Goodnight Irene Read online

  “The one with the legs?”

  “Yes, the woman who had two legs.”

  “I remember her well.”

  “She was a ‘Miss’.”

  Tommy Brent opened the door. His wild eyes appeared to be in constant dilation. When speaking, he revealed small teeth buried in large gums. “Well, how about this, two dicks for the price of one. Wow.”

  Rowan’s mouth moved without saying anything.

  “Well, don’t just stand there like a couple fancy pants scarecrows. Come on in.” Tommy pushed the door wide, beckoning them forward.

  They entered the hall and Walter shut the door.

  Tommy Brent’s head was pencil-thin with hair sprouting from the top in all directions. “Now, don’t go telling me. Let me guess.” He pointed his finger and moved it like a pendulum from Rowan to Walter and back again. He stopped at Rowan. “You’re Rowan Manory. You’re the main man.”

  Rowan arched his eyebrows. “That is correct.”

  “You know how I knew?”

  “No.”

  “I’m a superior judge of character. I can tell by the way the other fellow is just a little bit behind you.”

  “Well done, Mr. Brent. This is my assistant, Walter Williams.”

  Walter extended his hand and Tommy clutched it like a lifeline at sea.

  “Charmed, I’m sure.” Tommy stood back and exhaled. “So you are real life, honest-to-God, private eyes?”

  Rowan began to speak but Tommy interrupted him.

  “What kind of gun do you carry?”

  Rowan said, “We do not carry firearms.”

  Tommy snorted. “Well that’s just silly. What happens when a bad man points a gun at you?”

  Rowan put his hand on Walter’s shoulder. “In the occurrence of such an event, Williams dazzles the criminal with his boundless wit.”

  Tommy eyed Walter. “Are you really that witty?”

  Walter nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  They walked down the hall toward two closed sliding doors. Crystal figurines of angels, fairies, and demons littered the shelves along the walls.

  Tommy stopped in front of the doors and faced the detectives. “Now, Agatha, she’s not in her right mind. You need to know that going in.” He placed a hand in his forest of hair and scratched. “The girl’s been through a lot. Try not to say anything too upsetting. Be gentle is what I’m saying. She’s uhhh…” His forehead contracted. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”

  “Frail?” said Rowan.

  “Fragile?” said Walter.

  “Mental. The girl has gone mental. She’s not thinking straight. And she’s weak. The poor thing hasn’t got much of an appetite.”

  Rowan said, “I will be most conscientious.”

  Tommy nodded and pulled the doors open.

  Agatha Brent sat on the sofa with pale, languid, sunken cheeks. Her arms lay loose on her lap and her eyes looked in an undetermined direction, a convalescent glaze covering them.

  The room had a large opened window overlooking the side lawn with thin, lacy curtains that rippled from the breeze. A wide fireplace lay dormant against the back wall. On the mantel there were several framed photographs and an art deco clock surrounded by jagged, natural red stone. At both far ends of the mantel, a crystal cherub prayed.

  Rowan eased next to her on the couch. He looked into her blank eyes for a few seconds and then gently took her hand. “Mrs. Brent, words cannot accurately express my sympathy for your loss. You must know that I will not rest until your husband receives justice.”

  Tommy and Walter silently positioned themselves next to the window.

  Agatha’s eyes did their best to focus on Rowan. “That’s very kind.” She spoke in a dreamy monotone. “Everyone has been so very kind. I just want this to end.” She turned to Tommy with a pallid stare. “We both need to put this behind us, but it keeps dragging on and on like the worst kind of nightmare.” Her head swayed back to Rowan. “That’s why I called you, Mr. Manory. You come highly recommended.”

  “We will do our utmost to bring this case to a swift conclusion, I can assure you. Though I know it is painful for you, I have a few questions. I will be brief.” He snapped his fingers and Walter pulled out his notebook. “Did your husband ever mention anyone who had issues with him – financial, personal, or otherwise? Did he have any outstanding debts?”

  She formed the tired beginning of a smile, her lips barely rising. “Martin helped old people cross the street.”

  Rowan waited for her to continue but that was apparently all she was going to say. “You mean…”

  She cleared her throat. “I mean he was beloved by everyone who knew him. No one had any reason to do this.”

  “No debts, though?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “Why did Martin go to work so late in the day?”

  “After Danny was born, Martin tried to stay home as much as possible. That was difficult for him. He was always a hard-worker. Sometimes he would hold Danny and I would hold the phone for him.” Agatha pretended to hold a phone to Rowan’s head. “Like a team.” She bent over with a silent laugh and took her time coming back up.

  From the window, Tommy said, “My brother went to his office a few hours each day. He’d try and time the thing just right. When the boy was asleep he’d creep off to work for a bit and make sure everything was going okay and then slip back.”

  Rowan said, “Mrs. Brent, the day of the murder, what were you doing?”

  She had told the police the details many times. “Danny went to sleep in the afternoon. I was exhausted and took the opportunity to get some sleep myself. I don’t know what time it was; the clock in my room is broken. Some time later, I heard Danny crying. I went to the nursery and carried him to the living room. Tommy was on the sofa. He was reading a book.”

  Tommy said, “When the boy was born, I moved in to help out around the house.”

  Walter jotted down notes and Tommy glanced over his shoulder to see what he was writing.

  Agatha said, “I saw the clock.” She pointed toward the mantel. “It was ten till four when I fed Danny, and then Tommy and I had some tea. I fell asleep again at around five. When I woke up, the police were here.”

  A wailing noise came from outside the room and Agatha rose to her feet with a heretofore-undemonstrated alacrity. “Excuse me.” She left the room.

  Rowan tapped his foot, stood up, and walked over to the mantel. One of the photographs drew his attention.

  Walter, embarrassed by the silence, turned to Tommy. “It’s a lovely home.”

  “Ain’t it? You can’t buy good taste.”

  Rowan straightened an old photo of two little boys. The younger one was crying.

  Tommy said, “That’s Martin and me. See that teddy he’s holding? That was my teddy. He knew if he took it from me, I’d start chopping onions. Sure enough, when the photographer told us to say cheese, Martin ripped it from my arms.”

  Rowan said, “I take it that you and your brother were very close.”

  “Well, I lived down in Mississippi for a while and we didn’t see each other. I moved back a few months ago and we reconnected. Blood’s forever.” He pulled two stubs from his pocket. “We were supposed to go to the game today. It just didn’t seem right for me to go without him.”

  Walter said, “Do you follow the Cubs?”

  “Unfortunately, I do.”

  “Oh, I think they’ll do quite well this year.”

  Tommy laughed wolfishly. “If every other team’s train crashes and they all die in a fiery wreck, the Cubs might finish in second place. That’s about the best we can hope for.”

  Walter said, “I’m optimistic. I think they have a chance to win it all.”

  “Spoken like a true Chicagoan.”

  Rowan’s eyes slanted to the clock and he ran his tongue along a crack in his molar.

  Walter leaned toward Tommy as if relaying a secret. “If I were the manager, I’d put Riggs Stephenson in
the lineup every day. He’s a genius with a bat.”

  “Riggs can hit, but he can’t throw. I’ve got a better arm.”

  “He’s the best hitter on the team. You’ve got to put him in the lineup. Keeping him on the bench is suicide.”

  One word from their conversation lit a fire in Rowan’s brain.

  What are the chances?

  Tommy said, “Now their pitching is a different story.”

  Rowan shuffled his feet to the window. “Wait.”

  Walter knew this tone. “What is it, old man?”

  “Have you noticed the names?” He snapped his fingers at Walter. “Williams, what are the strange names on the Bears?”

  “You mean the Cubs.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Oh, yes. Ummm. Let’s see, there’s Hack, Gabby, Sheriff…”

  Rowan slapped Tommy’s arm as if they were friends. “Why do baseball players have such odd names?”

  Tommy pushed both bushy eyebrows down. “I believe those are nicknames. I’m sure their mamas gave them proper biblical names when they were born.”

  Rowan nodded. “That is good thinking, Tommy. Although, Sheriff is a proper Scottish name and Riggs is an English name. Why, there is a company called ‘Riggs Furniture’ in New York.” He shot Walter a look.

  Walter said, “Yes, and Walter Riggs is a famous football coach. I’m not sure about Hack.”

  Tommy said, “Martin owned a company called Riggs, but it doesn’t deal in furniture. And don’t forget General Riggs, the war hero. I guess it’s not so uncommon. Hey, we forgot the strangest name of all – Babe Ruth. I know he isn’t on the Cubs, but that’s got to be the name that takes the cake. It takes a lot of bee’s nuts to go by Babe.”

  Rowan’s smile turned smug again. “Yes, it does.”

  Agatha returned and sat on the sofa, rocking Danny in her arms.

  Rowan returned to her side. “Mrs. Brent, I do not wish to take up much more of your time. There were two murders last winter that were eerily similar to the one of your husband. I believe we may be dealing with a maniac, someone with a compulsion to kill.”

  “Really? The police ruled out that idea. They said Martin must have had some connection to the man who killed him.”

  “They often bungle their investigations.” Rowan craned his neck toward Tommy. “How long did they hold you for questioning?”

  Tommy said, “The bastards had me in there for two whole days.”

  Rowan turned back to Agatha. “There you have it. A man who was in the room with you during the time of the murder was held overnight before being released. It is a scandalous waste of resources.”

  “It is rather alarming, I suppose.”

  Rowan clutched at his neck. “Mrs. Brent, I’m terribly sorry to bother you. My throat is quite dry. May I have some water?”

  Agatha said, “Tommy, could you get Mr. Manory a glass of water?”

  “Sure, sure.” Tommy left the room.

  Agatha looked down at her son. “I don’t understand why someone would do such a thing if there was nothing to gain—”

  Rowan pressed his hands against her cheeks and lifted her head up. He put his nose against her mouth and breathed in.

  Walter recoiled in confusion. “Manory?”

  When Rowan pulled back, Agatha didn’t move. She tried to speak. “I… I…”

  Rowan licked his lips. “Have you been eating garlic, Mrs. Brent?”

  She let out a breathless word. “No.”

  “Funny that. Your breath reeks of garlic.” He clutched her hands and lifted them up. “You have lovely nails, except for these lines.” He ran a nicotine-stained finger over the white lines on her nails. “Have you always had them?”

  Her head shook in a dazed circle. “No. They have appeared only recently.”

  “I see. I am going to ask you a few more questions, Mrs. Brent. We do not have much time. Please answer them quickly. How many clocks are in the house?”

  “There are three, but—”

  “But two of them are broken?”

  “Yes.”

  “They have been broken for about three weeks?”

  “Yes.”

  “On the day of your husband’s murder, you say that you went to sleep at five o’clock?”

  “Yes, I told you.”

  “Where did you drift off to sleep?”

  “Here on the sofa with Danny.”

  “Uh-huh. What does Tommy do around the house?”

  “Many things. He does the dishes and—”

  “Does he make you tea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he make the tea you drank before you went to sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  Rowan put his hand on her knee. “Thank you, Mrs. Brent. Williams and I are going to take you away from here.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the hospital.”

  “But why?”

  “You are being poisoned, Mrs. Brent. You are being slowly poisoned with arsenic.”

  Tommy entered the living room with a glass of water. He set it on the coffee table. “Here you are, Mr. Manory, some old-fashioned double h zero.”

  Rowan stood up and returned to the mantel. He looked again at the photo of the Brent boys. “Williams, did you remember to set the clock in our office forward for the spring preservation of daylight?”

  Walter put his notebook away. “I did it on the thirteenth.” He moved to the doors and casually stood in front of them.

  Rowan pointed to the clock. “Tommy, did you set this clock forward?”

  “Yes, I believe I did. Fall back, spring forward.”

  “And did you set the clock forward a second time?”

  Tommy did not answer.

  “Nothing to say?” Rowan cocked his head. “No chitchat? No empty blather?” He grabbed the top of the clock and spun it around, displaying the winding mechanism and then began pacing around the room. “You are not the first man to manipulate a clock for the provision of an alibi, and I am sure you will not be the last. It is a very old trick. You see, on March the second in this year of our lord, you turned this clock back an hour. You rudely woke the baby up and ran to the living room. This is the room where Agatha brings Danny when she needs to calm him down. I can tell by how peaceful it is. You sat making small talk and sweating. At some point, you brought her tea laced with a sleeping agent. Perhaps it was Veronal; the details can be sorted out later. She fell asleep at five according to this clock, but we both know what the time really was. I do not even have to check the other two clocks to make sure you tampered with them. Do you know why?”

  Tommy remained silent.

  “It is because I am a superior judge of character.”

  Tommy patted the air with his hands. “Now, just hold up a minute. Before you get all heroic, you had better think this thing through, Mr. Manory. When I was being questioned, the cops had the same notion as you. You aren’t that smart. There’s no proof I did it. You need proof in this country.”

  “Oh, Tommy, you will make a fine corpse someday. You are already dead from the neck up. Some people just love to talk. Well, you may have talked yourself right into the electric chair. You see, I happen to know that your brother purchased the Riggs Tractor Company at four twenty on March the second. But how would you know that? The sale was completed just before his death. How could you know that? It would be impossible, unless you were in the office during the phone call.” Rowan’s face turned vindictive. “Did you enjoy choking the life out of him?”

  Agatha’s mouth crumpled.

  Tommy turned white with anxiety. His body tensed.

  Rowan said, “Now, here is what will happen next. Williams and I are going to take Mrs. Brent and Danny to the hospital. She can receive treatment for the trace amounts of arsenic you have been slipping into her drinks. If you develop a sudden onset of intelligence, you will turn yourself in. Perhaps a good lawyer can ensure you see the sunlight again.”

  Tommy Brent pu
lled out a gun and backed up. He swung it from Walter to Rowan. Finally, he settled on Rowan with a shaky hand. He swallowed. “Come on, Mr. Williams. Say something witty. Dazzle me.”

  Rowan took a deep breath. “This will not help you, Tommy. It will only make things worse.” He walked a step closer to the gun.

  Agatha summoned the strength to pull Danny tightly to her chest. The baby felt his mother’s heartbeat quicken and began wailing anew. The sound grew more and more barbaric and uncontrolled, affecting the nervous systems of the four adults in the room.

  Rowan took one more step. He desperately wanted a cigarette. “Let us think about a possible solution.”

  The exploding booms of the two bullets were followed by confused silence. Rowan mentally searched his body for the pain. There was none. He looked at Walter and saw him aghast. He turned around. The baby lay dead on Agatha’s chest. Spattered blood covered the white sofa. Agatha’s eyes were directed toward the detective. They hovered for a second and then the faint gleam inside them faded into nothing.

  Tommy wore a ghastly sneer. His eyes became glossy. He shoved the gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Rowan’s vision became blurry and his heart pounded. He heard Walter’s voice echo in his head until everything went black.

  Chapter 2

  how very peculiar

  The cigarette smoke flared against Rowan’s cracked lips. He scuffed his shoes along the floor and pushed open the window. A stifling rush of July air shot against him like a blast from a furnace. Beads of sweat led trails down his temples and settled in the corners of his eyes.

  Doctor Ling betrayed no emotion when he spoke. “Are you uncomfortable, Mr. Manory?”

  “A bit. This office is as hot as Hades in the summer because of the bakery downstairs.” He took one last drag off the sweat-soaked cigarette and then flicked it onto the street. “I will be fine.”

  “Are you ready to continue?”

  Rowan pushed his cheek out with his tongue. Why wasn’t Ling sweating? He was pudgy around the sides of his waistline and wore multiple layers.

  “All hypnosis is self-hypnosis. Most people don’t understand this fact. You can allow yourself to be hypnotized, but I cannot force you.” Ling pressed his mustache against his upper lip. “Are you willing to allow it?”