A Killing Fair

by Glenn Ickler

  * * *

  Next morning I parked my car in the ramp as usual, walked around the corner to the Daily Dispatch entrance as usual and ran head-on into Willow. I tried to dodge past her, but she grabbed me around the waist and pressed her body snug against mine. The top of her head was brushing the underside of my nose. Her shampoo had imparted the smell of lilacs to her straight blond hair.

  “We really do have to talk,” she said.

  “Not in this position,” I said. She was wearing a flower-patterned, ankle-length, V-necked muumuu, and obviously no bra. I wasn’t sure about any other undergarments, but I was guessing there were none.

  “Promise not to run away if I let go of your bod?” she said.

  “Scout’s honor.”

  She slid her hands up to my shoulders and stepped back about six inches. I tried to twist away, but she dug her fingers into my shoulders and slammed her warm, soft breasts and belly tight against me. “You lied,” she said.

  “I was never a Boy Scout.”

  “I was. In fact, I let an Eagle Scout break my cherry.”

  “Way too much information,” I said. “Now let go of me and I swear on a stack of journalistic style books that I won’t run away.”

  “I’ll yell rape if you run,” she said as she backed off and removed her fingers from the dents they’d created in my shoulders. I suggested that we walk a couple of blocks to a park with benches. She agreed, latched tightly onto my right hand and towed me along behind her. With each step, the muumuu stretched so tightly against her backside that I was able to confirm my suspicion that she was sans panties as well as sans bra. Of course this observation was made purely as a matter of investigative reporting.

  We sat side by side on a bench with Willow’s right thigh pressed against my left, transmitting heat through her thin muumuu and my summer-weight pants. I asked why she was so desperate to talk to me.

  “Because you’re my only hope at getting to Al,” Willow said. “He’s got that awful restraining order out against me and I can’t get him to respond to an e-mail, even when I show him what he’s missing.”

  “He’s very happily married. He’s not missing anything.”

  “He’s the love of my life. I could show him some things in bed that his wife never heard of.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that. Carol’s a tiger in the sack.” Oh, god, was this me talking about my best friend’s wife?

  “How do you know what she’s like in the sack?” Willow said. “Have you been in the sack with her?”

  “Good god, no. Al’s my best friend. I wouldn’t touch his wife.”

  “Even if she came on to you?”

  “She never would. You’re talking nonsense. And you’re wasting your time if you keep chasing Al. He wants nothing to do with you.”

  “You could talk to him. Tell him how much I want him. How bad I need him. Tell him that I get wet down there just thinking about him. Tell him he wouldn’t have to leave his wife. Tell him that we could just have a really, really wonderful thing going on the side.”

  “I would never suggest that to him, and he would never do it,” I said.

  “He might,” Willow said. “If you told him I’m ready to kill myself if I don’t have him deep inside me soon.”

  “That’s pure bullshit. Any way, if I told him he’d probably say hurray.”

  “He wouldn’t say that. He’s too kind and loving and sensitive. I can see that in his photos. He’d come to me with open arms if he thought it would save my life.”

  “Forget it. I’m not going to tell him any of this foolishness and you’re not going to kill yourself. Go find some other man to pester—somebody single who can give you all the screwing you want.”

  “There’s nobody like Al,” she said. “It’s not just the screwing. I want his tenderness and caring.”

  “You’re right, there is nobody like him,” I said. “And you’re not going to ever get near him.” I stood up and walked away without looking back. Willow did not follow.

  I rode up the elevator to the newsroom with Corinne Ramey, who looked flushed and a bit disheveled. “We’re both late,” she said. “I overslept; what’s your reason?”

  “I’m going to have to make one up,” I said. “My real reason is so bizarre nobody would believe it.” I was tempted to ask her who she’d overslept with but I decided to let it go. I’d already received more than a full day’s quota of reports on female sexuality.

  As we passed the receptionist’s desk, Rhonda Riley called my name. “I’ve got a message for you from a woman who didn’t know your extension,” she said. She handed me a yellow slip of paper, which I carried to my desk. Written on the paper was “Call Zoom-I-Yah at city hall, ext. 404.”

  I translated Zoom-I-Yah to mean Zhoumaya. Wondering what my landlady wanted to talk about during working hours, I called the main City Hall number and followed the directions to reach extension 404.

  Chapter 27: City Hall Surprise

  After five rings, Zhoumaya’s voice mail kicked in, telling me she was away from her desk just now, etc. I left a message with my extension number, put down the phone and turned to find Al sitting on the corner of my desk.

  “You’re late,” he said, handing me a cup of coffee. “I had to heat it up again in the microwave.”

  “I was detained by a crazy lady who says you’re the love of her life, poor thing,” I said. “Willow literally grabbed me outside the front door and wouldn’t let go until I listened to her whine about how devastated she is by your failure to answer her e-mails. She says she’ll kill herself if you don’t accept her invitation for a rendezvous in bed.”

  “Tell her I’ll send flowers to her funeral,” Al said.

  “You tell her. I’ve already killed too much time with her.”

  “Well, I’m dead certain I’ll never open any of her e-mails.”

  “You’ll just let them pass away?”

  “Better yet, I’ll kill them. And speaking of killing, how’d you make out with cousin Vito yesterday?”

  “He called me a lot of uncomplimentary names when I told him we talked to his chemist buddy,” I said. “He didn’t deny what Lymanski said about still getting together but he threw me out when I asked him where he was when Vinnie ate the poison pill on a stick.”

  “You really think it’s Vito?” Al said.

  “Even more so after yesterday’s performance. Who had more to gain from having Vinnie dead?”

  “Is your pal at the Falcon Heights PD getting anything more from the guy who delivered the naughty stick?”

  “My Falcon Heights PD pal was her usual self yesterday. The old ‘we can’t answer that at this time’ routine.”

  “Well, I have to go shoot a feature with John Boxwood,” Al said. “See you at lunch if you’re around.”

  I waved goodbye and centered my thoughts on Vito Luciano. I’d just taken the last sip of coffee when my phone rang. It was Zhoumaya.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “I don’t know if this is in your territory, but something hush-hush is going on in the Public Health Department,” she said. “The department head, the mayor and the city attorney are in a huddle and rumors are flying. What might be of interest to you is that I heard Vinnie Luciano’s name mentioned by two women talking in the ladies room.”

  “That does interest me. Did you hear what they were saying about Vinnie?”

  “No, they clammed up real quick when they saw me come out of the stall. I’ll keep my big ears open and let you know if I find out what’s going on.”

  “Please do that. Meanwhile I’ll call somebody I know in the city attorney’s office. Thanks for the tip.”

  My contact in the city attorney’s office was Marilee Kohl, a law school classmate and friend of Martha Todd. I knew Marilee because she and
her husband had shared several late-night dinners with us during the women’s grind through law school. Marilee had been working for the city attorney since passing her bar exam, and she had tipped me to a couple of newsworthy city legal actions that the paper might have missed without forewarning.

  I looked up Marilee’s extension and made a call. Naturally I got a voicemail recording saying she was away from her desk, etc. Why should she be at her desk when nobody else I call ever was? I left a message and went back to wondering how I could trap Vito Luciano. Don O’Rourke interrupted my musings with an assignment that took me out of the office, away from my desk and my phone. The nerve of the man.

  When I returned at about 11:30, I found a voice mail message from Marilee. This time she was at her desk when I called, and I told her about my tip from an anonymous friend in City Hall.

  “Whoever your anonymous friend is, he’s got good ears,” Marilee said. “I can’t talk about it right now, but there is some­thing going on with a health inspector, which might explain Vinnie Luciano’s name being mentioned.”

  “Was Vinnie in trouble with the Health Department?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t say any more about it now without risking my job. There’s nothing you can write about yet, but I’ll let you know the minute something can be made public. Gotta go. Bye.”

  Don O’Rourke was intrigued when I told him about my two calls. He suggested I go wander around City Hall with my eyes and ears open. “Then have lunch at Callahan’s,” he said.

  Callahan’s restaurant was only a couple of blocks from the City Hall and Courthouse, so many city officials, lawyers, and judges hung out there at noon. City Attorney Myles Walters was a regular customer.

  Off I went to City Hall. I rode the elevator up to the Public Health Department’s office floor and stepped out. The first person I saw in the hall was Vito Luciano.

  “Jesus,” Vito said. “Ain’t there no place a guy can get away from you?”

  “Any place,” I said. Yet another stupid knee-jerk response.

  Vito clenched his fists. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Nothing important.” I gave him my most disarm­ing smile. “What brings you here?”

  “If you don’t know, I sure as hell ain’t gonna tell you.” Vito turned away and went through the door marked Public Health Department, slamming the door so hard that the glass panel rattled.

  While I was debating my next move, the elevator beside the one I had just vacated opened and another unexpected visitor stepped out. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I might ask you the same,” said Detective Lieutenant Curtis Brown, the police department’s chief homicide investigator.

  I pointed to the Public Health Department door. “I heard something was going on in there. Do you know what it is?”

  “I do but I can’t tell you,” Brownie said. “Have a good day, Mitch.” And through the Public Health Department door he went. I tried to follow, but Brownie put up a hand to stop me and shut the door inches from my nose. Before the door closed I saw two uniformed police officers inside.

  The chief of homicide? In the Public Health Department? Had some restaurant’s food killed somebody? And was that restaurant King Vinnie’s Steakhouse? Why else would Vito be in there?

  I was still staring at the door when a voice from behind me caused me to spin around. “Hi, Mitch. Trish Valentine reporting live.”

  Sure enough, it was Trish and her cameraman. “Do you know what’s going on?” I asked.

  “All I know is that my source called and said that somebody from public health might be going to jail,” she said.

  I pulled out my cell phone and called the desk. “Get me a photographer here at the Public Health Department right now.”

  Chapter 28: Waiting Game

  Six minutes after my call Alan Jeffrey popped out of the elevator, breathing hard and holding his camera at the ready. “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “Somebody in there is about to be arrested,” I said, pointing at the Public Health Department door. “We don’t know who or why, but Curtis Brown is in there.”

  “Brownie? Homicide? What the hell?” He wiped a drop of sweat off the end of his nose with the back of his left hand.

  “My thoughts exactly,” I said.

  The second elevator opened and a Channel Five news crew came out to join us.

  “Guess you don’t get a scoop, Trish,” I said.

  “Trish Valentine reporting live,” she said. “Tied for first with breaking news.”

  “Who are they arresting?” asked Valerie Karnes, the long-legged, dark-haired Channel Five reporter.

  “Nobody knows,” Trish said. “But we’re ready for them, who­ever it is.”

  We were, indeed, ready. And we stayed ready through the lunch hour and on into the afternoon. Don O’Rourke called my cell phone every ten minutes to ask what was going on. The two TV reporters took turns standing in front of the office door every twelve minutes, reporting live that breaking news was about to happen. A third TV crew arrived and began reporting live. Soon after them came a reporter and photographer from the Minneapolis paper. We now had a media circus without a ringmaster or a feature act.

  At two minutes past two the office door opened and Andrew Brigham, assistant Ramsey County attorney, stepped out and closed the door behind him. His eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped when he saw the mob. He took a deep breath and swallowed. “Um, you’ll have to clear the way folks,” he said more as a wish than a command. “Please, everybody back off and let us get to the elevators.”

  “What’s happening?” we all yelled in unison.

  “It’s complicated,” Brigham said.

  “So tell us,” I said.

  “Not here.” He looked at his wristwatch. “The county attorney’s office at, um, three o’clock. We’ll explain everything then. Now please clear a path to the elevator.”

  Like a spent wave of seawater flowing back off a beach, we retreated en masse to the far side of the elevator. Brigham punched the down button and went back and opened the office door. A parade emerged, led by Curtis Brown, City Attorney Myles Walters and the mayor. They were followed by the two uniformed officers holding the arms of a short, sallow, gray-haired man whose hands were cuffed behind his back. Next was Vito Luciano, who was trying to make himself invisible behind the trio. The two top Public Health Department officials came next, and two dark-suited men who looked like lawyers brought up the rear.

  We were all shouting questions and taking pictures as the cordon waited for an elevator. Brigham kept holding up his hand and shouting, “Not now. Three o’clock. Not now.”

  The elevator arrived and everybody except the two lawyers got on. We kept shouting questions and they kept saying, “No comment,” until the other elevator arrived and opened a way for them to escape. When they were in, I slid past Trish and squeezed through the closing elevator doors.

  “Who is that in handcuffs?” I asked.

  “No comment,” said one suit.

  “The county attorney will tell you,” said the other.

  “What’s the charge against him?”

  “No comment,” said one.

  “The county attorney will tell you,” said the other.

  “Are you representing the man they arrested?”

  “No comment,” said one.

  “Actually, we are—temporarily,” said the other. “But he has the right to select his own representative and I don’t think it will be us.”

  “Why not you?” I asked.

  “No comment,” said one.

  “His ass is in deeper trouble than we can dig it out of,” said the other. The elevator stopped, the doors opened and the two lawyers scooted a
way at double time.

  * * *

  “This is complicated, so please bear with me,” Andrew Brigham said to the media mob in the county attorney’s office. Standing a step behind Brigham in a line at his left were the county attorney, the city attorney and the chief of homicide.

  “Quite a high-powered lineup,” I said to Trish Valentine, who was standing in front of me.

  “It’s complicated,” she said.

  Brigham read his statement from a sheet of paper: “The man you saw brought out of the Public Health Department office in handcuffs is Sheldon Kularski, age sixty-two, who has worked as a restaurant inspector for the City of St. Paul for twenty-seven years. Mr. Kularski will be charged with extortion, specifically demanding money from restaurant owners in exchange either for overlooking violations of the health code, or for threatening to report violations that did not, in fact, exist.

  “The charge is based on evidence presented by Vito Luciano, the owner of King Vinnie’s Steakhouse, located on West Seventh Street in this city. This evidence was gathered and documented by the late Vincent Luciano, the previous owner of King Vinnie’s Steakhouse, who died before he was able to present the evidence to authorities.”

  Brigham looked up from what he was reading and said, “This is where the complications begin, so listen close.”

  “Listen closely,” I whispered in Trish Valentine’s ear. She jabbed me two inches below the bellybutton with her elbow.

  Returning to the written statement, Brigham continued: “Vincent Luciano informed Mr. Kularski of his intent to present the evidence, which includes demanding substantial amounts of money from King Vinnie’s Steakhouse and a number of other St. Paul restaurants. Five days after notifying Mr. Kularski of his intentions, Vincent Luciano was poisoned while presenting a new novelty food item at the Minnesota State Fair. Vito Luciano then took charge of the restaurant, found the material in the office safe and submitted it to the Department of Public Health. Today’s action is the result of an internal investigation conducted by depart­ment officials in conjunction with the St. Paul Police Department.