The Fruitcake Murders

by Collins, Ace;

  “Wow,” the reporter sighed. “This makes me want to go home and take a bath. I feel dirty.”

  “The human mind,” Lane noted, “is a fragile thing. Believe me, I know that for a fact.” He paused, looked toward Garner, and then suggested, “If no one has anything else to add, let’s break this meeting up. I have some things I need to do.”

  “As do I,” Garner chimed in.

  The cop stood. “Why don’t I pick you two up in front of this building around four? We’ll go over to the judge’s house and spring all we know on him. Then we will see how he reacts. If we get lucky we might put this case to bed before Santa leaves the North Pole.”

  “Sounds good,” Tiffany replied. “I didn’t like the direction this conversation was going anyway.”

  With not even a good-bye, a suddenly focused Lane walked out of the room. As the door swung shut, the woman looked toward the investigator.

  “I don’t think I realized the effects of war until the last twenty-four hours.”

  Garner shook his head, “You’re a bright girl, you are perceptive, too, but you will never begin to know the real cost of war. Unless you have been there you can never fully realize how much it changes you.” He paused, “I’m going to spend a bit of time observing people shop. Maybe by watching the faces of children excited by a visit from Santa, I can once again absorb a bit of the Christmas spirit. I’ll be back here this afternoon.”

  Before leaving, he leaned over and kissed Tiffany on the cheek, then, while humming “Jingle Bells,” he followed in Lane’s footsteps. As he stepped outside, he was greeted by the cold north wind and a chilling thought. What if Richard Delono was still on his tail?

  40

  Tuesday, December 24, 1946

  4:46 P.M.

  As the police car pulled up the long, paved drive of the large, stately, red brick home on the city’s north side, Tiffany smiled grimly. Perhaps now she would find the answers to the reason three men and one woman had died and if Ethan Elrod, a man she had once so admired, had pulled the wool over her eyes.

  Turning her gaze to the front door and noting the porch light was not on, she sighed. Had Lane messed this up? Was Jacobs home or would this be a dry run?

  “Are you sure he’s here?” she asked. “The place looks deserted.”

  “I know he is,” the cop assured her. “I had a man stationed about a block away and he called the station when he spotted Jacobs. So the judge is home.” As Lane switched off the engine, he sounded like a father laying down the rules for his kids before they entered a strange home to meet an important person. “Okay, Jacobs and I know each other pretty well, so let me take the lead. I’ll start with the Santa deal. That provides me with a reason for bringing the two of you along on this ride. Still, it might be best if both of you didn’t actually speak unless you’re spoken to.”

  Tiffany frowned, “Yes, you have done such a good job of that in the past. Might I remind you, it was your surefire plan that placed me in the car with a hit man.”

  “I wasn’t a real hit man,” Garner argued.

  “Yeah,” the woman agreed, “but Lane didn’t know that.”

  The driver turned toward the woman in the back seat, “I should have left you at home.”

  “You’ve forgotten me before,” she snapped.

  The cop shook his head. “Just follow my lead. Please?”

  “In truth, I think it is a good plan,” Garner cut in. “I believe you need to start with the Santa thing, and, as you are the only real cop here and Jacobs is a judge, you need to take the lead. But I’m wondering how you’re going to open the door to the real reason we came? This is about more than a hundred grand in charity skimming; it’s about four murders and how they tie together. ”

  “I’ll play it by ear,” Lane suggested, “and just hope for the right opening.”

  “I hope you’re a smoother operator here,” Tiffany cracked, “than you are on dates.” She let her verbal blow sink in before adding, “And if you don’t find the opening, I will. We aren’t leaving here without my knowing why he wanted Velma dead and if he’s still in bed with the mob. After all, those are his roots.”

  The cop ignored the opportunity to jab back, pulled up on the handle, pushed the driver’s door open, and stepped out. It was already dark and there was a light snow falling.

  “The weather forecast called for it to be clear by midnight,” Tiffany noted as she got out of the car. “Doesn’t look like it right now.”

  “Still got some time,” Garner observed, “and at least it’s not falling very hard. This is more of the kind of snowfall they use to illustrate Christmas cards.” He leaned over and lightly elbowed Tiffany, before adding, “Wonder if the judge has any mistletoe hanging over his door?”

  “If he does,” Lane chimed in, “Jacobs can kiss you first. Now, let’s get going.”

  As the cop moved forward, his two companions followed close behind. After strolling up the front walk and onto the porch, Lane pushed on the doorbell. It took almost a full minute for the judge to finally open the door.

  “Lieutenant Walker,” Jacobs announced, his voice registering a bit of shock, “is there something I can do for you?”

  “Yes, there is,” the cop assured him. Maintaining a friendly but serious tone he added, “The three of us are here on official business. I think you know Tiffany Clayton. The other man is a friend of mine from the service and a licensed private investigator. His name is Bret Garner.”

  “Good to see you again, Miss Clayton,” the judge said with a forced smile, “and nice to meet you, too, Mr. Garner.” He turned back to Lane. “You said this was official, does that mean you need a warrant issued so that you can do a search? This is Christmas Eve, can’t that kind of thing wait?”

  “We don’t need a warrant,” the cop answered. He looked back to the reporter as he continued the explanation for the visit. “Miss Clayton uncovered something a couple of weeks ago. Bret helped her dig into it, and when it became obvious things were amiss they brought the matter to me. So far, I have kept it off the books, so I can assure you that no one at the department knows about it, and Tiffany has not sought to publish the story either. I felt we needed to talk to you first. As this might take a while, can we step inside?”

  “Excuse me,” Jacobs said quickly, as he stepped to one side. “Where are my manners? Please come in. We can visit in my study, but I must say you have me completely baffled. I can’t begin to imagine what you are talking about.”

  “Let’s get inside,” Lane suggested, “and after we are comfortable, we will get into it.”

  Much like Ethan Elrod’s, the home was impressive. Two stories tall, the foyer looked like the lobby of a grand hotel. Walking across marble floors, the trio’s host led them by a large, impressively furnished living room, down a twenty-foot-wide hall and into a study that was at least seven-hundred-square-feet. Even a casual examination of only the study proved the man knew how to live and live well. The room’s huge, high-backed, twelve-foot-wide couch and four matching chairs were covered in red leather. The side tables and bookshelves were walnut, and the judge’s desk was made of tiger oak and large enough to set a pool table on. The walls were covered with framed, antique maps, and the room’s brass and glass lights likely cost more than a new model Ford.

  “Please be seated,” Jacobs suggested. “I’ll take this chair at the end. Lane, why don’t you land in that one at the far side of the coffee table, and Miss Clayton and Mr. Garner you can take the couch. If you want to take off your coats, just place them on that far table.” After their coats were removed, and the trio positioned themselves in their assigned spots, the judge asked, “Now, what is this all about?”

  Crossing his legs and brushing a bit of snow from his cuff, Lane smiled and opened for the group. “A few weeks ago, Tiffany noticed there were too many Santas on Chicago street corners.”

  The judge chuckled, “Too many Santas at Christmas? Is that even possible?”

  Ignoring Jac
obs’s attempt at seasonal humor, the cop explained. “I got involved in finding out why there was a St. Nick population explosion, and last night we tracked the cash the extra Santas were raising to a warehouse in the canal district. I think you know where this is going.”

  “Do I?” the judge asked, as he leaned forward.

  Tiffany had been quiet as long as she could. So before the cop could follow up, she chimed in. “We learned the whole setup from the priest. Father John told us you were involved in the plan to raise extra money to help bring some children illegally into the country.”

  Jacobs shrugged. “The way you just put it, Miss Clayton, makes it sound so unseemly.”

  “It’s against the law,” she pointed out. “There can be no doubt about that. So it does seem strange that a federal judge would be the person pulling the strings. Now, was the priest lying to us or is it time for you to make a confession?”

  “Miss Clayton, that was a brilliant play on words,” the judge noted with a wry smile. “You speak almost as well as you write. Now you deserve the truth, and I will be happy to share it with you. I recently made a trip to Europe and I was overcome by what I saw there. When I discovered that laws of European nations and those here in the United States were preventing couples in America who would adopt these children from doing just that, I worked to get them changed. I was told it would take time. Some of the kids I saw didn’t have that much time. The more than seventy we are trying to sneak in are the kids who likely would not live long enough for the government to change the laws and allow them access to our country.”

  “But no matter how you frame it, it is still breaking the law,” Lane pointed out. “The way the money was raised was illegal and deceptive. You took advantage of a city charity drive. Then there is the smuggling of kids who are illegal aliens into Chicago.”

  “We are not cheating the city,” Jacobs answered. “There has been much more money raised for the local cause than is needed.”

  “But why this way?” Tiffany demanded. “Why not be open and straight-forward?”

  “Because,” the judge explained, “Americans gave and gave and gave during the war. They are tired of giving, even to good causes. For months, churches have been trying through special offerings to raise money to feed these children and it has not worked. Yet, put a Santa out there with a bell and a pot and, for whatever reason, it causes people to give. We didn’t have much time. So when Father John made his suggestion, I did what it took to make it work.”

  “But,” Garner chimed in, “if it got out that you were running an illegal operation like this, it might ruin your career.”

  “If it does,” Jacobs snapped, “then hang my career. As long as those kids get to come into country and live, I don’t care. You see, my late wife drove into me that helping people in need is our most important job on this earth. All I am doing with this is living out what she would have surely urged me to do.” His locked his eyes onto Lane, “Are you going to arrest me? Are you going to confiscate the money that’s been raised? Are you going to sign a death warrant for those special kids I’ve picked out? The ones who need it the very worst? The ones Christ called the least of these?”

  “No,” the cop admitted.

  “And I’m not going to run the story,” Tiffany added.

  “Well,” the judge sighed, “thank God for that.”

  Lane looked at Tiffany and Garner and then back to the judge. He spoke slowly as he pushed forward.

  “Judge Jacobs, were you aware that Ethan Elrod had discovered a connection between you and Richard Delono?”

  “Now that’s an unexpected change in direction,” the man acknowledged. “You should warn a man before hitting him with a low blow. But, nevertheless, I will answer you. Yes, in fact, I told him I’d been in contact with Delono. I had a job that needed to be done and I couldn’t use normal sources. But, just in case things blew up, I wanted Ethan to know what was going on.”

  Tiffany reached in her purse and pulled out the file. She handed it to the judge and waited for him to open it and look through the photos. She was hardly surprised his jaw dropped as he studied the images.

  “We found out how you got your education,” Tiffany noted. “These photos were hidden in Elrod’s office.”

  “Delono had them,” the judge explained. “He was holding onto them to threaten me if I made the run for governor. Ethan managed to cut a deal to get them from him. Ethan was just trying to protect me. Friends do that for each other.”

  “So Elrod was willing to break the law for you?” Garner asked.

  Jacobs shook his head. “The law might be black and white in my courtroom, but in real life there are a lot gray areas. Technically, maybe Ethan made a deal with the devil, but he didn’t break the law. He just bought photos for a very high price.”

  “That price being Velma Lombardi,” Garner coldly suggested.

  “What do you mean?” the judge demanded. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Delono took out a hit on Velma,” the investigator explained forcefully, “he told me that killing the woman was a favor he was doing for someone else. It was a special Christmas present.”

  “No,” Jacobs said, his head shaking, “he was supposed to find her for me not kill her. That wasn’t a part of the deal.”

  “Why?” Tiffany demanded. “We know you were married to her back in 1926 and then Capone ended it. So why were you looking for her? The only logical reason would have been to have her eliminated, so that she couldn’t be used against you in your race for governor. Get rid of the pictures of you with Capone and knock off the woman you married twenty years ago and you’re home safe.”

  “No,” he sternly answered. “That’s not it at all. I was looking for Velma because I wanted to reconnect. After all, I’d lost my wife, I was lonely, and if Velma hadn’t remarried . . .well . . . I was hoping to see if the feelings were still there. You know she had a voice that lingers in your heart and mind long after she’s finished her final note. It is still there. I still love her. Delono was supposed to find her through his contacts. When he located her, Ethan was to pay him off.”

  “So,” Lane demanded, “Elrod went along with this?”

  “It took me weeks of arguing with him about it,” Jacobs admitted, “for him to buy into the deal.”

  “Why was he against it?” Tiffany asked.

  The judge shrugged, “He thought it would ruin my chances to become governor. Finally, even though it likely meant ending his crusade against organized crime, he told me he’d help me out. But every time I checked, Ethan claimed Delono hadn’t found her. So, I’d pretty much given up.”

  “Delono didn’t find her,” Tiffany explained, “but Elrod did. He bought the blue jade ring from her and told her to never come to Chicago.” She stopped, glanced back to Lane, and then posed a question. “Did Delono know what Velma looked like? Had he ever met her?”

  “Not really,” Jacobs answered, “he was working off a picture taken more than twenty years ago.”

  “Well,” Garner angrily snapped, “Elrod not only told the woman you were looking for to stay away, he set up a prostitute who looked a bit like her to be delivered to Delono. That woman is dead. She was knocked off by one of Delono’s hit men.”

  “Why?” the judge demanded. “I had nothing to do with it. I wanted Velma alive.”

  “It might have been Elrod’s way,” Lane suggested, “to have you and Delono believe Velma was dead. As Elrod is now dead, that’s a question we can’t answer. But here is one question that you might be able to help us with. We know you drove for Al Capone when you weren’t at school. Did Al kill Lombardi?”

  “I hate to remember those days,” Jacobs sighed. “And I swear that when I drove over to the grocery store on that night I didn’t know what was planned. Even after we left, I didn’t know what had happened. But to answer your question, no, Capone didn’t kill the grocer. When he wanted to make a point, Al worked people over with baseball bats. In this
case, he hired another thug for that job . . . an ex-boxer named Rocko Falconi. They called him the Fatal Falcon. He liked the moniker so much he used a red knife as his talon when he did his work. But I swear, I just thought we stopped by the store because Falconi wanted something. I didn’t know he was going to kill Velma’s dad. I only found out about that the next day when I read the story in the papers. When I confronted Capone, he laughed and explained that it was his way of teaching me a lesson for going behind his back and getting married. He added that he took Velma from me to teach me who was boss and killed her father to scare her into never opening her mouth. That’s the way the mob worked. To this day, I have to live with the memories of the kind of world my mother sold me into.”

  As the magnitude of the vicious nature of the underworld took root, the room grew deathly silent. It was Tiffany who first worked her way beyond the brutality of the underworld to pose the next question.

  “The man convicted of the crime, Jan Lewandowski, told his attorney and a priest that the big guy, the person you just identified as Falconi, carried out two big sacks when he left the store. What was in the sacks?”

  “Fruitcakes,” Jacobs explained. “He loved them, but he never got to eat any of those. He died in a car wreck the next day. As a part of my duties, I cleaned out his place and gave four of the cakes to some little kid who said he was a friend of the store clerk who got killed. I felt sorry for him. He told me Lombardi gave him a candy bar and a bottle of pop each day and even helped him with his homework. He swore he loved the old man like a dad. What the kid didn’t know was that I loved a member of that family, too, and she was dead to me as well. I guess we were both heartbroken.”

  Garner shook his head as he reentered the verbal fray. “Did Elrod have any association with Lewandowski’s trial?”