Murder in the Air (27 page)

“How did she die?”

“Another gunshot to the head.”

“So, possibly three related murders.”

“Also,” continued Stan, “I can't help but wonder if, more recently, Valentine Zolotow's death isn't somehow related.”

Bram and Sophie had been discussing this privately for days. “In what way?”

“Well, I've been giving it a lot of thought. If Justin Bloom was indeed set up, as your radio mystery maintains he was, then I propose that Zolotow somehow stumbled onto the truth behind the murder. What if he tried to use that information to blackmail the real murderer?”

“And in the process got himself killed?”

“It's certainly a possibility. My second theory revolves around the gun used to murder Kay Collins. If you recall, it was stolen from Justin's father's office. Cedric Bloom, Justin's stepfather, owned WPXL back in 1958. It was the same station on which the original version of
Dallas Lane, Private Eye
was aired. Let's say a radio-station employee was paid to take the gun. Who knows? Maybe it was Valentine Zolotow. Again, he may have had information that was dangerous to someone.”

“But again, we have no proof.”

“No,” said Stan, “but that's partly because none of this has ever been investigated. Look, if Bloom is innocent, if he was set up, we have a man out there walking the streets of our fair city who's killed more than once and gotten away with it. At the very least, it's a matter that deserves much more attention. In fact, I believe the case should be reopened.”

“Wouldn't it be interesting,” mused Bram, “if Justin Bloom were alive? I wonder what he'd think of the resurgence of interest in his guilt or innocence. On that rather ghostly note”—he checked the time—”we better move on to the news. More thrilling revelations from famous defense attorney Stan Tario after our break. This is Bram Baldric for WTWN 1630. Don't touch that dial!”

Again, the “On Air” light went out. Bram leaned back and took a deep breath, gazing skeptically at Stan. “There
will
be more thrilling revelations, right?”

Stan shrugged. “You sure know how to run with the balls you're passed.”

The producer tapped on the glass separating the technical booth from the studio. She pointed at Bram's earphones, motioning for him to put them on.

“What's up?” said Bram, thinking he had a good five minutes to relax before the next segment. He held one side up to his ear.

“You've got a phone call,” said the producer's voice. “The woman doesn't want to talk to you on air, but she says it's urgent. She's been holding for almost ten minutes.”

“All right.” He sighed, pressing the blinking light on his console. “Baldric here.”

“Mr. Baldric? I called you the other day and told you about the letter I have from Arn O'Dell. Remember?”

Bram was delighted by this stroke of good luck. “Was that you the other day at Salisbury's Cafe?”

“Yeah. Sorry I skipped out so fast. When I saw you through the window, I got a bad case of cold feet.”

“No problem. So … do you still have the letter?”

“Yes. Like I said, it was written by my grandfather.”

“Arn O'Dell was your grandfather?” This was new information. He did some quick math. She must have been pretty young at the time of the murder.

“Right. See, I've been thinking about this for weeks, ever since that new radio mystery started. The letter I have tells a different story from the one my grandfather told officially.”

Bram was stunned. He glanced over and saw that Stan Tario had picked up on the importance of the conversation. He was listening intently. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to read it. I've been listening to you for years. I feel like we're friends—in a strange sort of way. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.”

“I thought after you read it, you could advise me what to do next.”

“Well, sure, I'd be happy to look at it. When can we meet?”

“I was thinking, maybe you could drive up to my grandfather's old hunting lodge out on Pine Lake. I kept it after he died. It's just a shack, really, but there's an oil heater I can light. We'd be warm enough. You know where Pine Lake is?”

“I think so. It's up near Minton. I used to have a buddy who had a hunting cabin up there.”

“Just take 94 to Highway 10. When you get to Minton, you'll see a grain elevator on your left. Turn in front of it and take the road toward the lake. Mine is the first cabin on the east side. You'll see a mailbox on your right. Take that turnoff. It's a dirt road, but I have it plowed out. It dead-ends about thirty feet from the front door. I'll put a light on in the window.”

Bram wrote quickly on the edge of his notepad. “Okay. But when do we meet?”

“Tonight. It's gotta be tonight.”

He looked up and saw his producer counting down the final seconds until they would be back on air.

“All right, tonight.”

“And one other thing. You can't tell a soul you talked to me. I'm dead meat if the wrong person finds out about the letter.”

“Sure, I understand.” He had to get off. “I'll see you around seven.”

“Fine.” The line clicked.

Bram had just enough time to grab a gulp of coffee before they were once again live. “This is Bram Baldric and my guest today is Stan Tario. Stan, let's get right back to the topic. We're talking about the Kay Collins murder case. Now, before the break, you were doing some mighty interesting speculating.”

“What I had to say is nothing compared to your off-air phone call from Arn O'Dell's granddaughter.”

Bram's eyes opened wide.

“For those of you who don't remember, Arn O'Dell was the police officer who maintained he saw Justin Bloom shoot Kay Collins. He was the only eyewitness, and on his say-so, Justin Bloom was convicted, if not in court, then in all the local papers.”

Bram drew a finger across his throat, trying to get Stan to back off the subject.

“Maybe you'd like to tell us what she had to say?” continued
Stan. “I, for one, am dying to hear about this letter she purports to have from her grandfather.”

Bram laughed into the mike. “Stan, you're such a joker.” Asshole was more like it. “Yeah, it would be fascinating if Am O'Dell did have a granddaughter and she called old Bram Baldric with some earthshaking new information—”

Stan seemed indignant that his word was being challenged. “But, you're meeting her tonight somewhere up near Minton. A hunting cabin, maybe?”

Bram motioned to his producer to cut him off. He quickly scribbled a note and shoved it across to him. It said, very succinctly,
Shut up about the phone call!!!!

Stan shook his head. “You can't withhold information like this. It's too important.”

“For all of you radio listeners out there, I should point out that Stan Tario has a very unusual sense of humor. Yes, if there is a granddaughter out there somewhere, we'd love to talk to you. In the meantime let's take a call from Marge in Fridley. Marge, you're on.” God, where was Raymond Lawless when you needed him? Bram's heart was in his throat as he pressed line one.

“Bram, is that you?” The voice suggested someone who was quite elderly.

“Yes, Marge.”

“Did you say a few minutes ago that Valentine Zolotow was shot at Manderbach's department store?”

“No, Marge. I didn't say that.”

It was going to be a long afternoon.

May 3, 1959

Dear Mother:

Hearing about Sally Nash really knocked the wind out of me, I wanted to write to you right away, but found that the depression which has dogged me ever since I left home came bach with a vengeance. I thought I was getting better, learning to live with my fears and my failures, but I guess not. Running away from Minnesota was far easier than running away from myself.

I knew something had happened to Sally, and while I feared the worst, I hoped she'd gotten away from the Cities, perhaps back to her parents' place. Everything happened so fast that last week, I didn't have time to find her, to make sure she was all right. I knew she'd disappeared, Mom, but I didn't know what to do about it, except to pursue the man I felt was responsible for the death of Olga Landauer. It turns out he was far more treacherous than I ever imagined. My failing was to underestimate him. If I ever get the chance, I won't do that again.

Have you heard anything about Jonnie Apfenford? I tried to contact her on my way out of town, but she didn't answer the phone. She was supposed to be back at the apartment waiting for us, but something must have gone wrong. God, I hope she took off and never looked back. She was in terrible danger, and more than anyone else in this whole mess, I think she knew it. Let me know if you hear anything. It's so hard being completely cut off from news of home.

Today, I plan to tell you how I found out the name of the man who killed Olga Landauer. You'll be shocked when you find out his name, Mom, because you know him. Cedric and Alf know him, too, and so do tons of other people in the Twin Cities. He's from a wealthy family, and he has
—
or had
—
everything going for him in life. Money. A beautiful wife. A great job. A terrific future. The world was his oyster, as they say, except for one small flaw. The guy has the Midas touch in reverse. Everything he touches withers and turns to dust. In the army, we would have called him Mr. Misunderstood. Mr. Grand Exception. There's always a few assholes like him in every company, but it's only in business that creeps like him could stay on top.

Okay, so back to my story. In my last letter I explained how Kay and I had hit a dead end when we tried to get the name of Sally's summer boyfriend out of her. She was either too scared or too bought off to talk. Looking back on it now, I think it was a little of both.

I returned to my office at the paper the next day, determined to figure out who had sent me the note, the one that started the whole chain of events in the first place. I mean, whoever wrote to me must not only know who Sally was dating, but that the man had been involved in the Landauer hit-and-run. The question was, how did this person find out? It either had to be a friend of Sally's, or a friend of the man in question, or perhaps an eyewitness to the hit-and-run. Since it was dark, I didn't think it could be an eyewitness, unless someone else was in the car with them that night. Sally didn't have a lot of close friends, people she confided in. In fact, her closest friends were Kay and Jonnie. Kay hadn't written the note, I was sure of that, so that left Jonnie's name with a big question mark attached to it. And frankly, I was beginning to get a gut feeling that Jonnie was the one. The more I got to know her, the more I saw that she was the kind of person who listened at doorways, who knew what was happening in the personal lives of everyone in her small circle of friends. Yet I also knew that demanding that Jonnie talk to me would get me
no where fast. Whoever had written the note wanted to remain anonymous. There had to he some other way for me to find out the name of Sally's ex-boyfriend.

A couple of nights later Kay was working late at Man-derbach's department store. It was just four weeks before Christmas, so I knew she couldn't get out of it. Since I had some free time on my hands, I decided to take a drive out to the Westgate Country Club. I hadn't been there since the night I first saw Kay. I knew it was one of Sally's favorite hangouts, so I guess, in the back of my mind, I figured maybe I'd run across something or someone who could point me in the right direction.

After parking my car in the lot, I took a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey and soda. The place was really jumping. Everywhere I looked I saw holiday decorations. Red and green lights. Pine boughs. The guy leading the band even had a Santa Claus outfit on. Pretty silly, if you ask me. But then, no one was asking. I sat for a while just watching the sights. Finally, about nine-thirty, it was either order my third drink or shove off. I was about ready to leave when a young guy
—
about my age
—
sat down next to me. He said, “You're Justin Bloom, aren't you?”

I said, yeah, I was Justin.

“ You've the only face I recognize in this entire joint. Let me buy you a drink.”

I thought, What the hell? I didn't have anything else to do, so I let him buy it. “Where'd we meet?” I asked him.

“At a party. Remember the one at Sally Nash's apartment, the one she and her two roommates gave right before Thanksgiving?”

I said, sure, I remembered it.

He laughed. “I'll bet you do. Isn't that the one where your girlfriend called you a two-timing piece of shit? That was pretty funny. You must have been in the doghouse for weeks.”

He was talking about Mitzi. I wasn't as amused as he was, though I understood now why he remembered me. It had been quite a scene. I asked his name.

“Dave Cordovan,” he said, and shook my hand. “I used to date Sally. After she dumped me, I tried to date Kay, but she wasn't interested. I guess you could say I'm not very lucky in love. But then, who is?” He gave me a knowing wink.

“How come you got invited to the party?
” I
asked.

“Oh, those girls keep me around like a pet dog. I'm harmless
—
and amusing. A warm body for any unattached female they decide to invite.”

I asked him when he and Sally had dated.

“Last summer.”

“Really.” I turned to look at him, trying not to stare. This might just be the break I'd been looking for. I waited, hoping he'd go on without my prodding.

“Yeah, she dumped me for another guy.”

“Who was he?”

He smiled at the memory. “She tried to keep it a secret, but I saw them together. It was Bud Manderbach. You know him? The guy's married. I couldn't believe Sally would be that dumb. But you know her when it comes to money. She can't resist the stuff. And that Manderbach kid's got lots of it. His dad's pretty old. I think he's being groomed to take over the business.”

I did know Bud Manderbach. Not well, but socially. “When did she dump you?”