Murder In Fashion, Dewey Webb Historical Mysteries: Book 2

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

Herbert Washburn had been sent to prison two days ago. His crime, murder. So when Helen Washburn, his wife, walked into my office a few minutes after one o’clock on a hot August Wednesday, I was more than a little surprised. The trial was over, her husband convicted. What could she possibly want with a private investigator now?

“Mr. Webb?” she called out, her voice high and tentative, with the hint of a Southern drawl.

I hurried out to the waiting room. “Mrs. Washburn,” I greeted her. “Call me Dewey.”

Red lips turned into a frown. “You know me.”

“I know of you,” I said. “You – and your husband – have been in the papers a lot lately.”

She nodded as she nervously fiddled with her small purse, her weary brown eyes darting to the small couch and then to the desk that held my typewriter and phone. Probably wondering why a secretary wasn’t sitting there. The truth was I couldn’t afford a secretary, but I kept up appearances because it made my clients seem more comfortable. Then her tired eyes fell on me.

“My husband asked me to come see you,” she finally said.

“I see.” I gestured for her to follow me back into the inner office.

I pulled out a club chair positioned in front of my desk, waited until she sank heavily into it, then sat down in my chair and contemplated her. She let out a burdened sigh and met my gaze.

“How much do you know about my husband?” she asked as her fingers continued working on the purse.

I shrugged. “Just what I’ve read in the papers.” She gazed at me expectantly, so I recited the pertinent details of what I knew. “Your husband, Herbert, worked at Templeton Fashion. They’re a clothing manufacturer; primarily they design high-end men’s suits, but they also do custom work. Herbert worked there until mid-October of last year, when he shot his boss, Melvin Templeton, the president and owner of Templeton Fashion. A jury unanimously convicted him of murder, and he’s going to be transferred to a federal prison next week.”

“Herb didn’t kill Mr. Templeton,” she said, her voice raised, but still faint.

“So he maintained all through his trial.” I raised my hands, palms up. “But the evidence is against him. It was known around the office that Herb didn’t like Templeton, and the week before Templeton was killed, several people saw Herb and Templeton arguing –”

“Yes, and they heard him say he was going to kill Mr. Templeton.” She shook her head. “It was an idle threat. Herb would never shoot anyone.”

“And yet, when Templeton’s body was found, a Smith & Wesson .45 with Herb’s fingerprints on it was discovered nearby.”

She went from fiddling with her purse to smoothing non-existent wrinkles on her fashionable flowered dress. “I – Herb – couldn’t explain that.”

“He said someone was trying to frame him.”

The muscles in her jaw tightened. “That’s right. Herb would never kill anyone,” she repeated.

I leaned back and rubbed my chin. “As I recall, Herb said that another worker in the office also hated Templeton, and that maybe he murdered the boss and set Herb up.”

“James Lattner. He took care of orders and that kind of thing. People had seen him arguing with Melvin, too.”

“But the jury didn’t believe Lattner had anything to do with the murder.”

She sighed loudly. “I don’t know why. He didn’t have an alibi for the night Mr. Templeton was killed, and he hated Templeton.”

“That wasn’t why your husband was convicted.” I stared at her. “It was because Herb didn’t have a good explanation of why his prints were on the gun instead of Lattner’s.”

“Yes, that was a damning piece of evidence.”

I couldn’t disagree with that.

“Herb told the jury that he’d had a bad day so he went out, bought a bottle of whiskey, and drank for a while in his car,” I said, trying to keep the disbelief from my tone. “Then he went back to the office and passed out at his desk. During that time, he claims that someone shot Templeton, sneaked into Herb’s office and put his prints on the gun while he was passed out, and then returned the gun to the crime scene.”

“That’s what he thinks must’ve happened.”

“And you believe him?”

Her back went rigid. “Of course.”

“But no one saw Herb at the office that night, tight or sober,” I said.

“I know it looks bad.”

That fit Herb’s story. He didn’t know anything.

“And it wasn’t Herb’s gun?” I asked.

“He’s never owned a gun.”

“What did Herb do when he woke up?”

“He came straight home.”

“So he said.” I gazed at her closely. “Do you remember that night?”

“Of course. He came in a little after eleven. He was drunk, and sullen. All he said was work was lousy that day, and he was sorry he was late and didn’t call. I fixed him some dinner and left him alone. He ate, then stumbled into the bedroom and went to sleep. And he stayed there until the next morning.”

“Was that normal behavior for him?”

She glanced past me. A shadow crossed her face and then was gone. “I wouldn’t say normal, but Herb can tie one on once in a while. When that happens, I know to let him be, and he’ll be okay.”

“Does he ever get … rough with you?”

“No, he’s just moody.”

“So there wasn’t anything particularly unusual about his behavior that night?”

She hesitated. “He might’ve been a bit more surly than usual.”

I couldn’t remember if I’d read that she’d testified to that during the trial, but if she had, it would’ve only hurt Herb’s case.

I thought about what else I knew of the trial. “Herb said he went to a liquor store near Templeton Fashion, but no one at the store remembered Herb coming in to buy the whiskey.”

She sighed. “Too much time had passed, and too many people come and go from that store.”

“Not only was Herb not seen at the liquor store, he was seen near the crime scene.”

“Melvin was killed at an office building on the corner of Tenth and Decatur Street, sometime between five, when everyone left, and ten o’clock, when his body was discovered. Around nine o’clock, a woman next door said she saw Herb walk to his car, get in and drive away. Herb said she was lying, but no one believed him.”

“She was sure it was Herb?”

She shook her head. “She saw someone dressed like Herb had been that day.”

“What’s the woman’s name?”

She sighed. “Roybal, but at the moment I don’t remember her first name.”

“What kind of car did she see?”

“A Chevy sedan.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What color?”

“Dark, with four doors.”

I vaguely remembered reading that. “And that’s the kind of car Herb drives,” I said, already presuming the answer.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Did anyone hear a gunshot?”

She shook her head.

I studied this woman, with her stylish clothes yet tired demeanor, her southern drawl so full of indignation. She had no doubt that her husband had not committed the crime he was convicted of.

“Well?” she finally said.

I ticked things off on my fingers. “Someone set Herb up, someone was lying, and no one remembers him where he said he was.” Then I stared at her. “It doesn’t add up, and that’s why the jury found him guilty.”

She stayed silent with that.

“And yet he still maintains his innocence.”

She nodded. “And he wants you to find the person who did it.”

“What makes you and Herb think I can find a killer when the police didn’t?”

She let out a bitter laugh. “As you said, all the evidence pointed to Herb. Once the police had their suspect, and the gun with Herb’s prints on it, they didn’t look anywhere else. And since Herb couldn’t explain away the evidence…” Her voice trailed off.

“Why me?” I finally said.

She shrugged. “Your friend Chet Inglewood recommended you.”

After I was discharged from the army, I worked as an investigator at the law firm of Masters and O’Reilly. Chet had been their chief investigator and my boss. Chet and I were still friends, and when he could, he sent work my way.

“That was nice of him,” I said.

“Please,” she begged. “Herb is innocent.” She dug into her purse and withdrew a wad of cash. “I have the money to pay you.”

“Fine,” I finally said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

We spent a few minutes signing paperwork, and she paid an advance, and then I gathered a bit more information.

“What were Herb and Templeton arguing about?”

“Mr. Templeton said Herb was stealing money from the company, but it’s not true. Herb wouldn’t do that.”

“Did Herb have any coworkers who would vouch for him?”

“He was close to a fellow named Archie Benton. He said a lot of nice things about Herb at the trial.”

I wrote it down in a notepad I keep in my pocket. “And no evidence proved that Herb did take any money,” I said. She nodded. “Who discovered Templeton’s body?”

“Jack Delaney,” she said. “He worked at Janosik Tailors, one of the businesses near where Templeton was found. He called the police.”

“Do you know what detective worked on the case?”

“A fellow named Emilio Russo.”

I’d met Russo a time or two when I worked at the law office. He was tough and didn’t take any guff from anyone.

“Besides the gun, what other evidence was found at the crime scene?”

“Nothing,” she said. “You can talk to Herb’s lawyer. His name is Gil Cassidy.”

She gave me his address and phone number, and I jotted that down. I stared at my handwriting for a moment. I didn’t have a lot to go on. “Do you work?”

“Not any more. I was a secretary at a doctor’s office, until I had Peggy. She’s our daughter. She’s two. She’s been staying with my parents in Texas. We sent her there during the trial because I wanted to be in court with Herb. You can call me at home, anytime you need anything.” She gave me the number.

“Is your husband at the Denver County Jail?”

She nodded. “He’ll be transferred to prison sometime next week.”

I stood up. “I’ll do some poking around and see what I can find. I’ll call you in a day or two with an update.”

For the first time she smiled. “Thank you.”

She got up, and I escorted her out to the hallway. Her eyes held relief as she thanked me again. I waited until she went downstairs, and then I went back into my inner office. I spent a few minutes creating a file for Herb Washburn. Then I took a pack of Lucky Strikes from my pocket, lit one, and stared at its glowing end. I used to smoke Camels, but Luckies were included in the C rations I received during the war, and I got hooked on them. Images of the war flashed in my mind, and I forced them back. Then my mind returned to Herb Washburn. I took a drag on the cigarette and thought about him.

There was a very good reason he’d been convicted of killing Melvin Templeton. All the evidence pointed to it. But what if Herb was innocent? Who else had a motive to kill Templeton? I didn’t know anything about Templeton, or Herb, for that matter. I was going to have to dig deep for answers. I’d need to talk to Herb, but the first thing I wanted to do was familiarize myself with the crime scene.

I took one last drag on the cigarette, crushed it out, then grabbed my fedora and headed out the door.

 

This book could not be put down. I was on the edge of the page every time. There are twists and turns that you don't see coming. It turns out that Dewey doesn't only solve this case but he also solves a couple others. Cannot wait for the next book! ~Reader review