Murder in the Air (26 page)

When the bartender arrived with her second round, she bought a pack from him.

“So, tell me,” Bud continued, attempting to keep his tone light, “what do you do for a living?”

“I'm the executive assistant to Heda Bloom, owner of Bloom Enterprises.” She rested her head on her hand and added, “Although that doesn't tell you anything about my current
responsibilities. Bloom Enterprises just bought WTWN radio here in St. Paul. I'm currently the interim general manager. I'm also producing a radio drama for the station.”

“Dallas Lane, Private Eye.”

“You've heard of it?”

He nodded, and kept nodding as he took her in for the first time. Since she didn't seem to know who he was, he figured he may have just gotten lucky.

“Valentine Zolotow was our star,” she continued, gazing morosely at her reflection in a mirror that ran the length of the bar. “We really had to scramble the last two weeks to replace him.”

“So, Dorothy,” he said, lighting her cigarette before she could use the matches the bartender had given her. I'm fascinated. Tell me … how does a radio drama like that get written? Did you do it yourself?” He decided to play dumb.

“No, we pay a professional writer to do the weekly scripts.” She took a drag, then lifted her head and blew smoke high into the air. “Just look at me. I gave up smoking five years ago, and after two lousy cigarettes, I'm right back to where I started.”

He smiled. “I know what you mean. It's a hard habit to break. But getting back to this scriptwriter. Where would you find a fella like that? I mean, from my limited understanding of the broadcast, it's nothing but geezers on parade, right? Nobody's done an original radio serial in years.”

Dorothy shook her head and laughed. “Yeah, you have a point. But we got lucky. I put an ad in the Palm Beach paper explaining exactly what we needed, and two days later this man walks into my office with references that would have impressed John Houseman and the Mercury Theatre.”

“What's the man's name? Maybe I've heard of him.”

“Wish Greveen.”

“No,” he said slowly. “Doesn't ring any bells. And you say he made up this tale of sin and corruption all by himself?”

“Not entirely. Heda Bloom gave him a written synopsis of the story she wanted to present. It was up to him to dramatize it.”

“I see. They must be pretty close.”

“Greveen and Heda? Actually, they've never met. Our writer is kind of a recluse. He insisted on dealing with only one person, and that ended up being me.”

Something didn't add up. If it was Heda Bloom's story, why had Greveen sent Bud a fax before the show began attempting to make it personal between them? “You say this Wish Greveen is a pretty private man?”

She nodded.

“What's he look like?”

She shrugged, flicking some ash into the ashtray. “He's in his sixties. Handsome, in my opinion. Wavy white hair. Slim build. He's a little—” She thought for a moment. “How do I put it? His style is somewhat European. Do you know what I mean?”

“How tall?”

Another shrug. “Maybe five-nine. Why all the interest?”

It could be him, thought Bud. If it was, he was pulling a con on everyone, including his mother.

“Bud?”

“Urn?”

“You're kind of lost in thought all of a sudden. Do you know Mr. Greveen?”

He sat forward on the stool and rested both elbows on the counter. “Yeah, I think we might've met once.” He looked at Dorothy and smiled. “But let's not talk about that anymore. Let's talk about something more interesting.”

She returned his smile. “And what would that be?”

“You.”

“Me?” She seemed surprised.

“You're an attractive woman. Must be a lonely existence for someone like you here in a new city, especially around Christmastime.”

She pulled on her gold earring. “Well, yes. I suppose it is. But I've been so busy, I haven't thought about it much.”

“You got a boyfriend back in Florida?”

She shook her head.

“But you do …
date,
don't you?” He made sure there was just the right hint of playfulness in his smile.

She lowered her eyes. “I haven't since Elm died.”

He slipped his hand over hers. “I understand, Dorothy, truly I do. But there comes a time when a little male companionship is just what the doctor ordered. Here's what I propose. Lunch tomorrow at my restaurant.”

“Oh, I don't know if I can get away from the station.”

He touched a finger to her lips. “Lunch tomorrow. And then, on Christmas eve, you'll join me at my house for a late-night supper.”

“That's next weekend, isn't it?” Her eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as she laughed. “You know, I hardly know you. I'm not usually this impetuous.”

“You know what they say, Dorbthy. Unexpected invitations are often dancing lessons from God.”

She held his eyes. “I haven't danced in years.”

“Maybe it's time you begin again.”

She smiled, but still seemed hesitant. “We've got to take this very slow, Bud. I'm afraid my dating skills are pretty rusty.”

“We'll take it just as slow as you want.” He clinked his glass with hers, pleased with his incredible stroke of luck. Not only had he met an attractive woman tonight, but he'd stumbled upon a door that, once fully opened, would lead him straight to Wish Greveen.

22

“We have with us today, defense attorney Stan Tario.” Bram smiled at the heavyset bald man sitting next to him, then pulled the mike closer to his mouth. “Welcome, Perry Mason of the North.”

Stan grinned. “I always know when I come on your show, I'll get an inspiring introduction.”

“Ever the diplomat. The number here is 555-4905 and I'm Bram Baldric. Be back in a flash.”

It was Wednesday afternoon. Prior to going on the air today, Bram had attempted to contact Dorothy Veneger. She wasn't at the
Dallas Lane
rehearsal earlier in the morning. In her place, her assistant, John Cofeia, had been assigned the task of putting the actors through their paces. After the rehearsal, Bram once again tried to catch her, but with no luck. He wanted to run today's topic by her, just to make sure she knew what he was doing and didn't object. Unfortunately, Dorothy had left the station shortly before noon. She was having lunch with some new love interest, a man she'd met at Scottie's Bar. While Bram was delighted for her good fortune, he wished she would keep her staff a little better informed about her comings and goings.

Glancing down at his notes, Bram continued. “We're back. This is WTWN, and I'm that man of mystery himself, Bram Baldric. Our topic today:
Dallas Lane, Private Eye.
Is the radio drama some kind of revisionist history? A new slant on the Kay Collins murder? We were hoping to have Raymond Lawless with us this afternoon, but unfortunately, Mr. Lawless is under the weather. Mr. Tario has graciously agreed to take his place.”

“Always willing to do a favor for a fellow defender of justice,” said Stan.

Bram tried to hide his grimace. Stan Tario was no Raymond Lawless. His reputation had been built on sleazy legal maneuverings and tasteless promotion. Still, Stan had a good legal mind, and that's what Bram needed today. “We'll take your phone calls in a few minutes. But first, again, Stan, thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“My pleasure.”

“My producer tells me you've been digging into the Kay Collins murder case and you've come up with some startling new information.”

“Absolutely correct,” said Stan, glancing at his notes.

“You know, I was more than intrigued by the last episode of
Dallas Lane,
the one that suggested Justin Bloom was working on a big story for his newspaper, one involving a hit-and-run death of a prominent Twin Cities woman. If the show's theory is correct, then the person responsible for the hit-and-run death was also the one responsible for Kay Collins's murder. This is a shocking revelation. Nothing like it has come out before. I might also add that if it turns out to have any validity at all, it sheds important new light on Justin Bloom's potential innocence.”

“But, forty years after the fact?” Bram's voice was full of doubt. “It would be hard to prove.”

“Maybe. But just to see what we could come up with, I had my assistant do some research into the local newspaper archives. He found several articles in the fall of 1958, all with Justin Bloom's byline, and all of them concerning the hit-and-run death of Oiga Landauer, the sister of Kurt Lan-dauer, president of Landauer Construction. It seems that in late August of 1958, Olga Landauer was run down on the street in front of her house. It was around midnight. She'd gone outside with her dog before she turned in, which was apparently her habit. And perhaps most importantly, no one was ever charged with the hit-and-run.”

Bram was fascinated. “That's amazingly like the story on our radio broadcast.”

“It is. But let's take it one step further. In your broadcast, the young man who is in jail for his girlfriend's murder says he knows who was driving the car that killed the Landauer-like woman—but he can't prove it.”

“If I recall correctly,” observed Bram, “the driver was the son of a department-store magnate.”

“Right,” said Stan. “Now, by inference, I suppose that could mean the son of any number of business moguls in the Twin Cities. Or”—he paused, prolonging the drama—”it could be very specific information, pointing us to one man in particular. In Minnesota, we have three large, family-owned department stores. All of them were flourishing in 1958.”

Bram counted them on the fingers of his right hand. “Fredrickson's, Manderbach's, and R. L. Donovan's.”

“Did any of these families have a son in, say, his twenties or early thirties in 1958?”

“I assume you have the answer,” said Bram.

“I do. The only family with a son of any kind was Manderbach's. Specifically, William Manderbach, Junior, known more commonly as Bud. He's presently the president and CEO of Manderbach's, and a well-respected figure in our regional business community.”

Bram was getting furious messages in his earphones from his producer. “We should point out that this is all speculation. Neither WTWN's radio drama nor this talk show is pointing the finger at anyone.”

“It's important to be clear about that,” agreed Stan. “Unless your station wants a lawsuit on their hands. I'm merely suggesting some possibilities.”

“And don't we all just
love
to speculate.” Bram sat back in his chair and gazed at Stan with amazement. The guy had guts. “Speaking of idle speculation, it's twenty past the hour, and time for the weather.” He was aware that the worried look on his producer's face hadn't diminished. “For that, let's go to Randy Ellis. Randy, I hear it's going to be the usual three hundred below zero out there tonight.”

Randy's laughing voice took over. “Not quite, Bram, but it
is
going to be cold.”

Bram pulled off his headset. Now that the “On Air” light was off, he and Stan could talk normally for a few seconds. “That should set some wheels turning—or some teeth grinding. Next time you decide to drop a bomb, let me know ahead of time so I can crawl under something heavy.”

Stan smiled. “Sorry, but this is an incredible set of circumstances.”

“You mean the radio show paralleling an old murder mystery.”

“Yes, that and the fact that we've now been presented with an alternate story. It's exactly what I would have been looking for if I'd been Justin Bloom's defense attorney back
in the late Fifties. A different set of circumstances, equally plausible, and yet one that would provide a jury with enough reasonable doubt to get my client off the hook.”

Bram's producer pointed at him, then held up five fingers.

“You won't need to put on your headphones until the next segment,” said Bram, taking a sip of his coffee.

As the producer pointed at him Bram sat up and spoke directly into the microphone again. “We're back with Stan Tario, Minnesota's answer to Clarence Darrow.”

“That's better than Perry Mason,” interjected Stan, his voice amused.

“Off air you mentioned that WTWN's radio mystery has provided the public with a new slant on an old story. An ‘alternative story,’ I believe you called it, one that would allow you, as a defense attorney, a chance to plant some reasonable doubt in a jury's mind. That is, if this murder mystery ever went to trial.”

“Quite true. But before we move on to another topic, I'd just like to say that I think what we've been talking about this afternoon is very serious. If the story your radio drama is telling turns out to be accurate, we have a double murderer out there who's never been caught. Possibly even a triple murderer.”

“Kay Collins and Olga Landauer. But who's the third potential murder victim?” asked Bram.

“Sally Nash,” said Stan. “One of Kay Collins's roommates. Sally's body was found in a cornfield by a farmer several months after Kay was murdered.”

“Something else I didn't know.”

“It made all the papers back in April of 1959, but people often forget about it today when they speak of the Collins murder case. Why? Because no one could directly tie Sally Nash's death to that of Kay Collins. Yet her death was ruled a homicide.”