The REVENANT DETECTIVE in:
DEADLY ROLE
by P.J. Lozito
Published by Pro Se Press
Part of the SINGLE SHOTS SIGNATURE line
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.
Copyright © 2015 P.J. Lozito
All rights reserved.
“So who exactly is this Charley Reese?” quizzed pretty blonde Vera Curtis to her husband. The elevator began its ascent.
“A buddy from the unit,” Eldon Curtis explained as he unbuttoned his topcoat. If he seemed to have the looks and poise of a movie star, that is precisely what he was.
“Oh, yes, your unit apparently won World War II for our side,” snipped Vera. “Single-handedly.”
“That’s not true,” protested Curtis. “We had some help. I’m still not allowed to discuss it, if that’s where you’re headed with this. Neither is Reese.”
Eldon Curtis’ 1946 return to Hollywood after service in the war had been unfulfilling. Still, he was glad to be back in New York City. The bright lights of Broadway beckoned. He pondered this as the elevator rattled to a halt. The couple walked a few steps to the right apartment. Curtis gave a knock. Charley Reese yanked open the door and greeted his old commanding officer warmly.
“There’s the mustache that launched a thousand battleships,” Reese quipped.
“Not quite a thousand,” put in Curtis.
“On secret missions!” countered Reese. “You don’t tell us everything.”
“Charley, you old paranoid,” returned Curtis. “May I present my better half? This is Vera.”
“Ah, you brought the wife,” he pointed out. “My ball-and-chain had to go see a man about a horse.”
“Let’s hope her horse wins,” put in Vera.
“Hey, I like this little lady,” declared Reese. “But the missus really went to Loehmann’s in Brooklyn for a big sale. Come in, we have serious business to discuss.”
“Yes, this Todd Kopf you mentioned on the phone,” Curtis drawled.
*****
Reese’s kitchen opened out to a modest balcony. He beckoned the Curtises over, inviting, “Let’s move this party.”
He led the couple outside. Curtis and his wife took seats around an outdoor table. With drinks in hand, the trio made themselves comfortable. That wasn’t hard at the Reese residence. Everything was new, clean, and very cozy.
“I’m out here every day,” he explained.
“Nice view,” Vera observed.
“I find it both relaxing and bracing,” added Reese. “For when I have coffee, a drink or a cigarette.”
“So, who is this Todd Kopf?” Curtis reminded.
“‘Todd Kopf’?” Reese asked, face set seriously. “Is that how you heard it?”
“He someone from the unit? I thought I knew every man.”
“I’ll have to set this up for you,” Reese said slowly. “I’m sure even in Hollywood you heard about Pelliccioni.”
“Yes, arrow in the back. Poor fellow,” Curtis declared. “It’s like something from one of my movies.”
“An accident,” put in Vera. “Some idiot playing with a bow killed him.”
“It was no accident. And there was a previous victim.”
“How do you mean, Reese? Who?”
“This first victim was unplanned. His killer found him by chance. But then the killer realized he could step up his operations for Pelliccioni.”
“You think this Todd Kopf killed Pelliccioni?” suggested Curtis. “Who was the other victim?”
“I’m getting to that. Gerard was the first victim.”
“Gerard’s dead, too?” gasped Curtis. “How did he die?”
“Surely there’s no connection,” tried Vera.
“Drowned,” stated Reese. “In his own pool.”
“My goodness,” assessed Vera. “I guess he wasn’t such a good swimmer.”
“His wife maintains he was a good swimmer.”
“What’d the autopsy show?” queried Curtis.
“The police autopsy report showed water in the stomach and lungs with foamy mucous in the trachea,” Reese raised his eyebrows. “That means drowning in fresh water. Someone gave him artificial respiration.”
“Wait a while,” Curtis requested. “Who gave him the artificial respiration?”
“That is the question. I believe it was the killer. He wanted it to look like murder.”
“Wanted it to?” Vera bleated. “Why, for heavens sake?”
“As a warning to us. The cops have it as an accidental drowning.”
“What are you driving at, Reese? Are you saying someone is trying to give notice that he’s killing members of the unit?” Curtis accused.
“You have to admit an arrow in the back is something you would tend to notice,” Reese held.
“Is that why you called me?” Curtis questioned.
“This has all the sadistic characteristics of Von Bausen,” maintained Reese.
“General Von Bausen? But he’s missing, presumed dead in an artillery barrage. We collapsed a building on him.”
“Good enough motive to want us dead, isn’t it? A body was never recovered. Look, Gerard was suffocated and then placed in the pool. When the cops bungled it, our killer started taking a more obvious approach,” Reese nervously tore a sheet of paper off a pad.
“Have you gone to the police?” Curtis asked.
“No,” Reese admitted. “Who’d believe it? But I did get me one of these,” he flung back his suit coat to reveal a .38 tucked into his waistband. “The killer may even have been responsible for General Patton’s death.”
“Can you elaborate?”
Suddenly, Reese shot forward. “It’s him!” he pointed accusingly.
Instantly, an arrow buried itself in Reese. He was driven back and down, taking his chair with him.
Curtis barked to his wife, “Down!”
Vera complied. Curtis elbowed over to Reese. A long bolt jutted from his chest. Blood spread from it, staining his white shirt red.
“Reese! You saw who did this? Is Todd Kopf working for Von Bausen?”
“Paperclip,” he muttered.
The married couple exchanged puzzled looks.
“Why do you want a damn paperclip?” Curtis gritted.
“Oh, let’s just get it for him!” Vera scrambled to a table and retrieved one.
“No…not that,” Reese choked out, pushing the offered one away feebly. Paper…clip.”
“He’s delirious,” Curtis diagnosed wrongly.
“Does he mean he wants to clip something to that paper?” she offered. Vera retrieved the torn sheet. “‘Tod,’” she read aloud.
The rest was ripped away.
“Never mind that. Try to save him!” barked Curtis. He grabbed a nearby hand towel and tried to staunch the flowing blood. He ordered, “Takeover here.”
Vera applied pressure. But it was too late. Reese was dead.
Curtis risked a look over the railing. He wanted to see where the arrow came from. What he saw startled him. A figure in a red robe with a skull for a head was peering back. He shook a longbow threateningly.
“Stay down, Vera!” Curtis ordered, face ashen. He pulled the pad from Reese’s lifeless hand. The rest of the page had only ‘…es
kampf’ written on it.
“What is it, Eldon?” Vera asked.
“Todeskampf!” he breathed.
“Who’s Todd Kopf?” Vera prompted. “Is that him in the costume?”
“Now I understand. Todeskampf is German for ‘death throes.’ Call the police and stay down.”
“How can I do both?” she sobbed. A man had just been murdered before her. She and her husband were in danger.
“Shimmy over to the phone on your elbows,” he directed, rushing to the door. “Buck up, darling. We couldn’t have saved him.”
“Where are you going?”
“Over there,” he explained, picking up Reese’s gun. “We’ll see how Todeskampf does against bullets!”
*****
Curtis cheated death again that evening, dashing across Seventh Avenue traffic to the other building. He checked and confirmed he had the right building. The actor came upon a uniformed Negro doorman.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked suspiciously.
“Did you see anyone come in with a red robe, a skull face and a longbow?”
The doorman’s facial expression shifted as he said, “Well, sir, that I’d remember! Some kind of party going on here? The residents ain’t supposed to have no late weeknight parties.”
“Someone fitting that description just killed my friend,” Curtis thumbed back to Reese’s building. “Shot an arrow from one of your upper floors!”
“Killed? With an arrow?” the doorman repeated incredulously. “You call the police?”
“My wife’s doing it now. I’ve got to get up there. I’ll hold him for the cops.”
“You shouldn’t do that, sir!”
“I was in the Shore Patrol during the war.”
“We’ll go up,” the doorman agreed. He turned to a little red-haired boy hanging around the entrance, “Benjamin, cover for me.”
“Sure thing, Bill!” he saluted smartly.
“We ought to check the freight elevator,” figured Bill. “No one like you said came by me.”
“And if he went up that way, he’ll come down that way? Yes, I see,” affirmed Curtis.
“Gonna need me a weapon,” Bill muttered, looking around as if they were easily found.
“I’m armed,” Curtis demonstrated, yanking out the gun. “Come on!”
“Mister, this is my job, at my building. I can’t let you go first.”
It was at that moment that the pair collided with a burly man in sunglasses and a pulled down hat. He was carrying a wrapped parcel.
“Hey, you there,” Curtis shouted. “Stop!”
That had the opposite effect. The man quickened his pace.
“Pardon me, sir,” called Bill. “We’d like to talk…”
Curtis and the doorman pursued, finally catching up to the man. He flung off Bill and Curtis with a grunted, “Don’t touch me, you inferiors!”
Curtis lost his footing, but the doorman kept his. The actor looked up and saw the parcel coming at him. He wasn’t able to duck. It connected and broke on impact. The man discarded it. There was a clunk that revealed it was wood. He ran to a waiting car. Bill was suddenly at Curtis’ side, almost dislocating an arm hauling him to his feet.
“You O.K., sir?”
“Never mind me,” Curtis rapped out, scrambling to his feet. “He’s getting away.”
“Not for long,” Bill took off like Mel Patton.
Suddenly, Bill dropped. An arrow appeared on the doorman’s chest. The car continued on. Curtis checked Bill. The doorman was dead, a glassy look in his eyes. Curtis turned to the parcel, careful not to touch it. He saw a snapped longbow. The murder weapon was in pieces. A crowd was gathering. Police sirens were in the distance.
Curtis wondered how the hell Bill got it if the longbow was cracked over his own head.
*****
At the police station, Curtis only had to wait a short while before he spoke to the detective assigned the case.
“You know, it’s not every crime that involves a decorated war hero and a Hollywood star,” Lieutenant Robert Caradona declared. He sat opposite Curtis in an otherwise empty office, smoking a cigarette. “Kowalski is sure going to be sorry he missed this.”
“Who’s Kowalski?”
“My partner. Called in sick today. He’ll be out for the rest of the week.”
“Well, er, yes. The war may have something to do with this incident. But listen to this, Lieutenant. In all the excitement, I forgot to mention Charley’s last words.”
“Oh, and what would those be?”
“He said ‘Paperclip.’ When my wife gave him one, he pushed it away.”
“‘Paperclip,’” repeated the cop. “Doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
“But you will look into it?”
“Yes, of course,” Caradona yanked out a pad and wrote the phrase down.
“You see, Charley thought an old enemy of ours, a General Von Bausen, was responsible.”
“On what did he base that theory?” asked the cop incredulously.
“Well, all the victims were in our old unit. The only time we came under direct fire, and returned fire, was in Neutitschein. It was against Von Bausen.”
“Only time? Just what kind of unit was this?”
“We specialized in deception. Basically, we went around armed with inflatable tanks and wooden cannon, that sort of thing.”
“Doesn’t sound particularly lethal,” decided the cop.
“Oh, it was dangerous work all right. We’d make fake airfields, or try to draw the enemy’s fire with strategically placed radios the enemy tuned into. We’d convince them there was a large force in the vicinity. One time we fabricated an airfield so well that a British plane landed on it.”
“Sort of like those tricks General Washington pulled on the redcoats back in the Revolutionary War.”
“Quite like it. I still can’t say much more, what with the Soviet threat looming over us. These techniques may get used again.”
“Yes, Churchill was willing to fight to the last Russian, if I remember his quote correctly.”
“They’re not our allies anymore. Know why we used the atomic bomb on Japan? They were defeated! It was so the Soviets wouldn’t enter the Pacific and dominate Asia after the war.”
“I know,” agreed Caradona. “Once the Russians, well, the Soviets, got to Berlin, what was to stop them pushing on to Paris?”
“Right! They had access to German wunderwaffe, so-called wonder weapons. But we had the best weapon of all—the atomic bomb.”
“Yeah, the Commies are a threat to our freedom. However, world politics ain’t what this murder is about. Was Paperclip the name of some deception you ran over there? Some codeword for a scam you ran on this Von Bausen in particular?”
“No, I don’t know what it is. Maybe you could ask around.”
“That’s what I do. Now, we checked that bow out. It’s a weapon dating from the Middle Ages. And get this; you have to be very strong to pull it.”
“Von Bausen was certainly a fit fellow.”
“You don’t understand. You or I or the average man would have a devil of a time with it. To quickly take aim at Reese when he suddenly appeared on the balcony would take a Herculean effort. Back then, someone who was used to doing it every day, yeah, okay, sure.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
“Oh, that reminds me. Your friend had an empty pistol holster at his apartment. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Well, er, yes. Reese showed me his gun. Then the arrow struck. I didn’t want to run over there unarmed. I picked it up.”
“Mr. Curtis, do you have any idea how dangerous it is for a civilian to go around brandishing a gun?”
“I can handle firearms, Detective. My first assignment during the war was the Shore Patrol.”
“Well, the police were called to that address. You could have easily been shot by them. I’ll trouble you to bring me that gun at my earliest convenience.”
“Yes, of course. Now, listen. This makes three members of my old unit that have been killed.”
“There’s no proof that,” Caradona consulted notes, “Gerard was murdered. All you have is what Reese said. Mr. Gerard seems to have been an accident victim.”
“Be that as it may, Pelliccioni and Reese both died by arrow, as well as that doorman.”
“There’s no way to prove that those arrows came from the same bow. You must realize that.”
“I know. But it is too much of a coincidence. Look, I have an idea. If my old unit is marked for death, let’s set a trap.”
“What do you mean, ‘a trap’?”
“We announce there’s going to be a gala affair for the unit. They’d all be in one place. It’ll be too tempting an opportunity for our killer to pass up.”
“Forget it, we’re not doing that,” dismissed the cop with a wave of his hand.
Stymied, Curtis said, “Come on, these deaths are in rank order. You can see who’s next. Throw a cordon around him. ”
“So, who’s next? You?”
“Me? No, it’s a fellow named Vic Burnly.”
“Where does he live?”
“Out in East Elmhurst, in Queens.”
“They have their own crimes to deal with out there,” Caradona stressed. “We can’t really divert them from their duties because you think you figured the next victim.”
“If you’re not going to alert the Queens cops, do you mind if I warn him?”
“It’s a free country,” began Caradona.
“Thanks to fellows like Reese, it is.”
“And yourself,” smiled Caradona. “Now, rather than you getting underfoot in an investigation, I’ll remind you about turning in Reese’s gun to me.”
Curtis fully intended to but after had made use of it. For after Burnly, he was next in rank.
*****
The next day, Saturday, a Catholic nun was at the front door of the Burnly home in Queens. The nun bore a briefcase.
“I’m sorry, Sister,” Burnly began, holding the Montgomery Ward catalog. “We’re not Catholic; we gave to the Lutherans at…”
“It’s me, you dolt,” rumbled the voice of Eldon Curtis III. The nun smiled over wire frame spectacles. “Don’t just stand there. Let me in.”
Gently he pushed Burnly back in through the door. Curtis held a finger to his own lips.
“Where’s your wife?” Curtis asked once inside.
“Bernice? She’s upstairs. What happened to your mustache? It was your trademark.”