Chicago Lightning

Washington Park, two of the days, and ran a description by Goldie.

“That sounds like him. Big guy. Six four, easy. Not somebody I could talk to myself.”

“Hence the legbreakers.”

“Hence. Nate, if you can keep that goody-two-shoes Mullaney off my ass, it would be appreciated. He’ll come around, make it an excuse to make my life miserable, and what did I ever to do to that fat slob?”

I was already out of the booth. “See what I can do, Goldie.”

“And if you ever wanna place a bet, you know where my office is.”

When I got back to the brown-brick house on South Elizabeth Street, the Catholic school girl was hugging a tall slender woman, who might have been her mother come to life. On closer look, this gal was younger, and a little less pretty, though that may not have been fair, considering her features were taught with grief.

Sally and the woman who I took to be her aunt were beneath the same shady tree where Mullaney and I had stood with the girl, questioning her, earlier.

I went up and introduced myself, keeping vague about the “investigative job” I’d been doing for Mr. Vinicky.

“I’m Doris Stemmer,” she said, Sally easing out of the woman’s embrace. The woman wore a pale yellow dress with white flowers that almost didn’t show. “I’m Rose’s sister.”

She extended her hand and I shook it. Sally stayed close to her aunt.

“Sorry for your grief, Mrs. Stemmer,” I told her. “Have you spoken to Inspector Mullaney yet?”

“Yes.”

“Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

“But you’re a private detective, aren’t you? What were you doing for Sylvester?”

“Looking into some of the complaints from his employees.”

Her eyes tightened and ice came into her voice. “Those men were a bunch of lazy good-for-nothing whiners. Doris was a good person, fair and with a great heart, wonderful heart. Why, just last year? She loaned Ray three hundred dollars, so we didn’t have to wait to get married.”

“Ray?”

“Yes, my husband.”

“What does he do, if I might ask?”

“He started a new job just last week, at an electrical assembly plant, here on the South Side.”

“New job? What was his old one?”

Her strained smile was a signal that I was pushing it. “He worked for Sylvester in the moving business. You can ask him yourself if Rose wasn’t an angel. Ask him yourself if she wasn’t fair about paying their people.”

“But he did quit…”

“Working as a mover was just temporary, till Ray could get a job in his chosen field.” Her expression bordered on glare. “Mr. Heller-if you want to talk to Ray, he’s waiting by the car, right over there.”

She pointed and I glanced over at a blue Ford coupe parked just behind a squad car. A big rugged-looking dark-haired guy, leaning against the vehicle, nodded to us. He was in a short-sleeve green sportshirt and brown pants. His tight expression said he was wondering what the hell I was bothering his wife about.

Gently as I could, I said, “I might have a couple questions for him, at that, Mrs. Stemmer. Would you and Sally wait here, just a moment? Don’t go anywhere, please…”

I went inside and found Mullaney and Cullen in the living room, contemplating the tape outline. Things were obviously winding down; the crime scene boys were packing up their gear, and most of the detectives were already gone.

“Button button,” I said to them. “Who’s got the button?”

Cullen glared at me, but Mullaney only smiled. “The brown button, you mean? Cullen, didn’t you collect that?”

The captain reached a hand into his suitcoat and came back with the brown button and held out the blood- caked item in his palm.

“You want this, Heller?”

“Yeah,” I said, marveling at the evidence-collecting protocol of the Chicago Police Department, “just for a minute….”

I returned to Mrs. Stemmer, under the tree, an arm around her niece.

“Couple questions about your husband,” I said.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” she asked, clearly exasperated.

“I will. I’m sorry. Please be patient. Does your husband have a coat that matches those pants he’s wearing?”

“Well…yes. Maybe. Why?”

“Isn’t wearing it today, though.”

“It’s warm. Why would he wear it…?”

“Could this button have come off that jacket?”

She looked at it. “I don’t know1;

Quietly, I said, “When did you say your husband started his new job?”

“Last week.”

“But he didn’t have to go to work today?”

“No…no. He had some things to do.”

“Does he normally get Fridays off?”

“I don’t know. He just started, I told you.”

“So it’s unlikely he’d be given a day off….”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Mrs. Stemmer, forgive me, but…does your husband have a gambling problem?”

She drew in breath, but said nothing. And spoke volumes.

I ambled over to the tall, broad-shouldered man leaning against the Ford.

“Mr. Stemmer? My name’s Heller.”

He stood straight now, folded his arms, looked at me suspiciously through sleepy eyes. He’d been out of earshot when I spoke to his wife, but could tell I’d been asking her unpleasant questions.

“Why were you bothering my wife? Are you one of these detectives?”

“Yeah. Private detective.”

He batted the air with a big paw. “You’re nobody! I don’t have to talk to you.”

“Private detective,” I picked up, “who followed Rich Miller to the track most of this week.”

“…What for?”

“For Rose’s husband-he thought she and Miller were playing around.”

He snorted a laugh. “Only thing Richie Miller plays is the nags.”

“And you’d know, right, Ray? See, I saw you and your buddy Richie hanging out together at Washington Park. You were betting pretty solid, yourself. Not big dough, but you were game, all right.”

“So what?”

“Well, for one thing, your wife thinks you started a new job last week.”

The sleepy eyes woke up a little. “And I guess in your business, uh…Heller, is it? In your business, you never ran across an instance of a guy lying to his wife before, huh?”

“You like the nags, too, don’t you, Stemmer? Only you don’t like to get nagged-and I bet Rose Vinicky nagged the hell out of you to pay back that three hundred. Did she hold back from your paycheck, too?”

He shook his head, smiled, but it was sickly. “Rose was a sweetheart.”

“I don’t think so. I think she was a hardass who maybe even shorted a guy when he had his hard-earned money coming. Her husband loved her, but anybody working for her? She gladly give them merry hell. She was that kind of nagrry hell. p›

A sneer formed on his face, like a blister. “I don’t have to talk to you. Take a walk.”

He shoved me.

I didn’t shove back, but I stood my ground; somebody gasped behind me-maybe Doris Stemmer, or the girl.