, her heart fluttering and her breathing coming in rapid, short bursts. “No matter what you think, I’m not Polly! I’m . . . ”
“Miss Von Harmon!” a voice finished for her. “What are you doing here?”
“Inspector Howard?” she asked, incredulous.
The two men looked at the inspector, puzzled, lowering their guns slightly. “What’s going on here?” he asked, looking rapidly from Charlie to Kelly. The inspector rubbed his forehead wearily and sighed. “You’ve got the wrong girl. How many times?” he said almost to himself, exasperated.
“You sure, boss?” said the first man.
“Yes, yes. Obviously there’s been some mix-up. This is the plant.”
The plant? thought Henrietta, flustered. Suddenly her knees felt weak, and she felt she might faint. “May I sit down?” she asked weakly.
“Yes, of course!” said the inspector, coming over to her and putting his arm around her. “Here, let me help you,” he said, guiding her to a chair by the kitchen table. He crouched in front of her and studied her face.
“Hey!” Stanley said, suddenly finding his voice. “What’s the big idea?”
“Where’d you pick him up at?” the inspector asked, slowly standing up with his hands on his hips.
“Came in with the dame,” Charlie answered, putting his pistol back in the holster inside his jacket.
“Found this on him,” Kelly said, tossing the little calendar toward the inspector, who deftly caught it midair.
“Hmmm,” Inspector Howard said, flipping through it. “What do these red circles mean, kid?”
“Inspector, let me explain . . . ,” Henrietta tried to intervene.
“I’d rather hear his explanation right about now, Miss Von Harmon, if you don’t mind.”
“What do you want with Henrietta?” Stanley said, ignoring the question. Kelly shoved him toward Clive. “Just answer the question, pipsqueak.”
“Inspector!” shouted Henrietta, but he ignored her.
“They don’t mean anything!” Stanley mumbled. “It’s just nights that I got to dance with Henrietta is all. I like to keep track,” he said, his face flushed as he stared at the floor, avoiding looking at Henrietta.
“It seems you have a number of admirers, Miss Von Harmon,” the inspector commented, his eyebrow arched.
“Inspector, really. Stanley’s just a pal. He . . . he thinks of himself as my protector, I suppose. He follows me home sometimes is all. It doesn’t mean anything.” She had seen Stanley look back up at her as she spoke, but he looked away again now, sullen.
“That’s right,” Inspector Howard said, recognition registering on his face as he looked at Stan. “I remember you now. I thought you looked familiar. You were dancing with Miss Von Harmon that evening just before I came up.” The inspector looked him over. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Stanley,” he answered sulkily. “Stanley Dubowski.”
“Notice anything funny that day at the Promenade?”
“Not that I can remember,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
The inspector leaned back against the table, thinking, his arms crossed in front of him. “So you follow Miss Von Harmon home, do you?” he asked, looking at him shrewdly.
“Sometimes. What’s it to you?”
Kelly reached out and gave him a rap on the back of the head, but the inspector shook his head ever so slightly at him in mild disapproval.
“Just that you might have noticed something unusual at closing time. Who’s the last to leave at night?”
“Usually the bartender. He locks up from what I can tell,” Stan answered, scowling at Kelly and rubbing his head.
“Front door or back?”
“Front.”
“What about Mama Leone?”
“She lives up above, I think. I never see her leave.”
“Anything different about the night she was killed?”
“No . . . Polly and Henrietta came out as usual . . . ” He paused for a moment. “Wait . . . there was something else, I think . . . ”
Henrietta felt herself tense and willed Stanley to be silent.
“Actually, now that I think about it . . . Polly went back in. I remember because it made me mad that she just left Henrietta standin’ out there alone in the dark. I was about to go over to her, break my cover . . . but then, before I could make up my mind, she finally came back out.”
“Then what?” the inspector asked, leaning forward slightly with interest.
“That’s all. They just walked to the streetcar stop together like usual.”
“It wasn’t her!” Henrietta interrupted.
The inspector looked at her coolly. “Again with your powers of deduction, Miss Von Harmon. But we’ll get to that later. For now, perhaps you would leave the questioning to me.”
“Sorry,” Henrietta said meekly. “It’s just that I know it’s not her. There are some things you should know —”
“Yes, I rather guessed that.” He turned his attention back to Stanley. “Did you see this Mickey come out?”
“Nah, not that night. I was off after the girls soon as Polly came back out.”
“I see.” The inspector seemed to be thinking something over. Finally he spoke. “All right, kid,” he said, tossing him his wallet back. “You can scram. Let me know if you think of anything else.”
“I’ll wait for Henrietta; thanks just the same,” he said sulkily.
The inspector tipped his hat back to sit on the crown of his head. “As it happens, I’m not quite finished with Miss Von Harmon. I have a few more questions for her. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets home all right, sonny. I’m sure you can show yourself out, or do you need Kelly to help you?”
Kelly grinned at him.
Stanley seemed to hesitate and looked apprehensively at Henrietta, who merely rolled her eyes. “I’ll be okay, Stan. I’ll see you round the neighborhood. Look in on Elsie, why don’t you?”
“Aw, shucks!” Stan murmured after pausing a moment more, and then stomped down the back stairs.
The inspector turned his attention back to Henrietta. “Nice kid,” he said. “Does he know about Artie?”
Henrietta blushed. “That’s none of your business! And, anyway, Stan means well,” Henrietta said. “He just gets carried away sometimes. At least he doesn’t jump out and try to strangle me,” she said, giving Charlie and Kelly each a dirty look. “What are you doing here, anyway?” Henrietta asked the inspector indignantly.
“Seems I could ask you the same thing,” the inspector said, stroking his chin as he observed her. “Funny, I’m having déjà vu. What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first!”
He eyed her carefully. “All right. We’re staking the joint. We came ‘round yesterday to find Miss Shoemacher”—he halted, watching her face. Henrietta tried not to reveal anything, but she apparently failed, as he added, “Yes, we know all about her alias. But judging from the state of the place, she seems to have gone. Might you know where she is? All the suspects in this case seem to be conveniently disappearing. Do you not find that odd, Miss Von Harmon?”
“Look, Inspector, I . . . I know it looks bad,” she said, twisting her hands. “But I . . . I came here to see Polly that day . . . the day Mama Leone’s body was discovered. Remember? You had somehow guessed I was headed here before I even lef
t the Promenade.”
The inspector remained cool. “Yes. And?”
“She . . . she was in a terrible state. She . . . she did go back in that night. But she didn’t kill her. Honest! She told me that she went back toward Mama Leone’s office and she . . . she heard voices. Threatening ones . . . ”
“This Artie and Al, presumably?”
“No! Honest! Two different men. Ones she didn’t recognize. She went to get Mickey, but when they got back, they heard Mama Leone scream. Mickey bust open the door and told Polly to run.”
“Then what?” the inspector asked, his eagerness unmistakable.
“Polly came out, and . . . we . . . we left. I didn’t know anything had happened. She seemed a bit upset, but I thought she was just tired, just the usual. But now she’s mad with worry about what happened to Mickey. That’s where she went, you see. She says she went round to his place the next day . . . you know, the day the body was found . . . after we left the Promenade, but he wasn’t there. She’s a nervous wreck . . . said she had to go find Mickey to make sure . . . to make sure he . . . isn’t dead, I suppose.”
“Did she get a look at the two men in the room with Mama Leone?”
“Not really, I don’t think. She didn’t say, except that she was afraid they saw her, which was another reason she wanted to leave town. She’s terribly frightened. I’ve never seen her this way. Honest, Inspector. You have to believe me.”
“Did she say where she was going?” he asked, ignoring her plea. Henrietta thought for a moment. “Somewhere up north. Something about a cabin Mickey has in Wisconsin.”
“Did she mention a town?”
Henrietta considered again and shook her head. “I don’t think so. But . . . but there’s something else . . . ,” she glanced over at Kelly and Charlie, who still stood near the doorway. “This might be important. Polly had a sister . . . ”
“Libby Shoemacher?”
Henrietta exhaled a deep breath, deflated that he already seemed to know about her important discovery. “Yes,” she disappointedly. “You know about her?”
“Yes, I did a little digging and found that one Polly Shoemacher, a.k.a. Smith, reported that her sister had gone missing some time ago. According to the flimsy report filed at the time, Libby had worked at the Promenade for a brief time and then the Marlowe, so I started wondering if perhaps Polly was attempting to follow in her big sister’s footsteps, maybe even get revenge on the woman she thought might be responsible for her disappearance,” he said, looking steadily at her as if to gauge her reaction. “Seemed a workable theory, that is until I heard this version, if it’s to be believed, of course.”
“Of course you can believe it!” Henrietta said hotly. “Why would Polly make up a story that could potentially implicate Mickey?”
“You have a point,” the inspector mused. “But why run then? That or he’s dead.”
“Oh, I hope not, for Polly’s sake! Maybe . . . maybe he thought the cops would think it was him?” she asked hopefully.
“Perhaps.” His eyes flashed at her. “Or maybe he was afraid to get mixed up with the police for a different reason,” he said suggestively.
Henrietta remembered how Polly had told her he had been skimming the till, but she kept her eyes on the floor.
“Let me guess, dipping his hand in, right?” the inspector said with an arched eyebrow.
Henrietta could only stare at him. “How did you . . . ?”
“Not hard to figure out,” he said dryly, “not after you’ve been doing this as many years as I have.” He crossed the room and looked out the window. “The real question is where is he now? He’s a prime witness.” He looked back at Henrietta. “We need to find Miss Shoemacher.”
“But why? If you don’t think she did it, why do you have to find her?”
“Because she’ll lead us to Mickey. And because she’s in very great danger, I suspect.”
Henrietta felt her stomach knot up and put her hand up to her forehead. She suddenly felt weak and very tired. Inspector Howard’s hard expression suddenly gave way to one of concern.
“Kelly, Charlie . . . you two get back to the station, tell Jones to get on this cabin business. See if he can start digging something up. I’ll take it from here,” he said, looking back at Henrietta.
“Sure thing, boss,” Kelly grinned, giving the inspector a knowing wink, that, Henrietta noticed, he had the decency to at least pretend to ignore. Kelley disappeared out the back, then, with Charlie following closely.
“You look pale. Are you hungry?” the inspector asked in a softer tone now that they had gone.
“Desperately. But then again, I’m always hungry,” she said with a faint smile.
“Come on, then. Let’s get you something to eat,” he said matter-of-factly, nodding toward the back door.
“That sounds awfully like a date, Inspector Howard . . . ,” Henrietta ventured.
“I’d hardly call it that,” he said brusquely.
“What would you call it, then?”
“I’d call it police business,” he said, his eyes revealing nothing more. “You’re no good to me if you pass out from hunger before you’ve told me what happened at the Marlowe.”
“But after that I’m allowed? To pass out, that is?”
“Are you always this flippant, Miss Von Harmon?” he asked coolly.
“That depends.”
“On what? Pray, do tell,” his eyebrow slightly arched again.
“On how hungry I am,” she said casually.
“Not one of those opportunistic types, then.”
Henrietta stifled a laugh. “I would have been happy to tell you what happened at the Marlowe had you arranged for a more civilized interview, Inspector, but as it was, your overzealous sidekicks got in the way of it,” she retorted, and she thought she saw him bite back a grin.
“All right. Kelly and Charlie can sometimes be a bit enthusiastic, I admit. But they are very effective; they’ve saved me on more than one occasion. Anyway, it couldn’t be helped, or sort of couldn’t be helped. How were we to know you’d be creeping around Miss Shoemacher’s apartment?”
“And for your information,” Henrietta continued, ignoring his question, “The ‘audition’ wasn’t exactly as you described. I had to show . . .” she stopped short, suddenly not wanting to say “panties” or “bottom” in front of him, “things that I wasn’t prepared to, if you must know. That isn’t what I agreed to. Maybe you’re not exactly on the level,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Polly said I shouldn’t trust you, and maybe this proves it,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.
This time the inspector let out a little laugh. “I can assure you, Miss Von Harmon, that I’m very much ‘on the level,’ as you put it. I apologize that you were asked to do things that made you uncomfortable, shall we say. It is not what I was led to believe. Honest,” he said with what looked like a flicker in his eye.
Henrietta paused, confused, and wondered if he were indeed teasing, even flirting with her. What did he mean by ‘not what I was led to believe’? Was he referring to the audition or to her willingness to participate in risqué behavior? He put his hand out now to her to help her up, and she took it.
“Well, I’ll forgive you just this once,” she said with a smile, her dimples showing. When she stood up, she found herself very close to him, and when she looked up at him, she thought she saw something in his eyes, but he stepped back, then, looking away. Oddly, she felt disappointed, unable to decipher him. One moment she was convinced she felt his attraction to her; the next he was as cold and aloof as ever.
“Why did you come here, anyway?” he asked, adjusting his hat and placing his hands on his hips as he studied her.
“To Polly’s, you mean? Because I can’t go home yet; Ma can’t know about this. And anyway, I have to fix my dress, or my costume, I should say.”
“You made the audition, then,” he said, his eyes lighting up briefly. “Yes, thanks for asking.”
“I knew you would.”
“Listen, are we going to get something to eat or not? Otherwise, I’ve got to get sewing. I’ve got a long night ahead of me here, and don’t you have other people to terrorize?”
The corners of the inspector’s mouth twitched. “You’re not getting off that easily, Miss Von Harmon. I expect a more detailed report than that.”
“All right, then, what do you suggest?”
“I know of a particularly good sausage wagon on Wrightwood. I’ll pop down and get a couple while you start sewing. It’ll save time.”
“Expensive taste.”
The inspector gave a wry smile. “You might say that. But for now, duty calls.” He paused before going out the door. “Anything to drink in this joint?”
“Some whiskey, I think,” Henrietta offered, wondering if Polly had drunk any more of it. She quickly looked under the sink and held up the half-empty bottle for the inspector to see.
“I suppose that will do. Lock the door behind me,” he said seriously. “Don’t let anybody in but me. Nobody. Understand?”
“You mean in case Kelly or Charlie turn up and confuse me again for Polly?” she offered sarcastically.
“I’m serious, Miss Von Harmon. I’ll explain later.”
Henrietta wasn’t sure what to make of his cryptic warning as she searched for Polly’s sewing kit in her bedroom and, upon finally finding it, sat down in the arm chair in the front room to begin her evening’s project, the events of the day floating back to her now and filling her once again with a sense of unease.
Thankfully, the inspector was only gone for about a half hour or so before he returned with two sausages for each of them and two large bottles of beer. Henrietta tried not to devour hers too quickly, but she hadn’t eaten since early morning and only a bit of toast at that. She hadn’t realized how hungry she really was.
She looked over at the inspector now, trying to understand his odd aloofness one minute and his seeming flirtatiousness the next. More than likely it was a game to him. Perhaps all cops acted like this, she reasoned. They were probably used to getting their way and expecting certain privileges. He was extremely handsome; she would give him that. He had a strong jaw, which was usually stubbled, she had noticed, and a charming smile, when he did smile, which wasn’t often. His eyes were perhaps his best feature, large and honest, though always a trifle sad. Why hadn’t she noticed before how devastating he was? She wondered why he wasn’t married, and looked again at his hands. He wore no ring, but she noticed that his hands were long and graceful and that he ate with perfect manners, which is not what she would have expected in a cop. He seemed different somehow. He reminded her of someone, but she just couldn’t place it. She was tempted to ask him outright if he was married, but she could not work up enough courage, and, anyway, what did it matter?