A Carnival of Killing (9 page)

“You really are up a creek without a paddle.”

“Paddle, hell. I’m up a creek without even a canoe,” I said.

“Why don’t you talk to the dead woman’s two best buddies again?” Jayne said “Maybe they know more about the boyfriend than they’re telling the police.”

“You think they’re protecting the guy, even though he could be the killer?”

“Stranger things have happened. People sometimes do irrational things in times of crisis.”

“Wouldn’t it be even more irrational for them to tell me something they didn’t tell the cops?”

“They might perceive you as less threatening than Detective Brown.”

“Well, they could be fun to talk to. Especially the dark and dynamic Esperanza.”

“You’d better not have too much fun with Esperanza or Martha will come down on me for suggesting that you talk to those women.”

“It’s always strictly business,” I said. “You know me.”

“I do know you,” Jayne said. “That’s why I’m flying the caution flag.”

Martha met me at the apartment door with a rib-crunching hug and a long, long, long kiss. “Did any of your friends at AA give you any suggestions about solving the Klondike Kate mystery?” she asked when we finally came up for air.

“Jayne suggested I talk to Lee-Ann’s two best buddies again to see if they’ll tell me anything about the father of the baby that they wouldn’t tell the cops,” I said. “Other than that, I’m up against a stone wall and Don is going to be hollering for a fresh lead before I get to my desk tomorrow morning.”

“Hard to believe that none of her close friends know who she was sleeping with.”

“That’s what Jayne said. But if those two do know anything, I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t tell Brownie.”

“You never know what goes on in people’s minds. Want to watch the ten o’clock news and see what your favorite roving blonde is reporting live?”

“Why not?” We sat snuggled together on the sofa and were joined by Sherlock Holmes, who tried unsuccessfully to squeeze between us, as we watched the news on Channel 4. Sherlock wound up stretched across both our thighs, which was truly the feline lap of luxury. As expected, we saw a clip of Trish Valentine reporting from the autopsy press conference. We even heard my voice asking about the possibility of Lee-Ann being killed inside O’Halloran’s and carried out dead, but the editor had excised Trish’s “gross” between my question and the police chief’s answer.

“Ready to try position Number 60?” Martha asked when I turned off the TV. We had successfully negotiated Numbers 58 and 59 of the 101 positions over the weekend, and I was feeling proud of my recuperative powers.

“Of course, I’m ready,” I said. “There’s nothing like having new worlds to conquer.”

“Think you can make my world move?”

“My down to earth answer is yes.”

“Good,” said Martha. “You get the book while I get naked.”

True to form, City Editor Don O’Rourke stopped me before I reached my desk Tuesday morning and ordered me to produce something fresh on the killing of Klondike Kate. I told him what I had in mind, and he said if I came up with the name of the possible father he’d send Al out to get the guy’s picture.

“What if the guy gets nasty?” I asked.

“That’s why I’m sending your twin,” Don said. “He’s the fastest runner on the photo staff.”

When Kitty Catalano answered at the Klondike Kate Hotline, I asked if I could talk to Esperanza and/or Toni. Kitty said Toni was with Lee-Ann’s family and Esperanza had been obliged to spend some time at her day job in the loan office of a downtown bank. I called the number that Kitty gave me, and Esperanza said she could meet me for a few minutes at a coffee shop in the skyway during her mid-morning break. This meant I had two hours to search other avenues.

The first avenue I chose was Brownie. “Homicidebrownholdtheline,” he said. I held for more than five minutes with the phone cradled on my shoulder, twisting two paperclips into an approximation of Swami Sumi’s Position No. 60, which had kept me awake well past midnight.

“What can you tell me about Klondike Kate this morning?” I asked when Brownie returned.

“She’s still dead,” Brownie said.

“That’ll make a banner headline.”

“On the record, we’re working very hard on this case, following a number of leads. Off the record, those leads are taking us nowhere. We’ve quietly interrogated all the Vulcans twice, which you can’t put in the paper, and three of them admit to being in O’Halloran’s but say they did nothing involving the victim and saw nothing happening to the victim. The others deny having been there at all. We brought in that Carlson character you suggested and got a very indignant denial when we asked if he had gone to O’Halloran’s. Says his wife will substantiate the fact that he was home long before Ms. Nordquist was seen leaving the bar. The upshot is that we still don’t know if there really was a fourth Vulcan in the joint or if one of the three who admit to being at the scene could be our man. I’d like to use a rubber hose on the whole batch of them.”

“Bring back the good old days,” I said. “Any leads on the father of the baby?”

“Nothing yet. The lab is working on DNA samples we got from all the Vulcans by giving them glasses of water during our chats with them. We’ve had a few crank calls about the baby, including a couple of creepy women telling us that Lee-Ann got what she deserved because she had sinned against God by having sex out of wedlock. Nice folks, these fundamentalists.”

“Probably jealous of any woman married or otherwise who has a happy sex life.”

“Exactly. That leaves me with nothing new to tell you except that the ME has released the body so the family can plan a funeral.”

“Do you know when and where it will be?”

“Not yet. She’s at O’Dell & Son if you want to call and ask. Have a good day.”

I called O’Dell & Son and was told that services would be held at 11:00 a.m. on Thursday, with a calling hour starting at 10:00 a.m. I wrote it on my calendar and went to tell Al. I thought we both should be there, checking out the crowd.

“It’s a date,” Al said. “There’s nothing like a good, rousing visitation and funeral service to brighten up a workday morning.”

“Just be glad it’s not your own,” I said.

“Speaking of that, Don says you’re setting me up to get clobbered by the late Klondike Kate’s lover boy.”

“It wasn’t my idea. He says you’re the only one in the department who can outrun the guy after shooting his picture.”

“Oh, now I’m supposed to run races with my subjects? Let’s just hope this one’s not a photo finish,” Al said.

“That could have negative results for you,” I said.

I’d finished reading the funnies and was about to head for the skyway to meet Esperanza when my phone rang. “Newsroom, Mitchell,” I said.

“This is John Robertson, Jr.,” said an angry male voice. “Are you the Mitchell who gave my number to a nut cake named Morrie?”

“I’m the one,” I said. “Did you enjoy the conversation?”

“He called me twice yesterday and again this morning, bitching about the Russians and their radar. Why the hell don’t you keep your nut cakes to yourself?”

“It’s to help with your OJT. I was told you’re trying to learn about all the jobs at the paper before you become your daddy’s right-hand man as associate publisher. Part of a reporter’s job is to deal with nut cakes.”

“That part I don’t need. You send me any more of your wack jobs and I’ll come over there and bust your face.”

“If you trip over any dead bodies on the way, take a minute to call your city desk,” I said. I put the phone down gently without waiting to hear his response and went to meet Esperanza.

As usual on a cold winter day, the downtown sidewalks were almost devoid of traffic, but two stories above them the skyway was swarming with pedestrians. St. Paul claims that its complex of glassed-in bridges, which lace together forty-seven city blocks, forms the biggest skyway system in the world. Residents of the condos on Wacouta Street at the eastern end can walk indoors all the way to St. Peter Street eight blocks away on the west, and to Seventh Street on the north and Kellogg Boulevard on the south. The system has grown so complex that directional signs have been posted to keep people from getting lost in the maze.

Esperanza and I arrived simultaneously at the coffee shop. She looked smashing in a burgundy jacket, white blouse, and black skirt. Or maybe the skirt was navy blue. I was never sure unless the colors were side by side. Her hair, which I was positive was black and not blue, flowed in waves down to her shoulders, setting off the olive tone of her complexion. We each ordered a medium black coffee and a chocolate doughnut.

“My worst weakness,” she said, holding up the doughnut. “Without these I’d be ten pounds lighter.”

I smiled and took a sip of coffee. “Chocolate is one of the government’s basic food groups, isn’t it?”

“It is for me,” she said. “But you didn’t ask to meet me just to talk about calories. What can I do for you?”

I immediately thought of something that Martha wouldn’t approve of, but I didn’t have time for flirting. “I’m wondering if you have any idea at all who the father of Lee-Ann’s baby might be.”

She took a swallow of coffee before she answered. “I’ve already told the police that I don’t.”

“I know that, but I’m asking you to think really hard about anything Lee-Ann might have said about the guy.” I took a bite of doughnut and she did the same. We chewed in unison while I waited for a reply.

“She was really close-mouthed about her love life,” Esperanza said after washing down the doughnut morsel with another sip of coffee. “I’m pretty sure the guy was married. I think she met him last year when she was the reigning Klondike Kate and he was with the Vulcans.”

“You mean he was in last year’s Vulcan Krewe?”

“I think so.” She took another bite, a big one.

“So there’s eight more possible suspects,” I said. “But at least their names are available in our files. Do you know anything else about him?”

She swallowed more coffee. “Don’t tell the cops this, but apparently the guy thinks Toni and I know who he is.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We both got phone calls from someone obviously using a phony voice right after Lee-Ann’s pregnancy hit the news. He must be afraid that Lee-Ann had told us who she was seeing because he warned both of us that anybody who gave any names to the police would be the next dead Klondike Kate.”

I had just taken a mouthful of coffee and it went down the wrong way. After choking and coughing for a couple of minutes, I managed to croak, “Did you tell Brownie about that?”

“Who?”

“Detective Brown, the homicide chief. Did you tell him about the threat?”

“Toni was afraid to, and she made me promise not to. You’re not going to put that in the paper, are you?”

“No, I’m not. But it’s helpful to know these things. Tell me something else. Do you know who told the police that they saw Lee-Ann going out the backdoor of O’Halloran’s with a man in a Vulcan costume?”

“No. Somebody saw that?”

“That’s what I’ve been told, but it’s strictly hush-hush until the carnival’s over.” I took the last bite of doughnut and a sip of coffee. “Thanks for talking to me. You may have helped me move one step closer to finding the father.”

Esperanza still had almost half of her doughnut in her hand. “You won’t put either Toni’s or my names in the paper if you find him will you?”

“Absolutely not.”

Esperanza sighed and stuffed the rest of the doughnut into her mouth.

Search and Discovery

I dumped the cup containing the last couple of swallows of coffee into a trash can and hustled back to the office.

“Did you get a name?” Don asked as I approached his desk.

“I’ve got my choice of eight,” I said.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Esperanza thinks Lee-Ann was going with a member of last year’s Vulcan Krewe. It’s going to take time to look up the names and talk to them.”

“What are you going to say to them? ‘Hi, Mr. Vulcan, were you screwing the Klondike Kate who got murdered?’”

“I’ll think of something a little more subtle.”

“First give me a story to freshen up the online edition,” Don said. “Lead with the damn funeral if that’s the best you’ve got, and then pad it with a little background.”

I whipped out the story in ten minutes and sent it to the desk. I briefly considered calling Brownie and telling him about the threats, but decided to save that tidbit to use as trade bait for something I could print. Instead, I began searching our electronic files for a story about the identity of the previous year’s Vulcans. I quickly found one headlined “Carnival’s Vulcan Krewe unmasked,” and opened it. The names were listed, along with their ages, home towns and places of employment. There was no information as to marital status or street address.

After printing out this story, I decided to try a different approach. I went online and called up the Winter Carnival’s website. Bingo! There was a list with short bios that included the wives and kiddies.

I quickly eliminated Vulcanus Rex and the Prince of Soot as potential lovers because of their ages. Both were in their sixties, and I couldn’t imagine a lusty young woman like Lee-Ann bedding down with either of them. I put the Count of Ashes as low priority because he was single and all three of Lee-Ann’s close friends were convinced that her lover was married. That left five married men in the twenty-five to forty age range on my list to be contacted.

“Don tells me I’m going to have eight guys chasing me,” Al said. He had sneaked up behind me and was looking over my shoulder at the computer monitor.

“I’ve got it down to five,” I said. “And you can race them one at a time. Are you in condition to start running in fifteen minutes?”

“Are you kidding? The only thing in condition is my hair because I accidentally washed it with conditioner instead of shampoo this morning.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ll be running right alongside you.”

“Like hell you will. You’ll be at least five yards behind me so they knock you down first.”