Chapter 11 #2
“You know exactly what I mean. What aren’t you telling me?”
There was silence other than the hum of the cat’s purr until she glanced at him, her eyes glassy with tears. “I didn’t have any idea what would happen.”
“Of course, you didn’t.”
Wilma covered her mouth with a shaking hand and took a deep breath.
“Timothy stopped by to . . . to see me,” she said and looked at Phillip.
“We had a pleasant . . . chat and then he told me he wouldn’t be stopping to see me any longer.
I was angry and hurt. You see, I like Timothy, maybe more than like.
He makes my days working as a companion bearable knowing that I’ll see him soon, as Mrs. Penrose is demanding and demeaning. ”
“Did he say why he was not going to see you any longer?”
She nodded. “He said he’s looking toward marriage, and he didn’t think either of us was interested in making the relationship anything permanent.”
“But perhaps you were interested in that?” Phillip asked gently.
“There already was some permanence. On my part anyway. I should have known better,” she whispered.
“What happened then, Wilma?”
“A friend stopped by. Just a friend. I met him a few months ago at a dance at Minehew’s.
He had stopped by a few other times.” She glanced at Phillip.
“Just to talk. He liked to have his whiskey and be fussed over. I didn’t see any harm in it.
And he always brought me a gift of some kind.
Flowers once. Fresh bread another time, and this time he brought me a bottle of perfume. ”
“Sounds like a suitor.”
She shook her head and looked up at Phillip, a hard edge in her eyes. “I doubt it. I think he knew Timothy was my friend.”
“What did he want, Wilma?”
“He came not long after Timothy left, and I was hurt and angry still. I told him what Timothy had said to me. He wanted to know where Timothy was going that evening. He gave me the impression he was going to speak on my behalf to him or at least tell him he’d not been kind or respectful.
It felt good, thinking I had a champion.
After I told him Timothy was probably going to Red’s, he hurried out the door, barely saying goodbye to me.
I knew then he was never interested in my company. ”
“What is this man’s name?”
“Norris. John Norris.”
“I’m sorry to say I think you are right.
I think he was after information about Timothy.
And I’m sorry to have to behave the same way, but I’ve got to go.
I’ve got to track down this Norris fellow.
Whatever you do, don’t let any strangers in your apartment until this matter with Timothy is solved. Make sure you are home before sundown.”
“You’re scaring me, Brown.”
“These men are dangerous and not above stabbing a woman and putting her in a bed with an unconscious police officer. Be careful and don’t take any chances. If Norris shows up again, let me know.”
Phillip fully intended to track down Norris. It was time to get some answers. But that was before the messenger from Station Five found him. Phillip took the note and watched the boy race away down the street and around the corner. He opened the note and read.
“Shit. Shit and damnation.”
Phillip took off at a run following the messenger, finally stopping in front of the station house. He was bent over at the waist, heaving a breath, when Danny Hendricks found him.
“It’s bad. Real bad.”
Phillip straightened. “He’s dead, then.”
“His throat slit so far his head nearly came off when they lifted him.”
“Do you think he said no?”
He nodded. “I think Youngman realized belatedly that once he’d done one favor for Bruner, he was going to have to continue. I think he resisted doing more and they killed him.”
“Sends quite the message,” Phillip said and looked around at the crowd gathered outside the station. “Where was the body?”
“Propped up against our stable door. Horses were going crazy when the stable hand got here about six. Poor soul tripped over the body, fell flat, and when he sat up, he was about a hand’s length away from Youngman’s face.”
“Good God.”
Phillip turned when he heard someone call his name.
“O’Malley?”
The man nodded and glanced at Hendricks. “From Station Twelve. Me and my partner, Smythe.”
“Danny Hendricks,” he said and shook both men’s hands.
O’Malley did not look his normal cheerful, carefree self. In fact, he looked nervous. “What brings you here, O’Malley?” Phillip asked, but Smythe spoke first.
“In the area and wanted to pay our respects to a fellow officer and hear the real truth. There’s all kinds of rumors floating around already.” Smythe glanced at Phillip. “Unless you’d rather not talk details while we’re not alone.”
“Brown already knows the details. I told him,” Hendricks said and looked up when he heard his name called. He nodded at Smythe and O’Malley and walked away.
Smythe looked at Phillip. “So was Youngman dirty?”
“Christ! What a thing to ask. An officer is dead. Could be any one of us,” O’Malley said.
Smythe turned slowly to look at O’Malley. “Could have been.”
Phillip watched O’Malley’s face change from his normal mottled redness to white.
“I have no idea if Youngman was dirty,” Phillip said. “But he was the one who found Timothy Sweitzinger and Josephine Button in bed, Miss Button dead with a knife in her chest. Makes you wonder if one had anything to do with the other.”
“Leave the police work to the police, Brown. We’ve heard of your misguided, and sometimes dangerous, ventures into matters that have nothing to do with you.” Smythe smiled as he said it.
“Do you know what happened to Youngman?” O’Malley asked.
“Throat slit so deep his head was dangling. Dumped against Station Five’s stables. Right around back.”
O’Malley glanced down the walkway beside the building that led to the alley and stables. “Christ almighty.”
“Left to bleed out in the manure. Not a pretty picture,” Phillip said.
Smythe slapped O’Malley on the shoulder. “Come on, brother. Let’s get some grub.”
Phillip watched the two men walk away, certain that their names would be linked in some way to Josephine Button’s murder.