3/26/15
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I didn’t know why Ericka was rejecting the official police explanation that it was a simple suicide. A lot of people were opting for a permanent vacation from their problems these days. But she was suspicious that the gun had been found near the body’s right hand, while her husband John was a lefty. That was easy to explain. The kick from both barrels of a shotgun going off could send it anywhere.
A tickling on the back of my neck warned me she was involved. She was unmoved that she’d lost her husband, and was only interested in finding the who and why. But if she was involved, why didn’t she just let it lie once the police had dropped it?
In the absence of a suspect, I decided to follow the money. John’s banker, Mr. Sellers, was reluctant to talk at first, but I helped him feel otherwise. He then gave me my shock for the day — John Watson’s bank account was empty!
Well, that removed one of Ericka’s possible motives. But where had it all gone? There had recently been several large transfers to the account of Vincent Gilletti. Oh, God! Not Vince the Vise. He was the most heartless blackmailer in the city, as well as being involved in other unsavory activities. Once he got his grip on a mark, he wouldn’t stop squeezing until they were bled dry.
What could he have had on John Watson? As risky as it was, I paid Vince a little visit. If you knew how to milk him, you could get buckets of information. That’s why people forked out so much — to keep him from talking.
It seemed that John had given the Nazis a whole shipload of military information. But why would a successful businessman undermine the country that had made him rich? Vince could answer that too — just prior to marrying John, the voluptuous Ericka had emigrated from Germany. She and I were overdue for a talk.
An hour later I was in the parlor of one of the nicer homes in town. The artwork in just this room could have paid the rent at my place for a year. I got right to the questions before she could relax.
“Did you know all your husband’s money is gone?” I asked.
“No,” she answered nonchalantly. “He took care of all the financial matters.”
I was puzzled by her tone. I expected at least a little surprise from someone who just learned she was broke.
“Yeah. Well, he’s gone now. You’re going to have to start thinking for yourself.”
“I’ll get by,” she said.
“Huh. I’m sure you will. A dish with a body like yours won’t have any trouble finding another sugar daddy.”
“I’m not paying you to insult me, Mr. Stone. I hired you to find who killed my husband. Do you have anything for me or not?”
“I’m still working on it. But maybe it was done by your Nazi friends.” That touched a nerve. Her face finally showed an expression.
“What do you mean?” she huffed.
“Perhaps you thought I wouldn’t find out,” I said. “But I know where you’re from.”
“That doesn’t make me a Nazi.”
“Oh, no?”
“No. I’m a refugee. You see, I’m Jewish.”
Now it was my turn to look surprised. Every theory I formed fell apart before I could fit even two pieces together. It was time for some outside help.
I went to see police detective Girton. Perhaps he knew why a man with a Jew for a wife was helping the Nazis. He did know, though I’d never have cottoned to it if it hadn’t come from him.
It wasn’t John Watson, rather it was his younger brother James who was the Nazi sympathizer. And no one I’d spoken to had mentioned a brother because very few knew of him. Being the family black sheep he was kept out of sight.
Detective Girton believed it was because James’ spying was about to become known that John had sucked on that double-barreled straw, and that because of this James had taken a powder with his fifth column friends. But I was forming a different opinion.
What if it wasn’t John who had been found, but instead was James? There was so little left of the face that he was only identified by the wallet in the pocket. I’d have to ask Girton if they took the body’s fingerprints. And what if it was John who wanted to disappear? Maybe John had arranged with Vince to hide his money until he could get a new identity. But what was he running from? And why didn’t he take his wife? And if this was the case, did I really want to help her find him?
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