Podmore, P.I. - Part 21
It's still summer in Chicago, but after nightfall it cools off a little. The wind blows off the water, and while it carries a hell of a smell, at least it's a breeze.
In some places, however, it's just heating up. Sturgis Podmore, Private Investigator, is still on the trail of a web of intrigue and murder that unravels a little more with every passing day. When we last left the detective he'd just finished getting Chloe Wilkes in to visit Regulus Black at the Cook County Jail (with some assistance from Officer Snape at the front desk) and was on his way to ask a few questions of one Miss Betty Braithwaite, muckraker extraordinaire. She had a gentleman opening the door for her, however...and now, we discover why.
* * *
"Her friend found her and called us," Gawain matter-of-factly replied, walking him back into the bedroom. "She was on the floor, not far from the doorway, and the apartment turned inside out. No autopsy yet, of course, but it certainly bears all the hallmarks of a robbery gone wrong. Blunt force to the head with her purse still right by her on the ground."
Her body was wrapped already, being carefully carried out of the apartment under Sturgis Podmore's numb eyes. He'd told her so many times (too many times) that if she didn't learn to watch her step she'd end up in the morgue, but somehow he'd never really believed it any more than she had. Betty had always seemed too much of a force of nature, too glamorous with her smoky voice and loud laugh and Southern charm to do something so pedestrian as dying. Worse, he knew why she was dead, and he knew he should have done something to prevent it. He'd seen her coming out of the bank, he knew the kind of trouble she was poking around, and he should have been firmer about her staying out of it. At the very least he should have made sure she knew exactly what kind of mess she was in. Instead he'd had faith in Betty's ability to take care of herself, and this was where it got her: a body bag.
There was no time to mourn for Betty, not now. That wouldn't help get justice for her or for the others that had been killed or hurt by the people who were responsible for this. He had to keep his mind on the case, especially since the odds were that they weren't going to let Gawain get any further with this one than they did with Dorcas.
"Neighbors hear anything?" he asked.
"Not that they're admitting to. One suggested that Miss Braithwaite might have been entertaining a gentleman caller, but--" Despite his delicate phrasing, Gawain was sharply cut off by the young blond woman by the window.
"That's a lie," she fiercely insisted. It didn't take much of a look at her to see she was pretty torn up about Betty - her eyes were rimmed in red, her pale skin blotchy with crying. "Betty wasn't expecting anybody tonight but me. That old bat Mrs. Williamson just can't stand anybody lookin' like they're having fun, so she can't even wait 'til Bet's body's cold before she starts up the gossip."
"This is Filemina Attley," Gawain explained, calm in spite of the girl's obvious upset. "She discovered Miss Braithwaite when she called this evening."
"Why so late?" Podmore inquired, an eyebrow arching.
"None of your damn business," she snapped. "And I could ask you the same thing."
Gawain could ask it, too, but he had been planning to wait until the scene was cleared a little more. Since it had come up, though, he just turned and gave Podmore a look that requested an answer without any words being spoken. The detective was a friend, but he had also just walked into a crime scene unannounced. There were only so many favors he could do.
"Came by to ask her some questions," he said. "She knows some people on a case I'm working. She's a friend. Knew she'd be up late, so I dropped in." Which was all they were going to be finding out from him. He trusted Gawain, but he didn't know the girl, and he sure as hell didn't trust the other cops milling around the place to collect evidence.
"Very well," Gawain agreed. "And I suppose your whereabouts for the rest of the evening can be accounted for?"
"Spent the evening at the Weasleys' place. Molly had a roast on, and you know I don't pass up free food."
Another nod from Robards, but the girl was still giving him a nasty stare. If looks could kill, they'd be carrying his body out of here behind Betty's. There hadn't been any tell that he was adjusting the truth, but Podmore knew that under the circumstances he wouldn't trust him either.
"So what's been taken?" Podmore asked. He was already taking in the scene, taking a long, slow look around. Old habits died hard, and he couldn't help treating it like his crime scene.
Gawain's habits were tough to break, as well. Not only was he lighting a cigarette, but he went ahead and started giving his old friend the information. "No idea yet," he said. "But Miss Attley noticed they--"
"Her phonographs," she said, stepping in to cut Gawain off again. He looked only mildly annoyed. "They took 'em all. And her jewelry box, not that any of it was worth anything."
Betty never had cared for the price - just the sparkle. She'd always rather have more, bigger, and flashier even if it was cheap rather than anybody's pricey, understated rubies and emeralds. Lydia's jewelry opposite, Betty was. The box being missing just confirmed the detective's initial instinct that this was no robbery: this was a hit. Her friend here didn't need to know that, though.
A uniform called for Robards' attention, and the gentleman nodded to the detective. "Pardon me."
Filemina was on his heels, because he was the authority figure and damn it, she wanted to know what had happened to Betty. She didn't think this looked like a robbery any more than Podmore did - who the hell would bother trying to rob Betty Braithwaite? Unless they were desperate for a new collection of stylish hats or a bottle of illegal bourbon, it didn't make any sense. What Fil didn't know was that she would have found out more following Podmore into the bedroom.
Podmore had spent a good bit of time in Betty Braithwaite's bedroom. Not much in recent time, but he had a feeling that the music box would still be there. He'd seen her flip the catch to open the false bottom just once, but he had a hell of a memory. Once he found it (thankfully undisturbed), it was easy to find what whoever had trashed her apartment had probably been looking for and faked a robbery to cover the search for: the file she'd lifted from the bank.
He ought to hand it over to Robards. That would be the proper, legal thing to do. The fact was, though, that no matter how trustworthy Robards was - and he was top of the heap, as that went - the PD wasn't. This case was going to get shoved under the rug just like the others, unless he could get the evidence to somebody who could actually do something with it.
The file fit easily under his arm, concealed by his jacket - he was a lot better at it than Betty had been on the steps of the bank. He also had an advantage Betty never did: the ability to know something without wearing a cat-with-a-mouthful-of-canary smirk.
He was gonna miss that smirk.
"Miss Attley!" he called on his way back into the living room. "You need anybody to see you home?"
"'m fine," she muttered, leaning up against the wall. She didn't want to leave these men turning Betty's place inside out. Betty might be gone, but that didn't mean they could be allowed to just tear through her things like they didn't even matter, like she hadn't mattered.
"We're leaving now, Miss Attley," Robards told her. "You're free to go with no worry." His voice was gentle - he was always one who was good with victims and their assorted family and friends. He'd be the one calling Betty Braithwaite's father in Charleston in an hour or two, breaking the news with the kind of soothing tone that Podmore had never been able to manage well.
Podmore always got too angry at losses to handle it that way - and this one was no exception. He just hadn't had a chance to get there yet. He'd save that for later and a bottle of whiskey, and tomorrow push it into getting this damn case solved and somebody who wasn't Regulus Black put away.
Filemina trusted Robards, though. He'd been kind, and he really did seem to care about what happened to Betty. She was good at following a gut feeling about people. "A'right, but I still don't need anybody walking me home. It's barely a block."
"All due respect, Miss Attley, it's obvious there's trouble in the neighborhood tonight," Podmore informed her. "So you can either let me walk with ya or I can follow ya. Your choice."
She grimaced, but acquiesced. "Fine. C'mon."
Outside, the night cooled the air. There was almost something like a breeze, even. Filemina walked with long, even strides - none of the mincing steps he was used to with ladies. Podmore hardly had to shorten his gait at all to match her. He lit up a cigarette and let her go in silence for a while, waiting. She wanted to say something. He could see it written all over her face. It was just a matter of letting her find the moment, and then finding out if it had anything to do with his case.
"She wrote her own obituary, you know." The voice was quiet, but there it was. He'd known it would be. Time to just let her go, the whisper just rising over the el train and the fog. "For a laugh, she said. Told 'er then I didn't think it was funny. She was always getting into something. I loved it and it drove me crazy all at the same damn time."
Beside her, the detective snorted. Damned if that didn't sound familiar. Really familiar, now that he thought about it, and he wondered suddenly if maybe there wasn't a little more to Filemina and Betty than "friends." You heard stories, and Betty had always been eccentric, and it sure did make a few things fit that hadn't quite before.
"You know anything about what she was working on?" Podmore asked. Miss Attley had been right with her first response to his inquiry about her call: it was none of his damn business. It was even less of anybody's business with Betty gone, and if the girl was in mourning she ought to just be left in peace. The only thing that had to matter to him now was exactly what kind of trouble Betty might have been inviting this time - just in case there were matters outside his own concerns.
But Filemina just shook her head, blond bob swinging around her chin. "All she'd ever say was that this one was gonna turn the whole town upside down. She was real excited when she came back from the bank, but that's all I know. Told Officer Robards that, too, but I don't think it helps much."
They were at the door to her building now, a surprisingly pretty (for this part of town) brownstone. In daylight, it was probably a nice place. When she was happy, the girl who lived in it was probably pretty. The night changed the building the same way grief did Filemina Attley, though, leaving it naught but shadows and deep, straight lines.
"You never know," Podmore told her as he let her go in. "Sometimes a little word here or there means more than you think."
Silently, she nodded, and she turned her key in the front door. "G'night, Mr. Podmore."
"'night."
The door clicked shut behind her, and the detective's walk started. Too late at night to do anything about the file in his jacket. He'd take it to Sully in the mornign and they'd see what they could piece together. It wasn't too late to down a few shots, though, or to get the Black kid and his friends at the Hogshead to play "The Good Bad Girl" for Betty.