David Bishop - Matt Kile 04 - Find My Little Sister (18 page)

August 2, 1939.
Day Two of the Siege of the S.S. Rex

I had not counted the number of boats which yesterday surrounded the S.S. Rex, but this morning there appeared to be even more boats bobbing in the water around the Rex than there had been when the sun went down yesterday.

I am still on the Rex
, as is everyone who was here when the armada of small craft boxed in the Rex. Of course, boxing in the Rex is not difficult since it has no engine except to raise and lower the anchor. Hence, it would not be going anywhere with or without the Fitts-Warren siege. Think of your favorite movie with a wagon train heading west with no horses to move it and the Indians surrounding the wagon train without attacking. That’s what those of us on the Rex are living at the moment. Everyone seems to be expecting some progress, but so far talks have not been initiated, or even the prospects for having them been discussed.

The passenger count, including yours truly, has been estimated at approximately one thousand. Fitts and Warren control all the water taxis and small craft. I cannot imagine the authorities intend to prevent the citizenry from returning to their homes and places of employment. Yet, as of this moment, no steps have been taken to make it possible for people to disembark. I have spoken with Tony Cornero, the owner of the Rex, and Captain Stanley, the official headman of any vessel at sea. Neither of these men wants to delay the departure of any of the passengers. But without the water taxis controlled by the law, no passengers can get home. Eventually, the food and fresh water store of the ship will run out, but I expect, hope, this will be resolved before that point is reached. Then again, it is possible that Fitts and Warren are waiting for the food situation to become desperate enough that Tony Cornero must capitulate to whatever they demand. Beyond that, should you have family or friends on board, rest assured they are safe and well fed compliments of Tony Cornero.

I’ll release daily columns to keep you informed of the developments in this ongoing and evolving story.

Good night Mr. and Mrs. Los Angeles, and all of you ensconced along with me on the S. S. Rex. Matt Kile

* * *

After sending my column to the growing number of newspapers clamoring for at-the-scene, on-the-ship reports, Callie and I had breakfast with Tony and Carter Mitchum. Afterwards, we wandered out on deck. There were a couple of boats populated only by reporters from the local rags and the wire services. The newshounds were also growing in number. We were the sexy story and the reporters were watching, taking pictures, and hollering questions and answers back and forth with some people on deck. Being heard had become a problem. A growing wind was whipping up waves that sounded more like smacks than slaps when they struck the side of the Rex.

“Hey, Tony,” one of the writers
yelled up to Cornero, who stood at the port side rail, “are you gonna surrender?”

“Surrender? That’s a laugh,” Tony replied. “I been told by the Coast Guard that no one can come aboard here unless they are invited by Captain Stanley.
… We got plenty of provisions and all the folks on board are having a good time. I’m not worrying none.”

“Warren has called your passengers, ‘temporary prisoners.’ What do you say to that?”

“Prisoners? That’s another laugh, boys. These so called prisoners can leave anytime Attorney General Warren will allow the water taxis to come to the Rex to take my guests ashore. If they’re prisoners, it’s this Warren fellow who is keeping them in prison. You know they can’t walk home. My guess is Warren is back on dry land, sipping coffee, and watching this through binoculars. Tell ‘im I said this, boys. ‘Send out the taxis and all who wish to go ashore can take the ride back from this here federal water through California water, and skedaddle on home.’ ”

“We’ll see ya later, Tony,” one of them hollered up and the press boat pulled away from the side of the Rex.

Later that day, I spoke with the editor of the local paper who told me that the state had wiretapped Cornero’s phone and, as near as could be determined, had been listening to Tony’s calls for the past couple weeks. The only thing they had learned about illegal activities was that an illegal gambling operation was being run in the foreign consulate of the country of Luxemburg.

I shared that with Tony. He laughed. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I
think that there operation is run by Bugsy Siegel. Why do you think I mentioned it while I was on the phone?” He laughed again.

After that,
Callie and I played some gin rummy on deck, in an alcove away from the wind. Later we ate lunch, and then played cribbage. We sat at a table across from a woman we had watched shoot craps the night before, a woman with more than ample bosoms which had actively participated in her shaking of the dice. She was a prominent looking woman, not necessarily attractive or wealthy, just a large, confident woman with a well-arched nose.

Yeah, as you can tell, we were
mostly filling time, I’d say just treading water, but that’s not a comforting thing to say when one is out to sea. In any event, we were waiting for something without knowing just what that would be or when it would come.

An hour later, our cabin steward told us that Mr. Cornero wanted to see me in his cabin as quickly as I could get there.
His request was that I come alone.

“What’s up, To
ny?” I asked after shutting his cabin door behind me.

He led me into the adjoining room
where I saw Carter Mitchum. He nodded. I did the same. No words from either of us.

“Do you know this woman, Matt?” While asking,
Mitchum had pulled down the white sheet that covered what I knew too well to be a body.

I slumped a bit, scrunched up my lips and nodded. “
Yeah, I know her. She’s Frances Hopkins, Callie’s sister.”

“I figured so
,” Tony said. “That’s why I asked you to come alone. I’ll keep her here for another hour in case Callie chooses to make her own ID. The cops will want her to ID her sister later for their purposes.”

I didn’t need to ask how she had died. Her throat
had an extra hinge. It had been cut, a serious deep cut that ran most of the way across her neck.

“Who?”

“We found her in the hallway around the corner from her room.”

Frances
, her skin now totally white, still wore the outfit she had worn last evening. Apparently, she had been killed late last night or in the early morning hours.

“Have
either of you confronted Johnny Breeze?” I asked.

“No
,” Tony said. “Breeze doesn’t seem to have a motive, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure reasons why he might have done it. We also want to ask him when he last saw her. Why hasn’t he reported her missing? Would you like to be in on it when we talk with Breeze?”

“Sure. When?”

“Two of Mitchum’s guards are escorting Breeze here right now.”

After we discussed the lack, so far, of any overture from the authorities,
the door announced a knock on its outside. Mitchum pulled it open and in walked his two guards, Breeze between them. I watched Breeze the whole time while Mitchum asked him when he had last seen Frances.

“Last night. She stayed to gamble a while longer, slots. I came back to the room and fell asleep. This morning I
knew right away she hadn’t slept in the bed. When I couldn’t find her I began searching the ship. I hadn’t finished when these two gave me no alternative but to accompany them here. What’s happened? What’s this about?”

“Frances Hopkins is in the next room
, Mr. Breeze.”

Mitchum opened the door. I walked in first, then Breeze
, followed by Tony and Mitchum. I continued to keep my eyes riveted on Breeze. The killer had seen lots of death, delivered lots of death. Still, he looked stunned when he saw Frances, the sheet lying across her chest like a strapless evening gown, minus the glamour.

His hands hung heavy at the end of his arms. My read of the man was that he now understood the despair felt by the loved ones of many of his targets. Bre
eze said only two words: “Who? Why?” Both said in monotone. He looked at me, at Mitchum, and then at Tony. The two questions were still on his face, in his eyes, crowding his heart.

I felt no sympathy for Johnny Breeze, only for Frances and for Callie who
m I needed to tell before the scuttlebutt on the ship brought her the ugly news. I excused myself. Tony looked at me and nodded. He understood.

* * *

“Callie,” I said after getting back to our stateroom. “I need to tell you something.” I sat on the couch against the wall just below the starboard side porthole.

She came over and sat next to me. She
looked into my eyes. Without words she knew I carried a burden. She waited until I was ready. Sitting there, holding my hand nearest her.

I looked at her, my hand firming onto hers. “
Frances is dead. I’m so sorry. There is no easy way… . I’ve seen her. There is no doubt.”

Then she unknowingly quoted Johnny Breeze.
“Who? Why?”

“We don’t know who or why. I don’t believe Breeze did it. He was devastated. Her throat had been cut. She was found in the hallway near her room. That’s about all that is known at this time. Carter Mitchum is looking into it. He will keep me apprised, as I will you.”

Callie hugged me. She pulled back without having cried aloud, her face washed by quiet tears.

I went into the bathroom and returned with a damp warm hand towel. I wiped her face and held her.

“I need to call Father,” she said after a few minutes. “Let him know.” She used the now cold towel to wipe her eyes saying, “The cool feels good. Thank you.”

“I’ll
set it up with Tony. You can call from his room. My guess is in about two hours you can make the call. They’re a bit busy and you need some time to gather yourself.”

Truth was I wanted
Tony to get Frances’s body out of the room before Callie made that call. Callie hadn’t asked to see Frances. I didn’t suggest it.

“You saw my sister, Matt?”

“Yes.”

“No doubt it was her?”

“None whatsoever. Frances is dead.”

That’s where we left it.

“I’d like to be alone for a while. Maybe an hour. Okay, Matt? You understand?”

I held her. When I took down my arms, Callie went to the bed. I put the do not disturb sign on the door and walked down the hall.

Out on deck I saw Tony again standing near the press boat. This time he had a case of scotch and a case of rum. He was tossing the bottles down. The first twenty-three were caught. The last bottle dropped short into the ocean and a newsman retrieved it using a fish net.

“You need any food, boys? I can have you brought out what the passengers are eating. Better vittles than you’ll get from the law dogs.”

When Tony saw me he ran his finger across the bill of his hat and saluted the newsmen. Then he came to me.

“How’s Callie, Matt?”

“About like you’d expect… . Anything happening with the authorities?”

“Mitchum went down to the landing
,” Tony said. “He motioned over the boat which held Warren Olney, the deputy D.A. The two of ‘em talked about the killing, also about the need to get the passengers off. The coppers took the view that if I didn’t think they had any jurisdiction then we would not have told them about the murder. After a while, they accepted that by cooperating they could argue I was admitting they were the proper authority here.”

“That is an argument in their favor, Tony.”

“Yeah. But we have a murder and a body. If we weren’t under siege, we’d have one of the water taxis and the ship’s purser take her ashore.”

“You could hold a funeral at sea.”

“I doubt either Callie or her father would want that. No, this is the right thing to do.”

“You’re a good man, Tony Cornero.”

“Don’t let that get around.” Tony put his hand on my shoulder. “Hanging around you must be rubbing off.”

I
shook his hand, and then our hands moved to one another’s shoulders. Tony Cornero was a solid human being. He just had this unquenchable desire to take on all challengers. The mob. The law. The next turn of a card. The next tumble of the dice. The next twist of fate.