R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

A beat then, “Yeah.”

“You did?”

Yeah.

He did.

“When?”

“I don’t know. He shows up once a year, maybe twice. He’ll be here for two or three days in a row then he disappears.”

“You remember him, though?”

“I remember him. He gets my share of the ladies.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No.”

“Do you know anyone who might know his name?”

“Not offhand.”

“When was the first time you remember seeing him? Was it at least three years ago?”

Silence.

“It could have been.” A beat then, “Eggs. That’s what I had for breakfast this morning. I just remembered.”

“Eggs.”

Right.

Eggs.

“I had coffee and three Camels,” Wilde said.

“Did you remember right away or did you have to think about it?”

Wilde smiled.

“I had to think about it.”

“There you go.”

Wilde hung up,looked at Alabama and said, “Mitchum’s the killer.”

“No he’s not.”

“Yes he is and he’s been at it for at least three years. The only question is how many more has he done besides the one in New York and the one here in Denver.”

“None, that’s how many.”

Wilde tapped a Camel out of the pack, set a book of matches on fire and lit up.

He blew smoke.

When the flames got to his fingertips he shook them out and tossed them in the ashtray.

“Stay away from him,” he said.

Alabama hardened her face.

“You’re wrong about him.”

“This isn’t negotiable.”

“Good because I’m not negotiating.”

“I’m serious, Alabama.”

She opened the door, stepped through and said over her shoulder, “So am I.”

The door slammed.

Wilde was alone.

From the window he watched Alabama huff down the street and disappear around the corner.

He didn’t go after her.

He knew that she knew he was right.

The best thing he could give her at this moment was time alone, time to work through it.

He finished the Camel,mashed it in the ashtray then leaned back in his chair. His feet went up on the desk and his hat went over his face.

He closed his eyes.

The darkness was cool water for his brain.

Tonight he’d guard London.

Something was going to happen, something bad, Wilde could feel it in his bones. He reached into the drawer, pulled his gun out and set it on the desk.

“Rest up.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Afternoon

Mouthing offto Sean Waterfield about what Waverly was going to do was one thing, gathering the intestinal fortitude to figure out if she was bluffing or not was something else. She stayed hidden in the apartment until Su-Moon showed up. The woman got filled in and then said something unexpected. “Tom Bristol and Sean Waterfield are in cahoots.”

Waverly grunted.

“That’s not the impression I got.”

“Think about it,” Su-Moon said. “Whose side is he on now that everything’s hit the fan?” Silence. “Answer, not yours, and that’s been true from the start. Don’t trust him, don’t talk to him and don’t see him. That’s my advice.”

“Well, you’re too late. We already decided that ourselves.”

“He’ll be back with a big apology and a dozen roses,” Su-Moon said. “When he does, keep him at bay. In the meantime, I have a plan. You’re going to wander around Chinatown. I’m going to follow and see if Bristol or one of his dogs follows you.”

“One of his dogs?”

“He knows you’ll be watching for him,” Su-Moon said. “He’ll hire someone.”

Waverly tilted her head.

“How do you come up with this stuff?”

“It’s called growing up on the streets.” She patted Waverly’s knee and said, “It’s time for you to get outside and start playing rabbit.”

Waverly used the facilities.

Then she hid the envelope in a box of cereal and headed out.

Less than an hour laterthey had their answer. “You were being followed by two Chinese guys,” Su-Moon said.

Waverly wrinkled her forehead in shock.

“I didn’t see anyone.”

“You weren’t supposed to.”

“Two?”

Su-Moon nodded.

“I didn’t recognize either of them. They had tattoos. One of them had a long braided ponytail and was wearing a blue bandana. The other one-the muscular one-had short hair and was wearing a white muscle shirt.” A pause then, “The fact that they knew you were here goes back to my prior comments about your little lover-boy. He knew you were here, Bristol didn’t.”

Right.

Damn.

“What we need to do is get back into Bristol’s houseboat,” Su-Moon said.

Waverly looked for a trick but didn’t see it.

“You’re serious.”

Su-Moon nodded.

“Dead,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to find out who the women are in those photos, right? To see if any of them mysteriously disappeared?”

“Right.”

“To do that we need to get names. That means we need to get a hold of Bristol’s little black book. That’s either in his pocket or at his office or at his houseboat. He’ll be out hunting for you tonight. While he’s doing that we’ll pay a visit to the boat.”

“We already checked it.”

Su-Moon considered it.

“Okay fine,” she said. “We’ll do his office.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Afternoon

With his gunin the hands of Alexa Blank, River was naked. From the graveyard he headed to Mile High Guns amp; Ammo on Colfax to fix that little problem. Luckily they had a duplicate of the one he already had-a Colt 45-meaning he wouldn’t have to get familiar with a different action and kick. A copy of the Beat was sitting on the counter. River flipped through it as the clerk wrapped everything up.

“Woman Falls to Death” caught his eye.

According to the article, a woman named Charley-Anna Blackridge fell to her death from the roof of a building on Curtis Street late Friday night. Police were investigating.

He closed the paper.

His head spun.

This wasn’t good.

It wasn’t good at all.

From the store he headed to the first phone book he could find and looked up Charley-Anna Blackridge. She was listed at 1331 Clayton.

He headed over and knocked on the door.

No one answered.

The structure was a small brick bungalow with no driveway or garage, slightly elevated from the street. A twist of the knob showed the door was locked. He looked around for nosy neighbors and found none. What he was about to do was stupid. He tried to talk himself out of it but it didn’t work.

His feet took him around the side of the structure to the back. An alley ran behind the houses. That’s where the owners parked.

Two houses down a German Shepherd tugged at a chain and barked.

The noise was for River.

He’d been warned.

“Screw you.”

He tried the back door, expecting it to be locked.

It wasn’t.

The knob turned.

He opened the door a foot, shouted, “Anyone home,” and got no answer.

He looked at the neighboring houses, saw no prying eyes and stepped inside

He was in a kitchen.

A yellow refrigerator vibrated with a soft hum that rose slightly above the absolute quietness surrounding it.

On the Formica counter was a bowl of fruit-apples, oranges and bananas. Everything was fresh, purchased within the last day or so.

Dishes were piled in the sink.

A frying pan sat on a cold burner. Next to it was pizza box. River opened the top to find two slices inside. He picked one up to see if it was stiff. It wasn’t, it was flexible. He closed the top and took a deep breath.