Honor Among Thieves, Dewey Webb Historical Mysteries: Book 4

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

As I sat at my table at a restaurant on Grant Street, I wasn’t thinking about murder. My mind had been on how I was going to pay the stack of bills piled on my office desk. I hadn’t had a lot of work in the last couple of months, and money was tight. It had been wearing on me, and Clara and I had even had an argument about it this morning.

I crushed out my cigarette in an ashtray and started toward the cashier near the restaurant entrance. That’s when I saw a tall man rise from a table near the door. He was vaguely familiar. Then he lit a match by flicking the tip of it off his thumbnail, and I remembered him. Roy Jefferson.

We’d been in the same outfit in the war, in Germany, but once we’d come back stateside, I hadn’t seen him again. I recalled that he was arrogant and a hardhead, quick to anger, and always pushing his superiors. But in the end, he got the job done. He lit his cigarette, blew out the match, and tossed it into an ashtray. As I neared the register, he glanced up and saw me.

“Dewey Webb?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

I nodded. “Roy Jefferson.”

“That’s right.”

He offered his hand. His grip was firm, and he looked dapper in a well-tailored blue pinstripe suit, but his brown eyes were guarded.

“I didn’t know you lived in Denver,” I said.

“I moved here a while back. What’re you doing?”

I pulled some ones from my wallet and handed them to the cashier. “I’m a private detective.”

“No kidding?” He nodded appreciatively. “You were a good guy in the war, and you could handle situations and people. I can see how you’d be a good investigator.”

“It’s a living.”

He waited, and after I’d paid my bill, he paid his, and we walked outside. It was a chilly November Monday, and I was between jobs and didn’t have anywhere to be. He pulled his fedora down over his brown hair.

“It’s been a while since the war,” he said as he smoked.

That was a topic I didn’t want to discuss. I motioned toward Twelfth Avenue. “I’m parked over there.”

“I’ll walk with you, if that’s okay.” He hesitated, then glanced around nervously. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about. You being a private eye.”

I gave him the slightest of once-overs, suddenly wondering if our chance encounter wasn’t by chance at all. “All right, why don’t you come to my office and we can talk.”

He stared across the street, bit his lip, then shook his head. “I’ve got to get back to work. How about you come over to my place tonight, say five o’clock?”

I gave him a hard look. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s just … something I need from you, okay?” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “What’s your retainer?”

I named my daily fee.

“Good.” He held out the envelope. “That should more than cover it. Come over and hear what I have to say. If you don’t want to help, the money’s yours just for your trouble.”

His eyes darted around nervously. I contemplated him for a moment, then took the envelope and opened it. The money was enough to pay me for a week. I looked at him.

“Are you up to something illegal?” I finally asked.

He held up a hand. “Not at all. Hey, you were a solid guy during the war, and I think you’ll want to hear this deal.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Tonight. Five o’clock. The address is on the envelope.” With that, he spun around and hurried down the street. He turned the corner and was gone.

I stood on the sidewalk for a minute, staring where Jefferson had vanished. I was suspicious of our encounter, but also curious about what he wanted. And I did have bills to pay. I stuffed the envelope in my coat pocket, headed to my car, and drove to my office, two small rooms on the second floor of an old Victorian house on Sherman Street.

As I walked up the stairs, the sound of a typewriter drifted into the hall. I reached the landing and poked my head into the accountant’s office next door. Ida Caldwell, a buxom woman with gray hair, is a sweet Southern belle with a heart of gold and a no-nonsense attitude. From her desk, she can see down the short hall to my office, and we also share a party line. Since I can’t afford a secretary, she takes messages for me when I’m out. She glanced up and saw me.

“Hi, Dewey,” she said, her eyes going back to the typewriter. “You look deep in thought.” She started typing again.

I nodded. “Any messages?”

“Not a one.”

“Did you happen to see a tall man with brown hair stop by? He might’ve been in an expensive suit,” I added, filling out the description.

“What color are his eyes?”

I thought for a second. “Brown.”

She stopped typing and put her chin on her hand. “No, but he sounds dreamy.”

I laughed. “He’s got a temper.”

“Oh, then I’ll stay away from him.”

I tipped my hat to her. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thanks. I’m behind. I had errands this morning, and I’ve got a lot to do here.”

The typewriter sounds followed me down the hall. I let myself into my office, passed through the outer reception area with its couch, small desk, typewriter, and phone that were there mostly for show, and went into my office.

I sat down at my desk, picked up the phone and dialed home. My wife, Clara, answered after several rings. She sounded out of breath.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” I said.

“Well, this is a surprise, you calling me in the middle of the day.” She was more chipper than this morning, our cross words only a memory. Thank goodness. “Let me guess, you’re going to be a little late.”

“I’ll just be a little later than usual. I’ve got to meet someone at five.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad. I’ll have some supper ready for you whenever you get here.”

Clara was used to my erratic hours, and sometimes I could detect disappointment in her tone, although that was not the case today. And for that I was grateful. I missed the occasionally regular hours and regular pay at the law firm of Masters and O’Reilly, where I used to work as an investigator, but I much preferred being my own boss.

I told her I loved her and hung up. I created a file for Roy Jefferson, noted what he was asking and my impressions of him, and put it in a file cabinet in the corner. I picked up the envelope of money he’d given me. I stared at the bills for a moment. This would get us close to caught up, but not quite. And then there’d be next month. I sighed, then shoved the money in my pocket and put the envelope in a locked metal box in a desk drawer, then jotted some notes in a journal I keep. When I finished, I spent the rest of the afternoon chasing down some leads on new business, which led to some insurance work that would start the following week. As I was getting ready to leave to meet Roy Jefferson, Ida came into my office, her overcoat and pillbox hat on.

“I’m headed out, and I meant to stop by earlier, but things got away from me,” she said. “Bill’s been out at some client meetings this afternoon, and when I finally saw him, he mentioned that a man stopped by your office while I was gone this morning.”

Bill Enstrom is the accountant Ida works for. He’s in his sixties, and although he doesn’t mind Ida taking messages for me, he rarely helps out himself.

“Did he get a name?” I asked.

She waved a hand. “You know Bill, he doesn’t pay attention to that kind of stuff. I described the man you mentioned, and he said that sounded like him. Anywho,” she said as she buttoned her coat, “thought I’d let you know.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“You have a good night. Tell Clara hello.”

“I will.”

Ida left and I soon heard her footsteps on the stairs. The front door of the building opened and closed, and then it was quiet. I sat for a moment, thinking about Roy Jefferson. If he had visited my office earlier today, why act as if my encounter with him at the restaurant had been by chance? There was only one way to find out, and that was to ask him. I stood up, put on my hat, and strode through the reception room, locked up, and left.

***

The address Jefferson had given me was on South Pecos Street, in an area of town filled with rundown houses and apartment buildings. I drove west on Bayaud Avenue, found Pecos, and turned south. About halfway down the block I realized the address was a five-story apartment building, but Jefferson hadn’t given me a unit number. Cars lined the street, and in front of the building were a police car and an ambulance. Not surprising. This was a rough neighborhood, where crime was a part of the landscape.

I backed up and found a place near the corner to park, then got out and walked back to the apartment building. As I drew close, I saw two policemen standing near the building. They were guarding something covered in a white sheet. It didn’t take a detective to tell it was a body. Something gnawed the pit of my stomach.

People from the apartment building milled about, trying to get a look as two men in white rolled a gurney up to the body. Another cop stood near the sidewalk, and he wasn’t letting anybody go into the apartment building. I glanced around and saw a familiar face. I walked over to a man in a black suit and gray fedora.

“Russo,” I said without preamble. “What’s going on?”

He gave me a curt nod. “Webb, what’re you doing here?”

Detective Emilio Russo is a veteran with the Denver Police Department. I’d first dealt with him when I worked at the law office, but we’d also run into each other a few times in the last several months on some of my cases. With his dark hair and eyes, and his swarthy complexion, he could be been mistaken for a Mafia hit man. He’s as tough as those gangsters, but he’s honest and smart, and our working relationship is good.

“I’m meeting someone here,” I said. “Who’s the stiff?”

“Some guy who decided today was a great day to take a nosedive from the roof.” He spoke in a smooth, refined manner.

“Suicide?”

“It looks that way, but I have to check it out.”

“You got a name?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You might know him?”

I spread my hands. “Maybe.”

He glanced at a notepad. “Roy Jefferson. That name mean anything to you?”

The gnawing in my gut grew more intense. “Yes, it does.”

 

Love all the characters in this series. I encourage everyone to read all of her books as they are totally worth the time and money. ~Amazon review