Columbo: The Game Show Killer

by William Harrington

  “Could be coincidence.”

  “Sure it could,” she said bitterly. ‘You believe that, you believe in the tooth fairy.”

  3

  1:02 P.M.

  Columbo wrinkled his nose. “Nah, thanks,” he said.

  Adrienne laughed. “Didn’t think so. But you ought to try it sometime. Bumper pool takes some skill.”

  “It’s okay for them” He nodded at the topless waitresses who worked in the Oscar and would play bumper pool with any customer who asked them. “Not real pool.”

  “Okay,” Adrienne conceded. “But my innards just couldn’t take another bowl of Burt’s chili. I wondered if we couldn’t try a game of bumper pool, after which we could have a decent lunch. Listen. You say you like anything that comes from the sea. Well… You like abalone?”

  “I like anything that comes from the sea. Abalone? A special favorite.”

  “We’ll have it. C’mon now. Check the raincoat. There are no dread secrets of LAPD in the pockets, are there?”

  “Well… If the check girl isn’t careful she’ll break the shell on my hard-boiled egg.”

  “Columbo!”

  “They make nice snacks during the day.”

  They sat down at a table. It overlooked a swimming pool and paddleball courts.

  “Kellogg is peddling the rights to an exclusive jailhouse interview with Erika Björling. He’s promising she’ll be inside a cell, and the camera will look at her through bars. He’s put it up for auction. The minimum bid has to be one million dollars. Columbo! This is what you call exploitation. ”

  “What’s she gonna do, tell something more? What’s she gonna say, that she also got pregnant by—?”

  “No, she’s going to tell what a horrible experience it is to be in jail. It’s for voyeurs, Columbo! What the hell are they trying to do? They’re peddling the story for all it’s worth—and a hell of a lot more—and she hasn’t even been tried, much less acquitted.”

  “How’s the old saying go? 'Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.’ Is that Shakespeare, Adrienne? Yeah. Shakespeare. I’m a great admirer of Shakespeare, go to any movie that’s a Shakespeare play.”

  Adrienne laughed and shook her head. “Columbo, I will never figure you out. Neither will anybody else.”

  4

  3:17 P.M.

  On his hands and knees behind the ’91 Toyota, Columbo stretched as far as he could and still could not reach the smear of fluid that lay on the pavement of the apartment-house garage. He stood up and walked outside. Ah! The edges of the driveway were littered with twigs. What he needed. He picked up a twig and returned to the garage. Thrusting it forward he reached the fluid and pulled the stick back with a sample clinging to it.

  “Do you mind if I ask what the hell you’re doing?” Columbo rose and faced a burly man in a white T-shirt: burly and fat, with belly hanging out over his belt. He was not friendly. He wanted to know what the guy in the raincoat was doing on the garage floor.

  “I was lookin’ at this here liquid that’s dripping out of this car. Y’ know? That doesn’t look like oil. Doesn’t smell like oil. What is that, y’ s’pose?”

  “It’s transmission fluid. Miss Pavlov’s car leaks transmission fluid. So what business is that of yours?”

  Columbo grinned and shook his head. “No business of mine at all, Sir. It’s just that— Well, y’ see, my car drips the same way, this stuff that’s not oil. That’s my car, out there on the street. It’s a French car, like you see; and when I noticed this foreign car drippin’ the same way mine does— Well, I wanted to see why.”

  “What are you doing in this garage anyway?”

  “Well, Sir, y’ see… You’re not Mr. Blake, by any chance?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You know Mr. Blake?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Well, y’ see, what I am is, I’m a repossessor. I mean, I’m in the business of taking back cars people don’t pay for. Not a very well-liked job, but somebody’s got to do it. Y’ know? Anyway, I was in here lookin’ for this car I’ve got to repossess, and— Well, I saw this car drippin’ the same way mine does, so—”

  “Okay, it’s drippin’ transmission fluid. It’s been doing it for a year.”

  “Can’t you get that fixed?” Columbo asked.

  “Have the gasket replaced.”

  “Is that expensive?”

  “Apparently more than Miss Pavlov can afford.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s too bad. Listen, I thank ya. Transmission fluid. I better have my gasket fixed right away. Losin’ fluid like that could damage your car, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, I thank ya again. I better be goin’. Uh… Maybe I could give Miss— What’d you say her name is? Pavlov? Maybe I could call her this evening and ask her what it would cost her to get her gasket replaced. It’d cost me about the same, wouldn’t it?”

  “Go in and ask her now. She’s home, obviously. She works nights and sometimes doesn’t come home at all.” The fat man grinned. “I think she’s got a friend.”

  “Well… If she works nights, she’s prob’ly getting her rest right now. I guess I’ll just ask my mechanic.”

  5

  4:11 P.M.

  Columbo walked up the driveway of the little house where Grant Kellogg lived in Pasadena. He squatted and ran his finger across a wet smear on the driveway. He squinted at what was on his finger, and sniffed at it.

  Transmission fluid.

  6

  5:15 P.M.

  “Hiya, Donahue! How’s everything? How’s the missus?” Captain John Donahue grabbed Columbo’s hand and shook it with warmth and enthusiasm. He was a small, sandy-haired man with bulging pale-blue eyes. He was in uniform.

  “Columbo, you old son of a gun! How’s the guy with the best job on the Force?”

  “Why do I got the best job?”

  “You get to hobnob with all the celebrities, some of’em the best-lookin’ women in town.”

  “All in the line of duty, Donahue; all in the line of duty.”

  “Well, sit down. I bet there’s something I can do for you. You wouldn’t come to see me if there wasn’t.”

  “Yeah. Well I wrote a note down here— Where’s my notebook? It’s in one of these pockets. I made a point of— Ah, here. Lemme tear this out and give it to you. That’s an address, and that’s a license number. You’re the watch commander. I’d appreciate it if you’d have a black-and- white go past that house a few times tonight, lookin’ for that car. When the next watch comes on, I’d appreciate it if they’d do it, too. That car’s more likely to show up after midnight. And if it does, then I’d like to know when it leaves. Not exactly, y’ understand, just whether it leaves before or after dawn.”

  Donahue frowned over the note. “I know this address. Let’s see—”

  “Mr. Grant Kellogg.”

  “And the car belongs to—?”

  “His chief alibi witness in the Erika Björling case.” Donahue laughed. “Columbo, you’re a dog!”

  “Be an interestin’ development, wouldn’t it?”

  “The man couldn’t be that dumb.”

  Columbo lifted his chin and grinned. “Prob’ly not. But maybe. Ego can make a man careless.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

  7

  8:32 P.M.

  Her dormitory was in lock, and Erika and her cellmates were confined to their cell.

  The auto thief lay on her cot with her hands clasped behind her head and stared at the ceiling. She spent a lot of time doing just that. She was a black woman with a cafe-au-lait complexion. Her name was Miriam.

  The prostitute worked on her fingernails. She was not in jail for prostitution but for cutting one of her johns with a switchblade knife and relieving him of his money. She said she’d done it because he refused to pay what he’d agreed to pay for her services. She figured she was justified, and she was confident a jury would think so, too. She was a hard-edged blond. Her
name was Pearl.

  The young woman charged with farming half an acre of marijuana and selling it by the kilo lounged against the bars with her hands clasped outside. She pressed her face to the bars sometimes and tried to see up and down the corridor. She was a softly plump little girl with long dark hair. As was the case with Erika, this was her first jail experience. Her name was Lily.

  Erika leaned against the cell door, gripping one of the cold steel bars with her right hand. She had been in here a week. It seemed as if she’d never been anywhere else.

  44Are they going to bring a television camera in here?” Lily asked.

  “Not in here,” said Erika. “If we’re allowed to do it, it will be some other place, some other cell. I’ll be alone.”

  “I don’t want to be on television.”

  “You won’t be.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Pearl said. “Might be good for business.”

  “Where you’re goin’, you won’t be doin’ any business,” Miriam said. “Not for a good many years. You an’ me are goin’ to Fontera, dear. So’s Lily. Erika’s the only one with a chance to walk. ’Course… she’ll go for life if her jury doesn’t buy her alibi witnesses.”

  “You scared, Erika?” Lily asked gently.

  “I’m terrified.”

  “If I had your lawyer, I’d get off for sure,” said Pearl.

  “I hope those alibi witnesses of yours are clean,” said Miriam. “If there’s anything wrong with ’em—” She shook her head.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Erika said bitterly.

  “Were you surprised the Van Gogh turned out to be a fake?” Lily asked.

  “Yes. I thought his art collection was real.”

  “How could you make that judgment?” Lily asked.

  “I’d seen it. I’d been in the house before. I mean, he was the father of my daughter.”

  Miriam rolled up her eyes and pursed her lips. “ 'Before? ” she murmured to herself. “ 'Before.’ Hmm.”

  XX

  1

  SATURDAY, APRIL 22—9:24 A.M.

  Miriam sat down in the cubicle where detectives and lawyers interviewed inmates and waited for the gumshoe they’d said would come to talk to her. Gonna meet with the fuzz, but that made no difference; she’d been strip-searched before she was allowed what they called a “contact visit.”

  Bastards wouldn’t let her have a smoke. Goddamned righteous reformers had banned smoking in the lockups. By the time she got out of here and out of Fontera, she’d be clean of the craving for nicotine, maybe. And maybe clean of the craving for other things.

  This couldn’t be the detective! What had they sent her? The screw let him in. C’mon! Who the hell was this? Guy with uncombed hair. Guy wearing a shabby old raincoat. His suit wasn’t so great-lookin’, either, and the narrow end of his necktie hung underneath the wide end.

  “Hiya,” he said. “I’m Lieutenant Columbo, LAPD Homicide. I got the call, sayin’ you wanted to talk to the man in charge of the Erika Björling investigation. So… I’m the guy you wanta talk to.”

  “You… are… Columbo?”

  He grinned. “Couldn’t prove it by me. That’s what they call me. Hey. My mother and father were named Columbo. But maybe I fell off a turnip wagon and they just took me in. You never know for sure, do ya?”

  Miriam nodded. “Sure. Yeah. I’ve heard the name for years… and you show up. Okay. You’re Columbo. You got the Erika Björling case. She’s a cellmate of mine. I wanta tell you something she said last night. But of course I want you to do something for me. You know what I mean. Put the word in. I helped you.”

  “Can’t make any promises,” said Columbo. “You’ve had some experience. You know I can’t make promises.”

  “No. You guys never do.”

  2

  10:44 A.M.

  Sergeant Jesús Ruiz found Columbo standing on a pier, peeling and eating a hard-boiled egg and staring at the rolling green waves.

  “The dispatcher said you might be out here,” said Ruiz. “Some pier, anyway. Martha suggested this one.”

  Columbo nodded. “Yeah. Might be here. I left word I might. Hey… Y’ ever come out someplace like this and just stand and look at the water? Makes thinkin’ easier. Y7 know that? Makes thinkin’ easier.”

  “I guess…”

  Columbo shook his head. “Y’ go out and watch the big waves coming in on Malibu. That's not good for thinkin’. I mean watching guys get wiped out. No. But here, where it's peaceful— There’s something about salt water, Jesús. Y’ know, that’s where they say we all come from, from the salt water.”

  “Yeah, Lieutenant, but I got—”

  “Ideas. Y’ gotta sort out your ideas.”

  “I picked up a note from Captain Donahue. It was for you, but—”

  “Donahue. What’s he say?”

  “Lemme read it to you—”

  The car that leaks transmission fluid arrived at the Pasadena address between 1:15 and 2:00. It left between 5:45 and 6:15. Helpful?

  Columbo grinned. “I tell ya, Jesús. That is helpful. By golly, that is helpful.”

  3

  11:56 A.M.

  “You’re not the easiest man in the world to find,” Columbo said to Fred Mansfield.

  “I’m at the Ten Strikes every night.”

  They stood outside an apartment building in Long Beach. Columbo had buzzed to be admitted, and Mansfield had said he was coming out, so hold on a minute.

  “I won’t take much of your time.”

  Fred glanced at his watch. “I hope not. I’m meeting my girl for lunch. She gets just an hour off.”

  “I can understand you’re bein’ anxious to meet her,” said Columbo. He frowned at his cigar, which had gone out, and flipped it into the street. “But you’re listed in the alibi notice Mr. Kellogg filed, so I gotta talk to you.”

  Fred shrugged. “Talk away.”

  “The big question is the time. I suppose you’re sure about the time. I mean, you’re sure Miss Björling came in your bar pretty close to nine o’clock.”

  Fred nodded. “Pretty close. Give or take five or ten minutes.”

  “She comes in a lot?”

  “Now and then.”

  “It’s a long way from where she lives. She’s gotta drive pretty close to an hour to get there. What’s the attraction, y’ suppose?”

  “I wouldn’t know—unless it’s that she and Sonya are good friends.”

  “Old friends too, huh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “They ever tell you where they met, and how?”

  “On the beach. Sonya’s a surfer, used to be big about it. She got wiped out one day, and Erika pulled her out of the water.”

  “Would you say that you and Erika are friends?”

  “I wish I could say that. But I have to say ‘acquaintances.’”

  “How about you and Mr. Kellogg? How well do you know him?”

  “I serve drinks to him.”

  “Often?”

  “He comes in from time to time.”

  “It’s a long drive for him, too. I guess you wouldn’t call your bar a really big attraction, that people come from all over town to visit. Would you?”

  Fred shrugged. “People come in. I don’t know where they come from.”

  “Well, Mr. Kellogg comes from Pasadena. By the way, has he been in since the night of the murder?”

  “Yeah, once or twice.”

  “I wonder what’s the attraction. Since Miss Björling’s in jail, he’s not cornin’ to see her

  “I guess he and Sonya are pretty good friends.”

  “There’s a rumor that they’re more than just pretty good friends.”

  Fred grinned. “Could be.”

  “A TV personality from Van Nuys and a prominent lawyer from Pasadena… and they get together in a bowling- alley bar in Long Beach. How ’bout Tim Wylie? He ever come in?”

  “No, Lieutenant, he never did. Not that I know about. So— Is there anythi
ng else? Erika Björling came in about nine o’clock. That wasn’t anything unusual. She was there. Whatta y’ want me to say?”

  “Nothin’. And I guess I am takin’ too much of your time. You wanta go see your girl. So…”

  “Anytime, Lieutenant.” Fred gave him a dismissing little smile. “Anytime.”

  “I appreciate your cooperation. So, uh— Oh, say. There is one little thing I meant to ask you. None of my business, really, but— Would you mind telling me what your girl’s name is?”

  “It isn’t any of your business.”

  “Okay. If it’s a secret…”

  “It’s no secret. Her name is Mary Nelle Fiske. She’s a checkout girl in a Woolworth’s store, and—”

  “Miss Pavlov says you and your girl are having a serious problem. That’s none of my business either, but—”

  “It’s none of your business!”

  4

  1:49 P.M.

  “The name’s Columbo. Lieutenant Columbo. LAPD homicide.”

  The fat man in wrinkled white shirt, red satin necktie, and gray slacks that were too small for him stared hard at Columbo’s badge and ID. He was the manager of this Woolworth’s store.

  “Well— Can I do something’ for you?”

  “Yeah. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me buy a cup of coffee or a Coke for one of your employees, there at the lunch counter. In fact, now that I think of it, I haven’t had any lunch. I—”

  “Which employee?”

  “Mary Nelle Fiske.”

  “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “Oh, no, Sir. Not at all. She just might have a little bit of information that would be helpful to me. She hasn’t even associated with bad people. She just might know somethin’ I need to know.”

  The man nodded. “Take a stool, Lieutenant. I’ll send her over.”

  Columbo sat down. “I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had a grilled cheese sandwich,” he said to the woman behind the lunch counter. “That just does appeal. And do you have Dr. Pepper?”