R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

She’d come home.

Wilde would spend the night on the couch.

With any luck, whoever was after the woman would make his move.

London.

London.

London.

She was a striking woman, every bit as striking as Secret.

Secret was the one for Wilde though.

She got there first.

Wilde needed to focus on her and not get distracted.

That was his problem, he always allowed himself to get distracted. “That’s why you’re still single,” Alabama told him at one point. “Women come too easy to you.”

“That’s not true.”

Those were the words that came out of his mouth, That’s not true.

Down deep, though, it was true.

Even now, focused on Secret, there was an uncontrollable corner of his brain that wondered what it would be like to unwrap London.

When he got home,Alabama still wasn’t there. Wilde took a long hot shower, dried his hair just enough to get the drip gone, and stepped out with the towel wrapped around his waist.

Alabama was upside down on the couch, with her back on the cushions and her legs up. Her hair hung over the edge and hung down towards the floor. She looked at Wilde with upside down eyes and said, “I found out some stuff.”

Wilde headed over.

“Like what?”

With a lightning reach, Alabama grabbed the towel, yanked it off and tossed it over the edge of the couch.

She laughed.

“Seven.”

“You need to stop doing that.”

“And counting.”

Wilde fetched the towel, rewrapped it and sat down next to her.

“So what did you find out?”

Alabama spread her kneesever so slightly. Wilde detected the movement in his peripheral vision but didn’t react.

“First,” Alabama said, “I went to Gina Sophia’s law firm and had a little talk with a bun-haired receptionist. I told her I was trying to track down a friend of mine who looked like Robert Mitchum. I told her he uses a lot of lawyers and asked her if he was using anyone there at Jackson amp; Reacher. She told me that no one like that had ever been there-she would have remembered, Robert Mitchum was her favorite actor. She would have seen him, too, because she was the only receptionist.”

Wilde grunted.

“All that shows is that Mitchum and the lawyer didn’t meet at work,” he said. “It doesn’t prove they didn’t know each other.”

Alabama smiled.

“I’m going for eight later, so be warned.”

Wilde guarded the towel with his hand.

“Not now,” Alabama said. “Later. Anyway, the other thing I did was talk to the desk clerk at Mitchum’s hotel. At first he didn’t want to say much so I had to show him my boobs. Then he opened up.”

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

She shrugged.

“No can do,” she said. “Anyway, according to him-his name’s Dick by the way, ironic, huh? — Mitchum did in fact return to the hotel with a woman. The person he described sounds like Gina Sophia. They were in the room together all night.”

“How does he know that?”

“Because they were drunk and loud and playing music and dancing,” Alabama said. “People in the adjoining rooms were complaining. Dick went up personally and knocked on the door four or five times to get them to knock it off.”

“Did he actually see Mitchum?”

Alabama nodded.

“Every time he went up, Mitchum opened the door. Every time, Mitchum apologized and said he’d knock it off, but he always started back up again. Finally, about four in the morning, Dick called the cops. A half-hour later, a cop showed up. Dick took him up to the room and the cop knocked on the door. Mitchum opened it, the cop told him to knock it off or else. That got his attention and things settled down.”

Wilde chewed on it.

“So he was there continuously until at least four,” he said.

“Four-thirty. That’s when the cop showed up, four-thirty. Oh, Dick had one more thing relevant to the issue, but he wanted to squeeze my boobs. I let him and here’s what he told me-”

“You let him?”

“God, Wilde, they’re just boobs. Calm down and listen. The cleaning crew started at five and a housekeeper named Maria went into Mitchum’s room by mistake. He was passed out in bed with a woman. They were both naked. Maria eased back out. Mitchum never knew she opened the door.”

“How did Dick know?”

“One of the other housekeepers ratted on Maria,” Alabama said. “Apparently they don’t get along.”

“Apparently not.”

Alabama exhaled.

“I have a theory,” she said. “Maybe there’s another guy who looks like Robert Mitchum. Maybe he’s the one who frequented that New York club.”

“So you’re saying there are two Robert Mitchums?”

“Three, actually, if you count the original.”

Day Two

July 22, 1952

Tuesday Night

The noiseturned out to be someone rolling a cleaning cart down the hall, singing mumbled words in a terrible, raspy voice.

Josephine, oh Josephine,

Get your big old lips off of me.

Josephine, oh Josephine,

Get your big old lips off of me.

It’s turning you on, baby,

But it’s making me want to go to sea.

The singing stopped at Bristol’s door, followed by a twist of the knob, a twist that found the bolt thrown from the inside. Waverly and Su-Moon didn’t blink or breathe. The singing started again, glass got swept up then the voice disappeared down the hall. The women waited until it was good and gone, then got the hell out of there.

Outside the storm was even meaner.

Traffic lights swung in the force of the weather.

Except for a few muddled headlights, all the sane people of the world had retreated.

Leaving on Su-Moon’s scooter wasn’t an option.

What to do?

Half a block up the street was a blue neon sign that said California Hotel. They ran for it through sloppy puddles and slippery concrete. It turned out to be a nice place with a crowded bar at the far end of the lobby. They paid more than they wanted but ended up with a nice room on the fifth floor. The concierge managed to wrangle up dry clothes-nothing fancy, just Ts and sweatpants-which he delivered personally with a smile.

“Just leave them in the room when you check out,” he said. “No charge.”

“Thanks. You’re a prince.”

They tipped him good.

Technically,the black book from Bristol’s desk was an address book. To its credit, it did have that type of information, namely names-female names, to be precise-together with addresses and phone numbers.

But there was more.

Much more.

There were dirty little notes about what Bristol had done to them and when.

Red dress spanking 4/22/51

Tied spread on bed 11/4/49

Staked out, Baker Beach, 7/11/52.

Hogtied 2 hours, 9/28/48

“The guy’s a dirty little freak,” Waverly said. “He has a dark side two miles long.”

Su-Moon nodded, then tapped a finger and said, “Look at this one.”

Waverly did.

Michelle

Rooftop blowjob, 3/19/48.

“Rooftop,” Su-Moon said. “There’s our connection, right there.”

“You think?”

She did.

She did indeed.

“I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that blowjob is code for dropped ,” she said. “Notice that all the other women have last names and addresses and phone numbers. This one only says, Michelle. That’s because he didn’t want too much incriminating evidence in case this ever got in the wrong hands.” She tapped her finger again. “Even the name Michelle might be code. The date though is probably accurate. We need to find out if anyone got dropped on 3/19/48.”