The Case of the Crime King

Chapter 19

9:48 p.m. We left Andy and LaMonica waiting for the coroner’s ambulance and the civilian photographer, while we drove back to the office. As we pulled away from the supermarket, Frank shook his head.

“Always has to be a hero,” he said.

“Not always,” I said. “Most people follow what our bulletins say to do.”

“I suppose,” he conceded. “But this guy didn’t even seem sorry. Acted proud of himself.”

“Well, of course he didn’t get the kid killed on purpose. No question about him having the legal right to defend himself.”

“Hope that lets him sleep better,” Frank said sourly.

We rode along in silence. Then Frank said, “Didn’t our want on Martin and Strite describe them as wearing dark suits?”

“Yeah.”

“Suspects wore tan jackets and slacks. And if they’d gone home to change, they’d have been picked up by the stakeouts.”

“Doesn’t mean much,” I said.

“How you figure?”

“You don’t necessarily have to be home to change clothes.”

We got a surprise when we walked into the squad room. Under the watchful eye of a uniformed officer, Big Julie and Harry Strife sat side by side in a corner. Both wore dark-blue suits, white shirts, and dark ties. Big Julie grinned when he saw us, and lifted one large hand in a lazy salute.

I recognized the policeman as one who worked the downstairs desk. I gave him a questioning look.

“They were picked up on a business dispute at a foreign-film theater on Wilshire,” the officer said. “Place called the Odean.” He looked at a complaint form in his hand. “At nine thirty-two p.m. Just a half hour ago.”

Frank and I looked the two men over without saying anything.

“Arresting officer recognized them from your want,” the policeman went on. “Probably would just have warned them and let them go otherwise. Instead he brought them in.”

I said, “What was the disturbance?”

Big Julie answered before the officer could speak. “It was hardly a disturbance, Lieutenant. We just wanted our money back. It was a lousy show.”

“Yeah?” I said.

“‘An orgy of sex,’ the blurb said. I warned the ticket seller when we went in that we’d demand our money back if the show didn’t live up to its ad. She guaranteed that it would. But it was about as sexy as a Donald Duck cartoon.”

“Was, huh?”

“Most boring thing I ever attended. All in French, with British subtitles. There ought to be a law against such misleading advertising.”

I said in a bored tone, “Suppose you still have your stubs.”

Big Julie simulated surprise. “I don’t know. Probably dropped them on the theater floor.” He made an elaborate search of his pockets, finally came up with a ticket stub from the last one he looked in. “I did happen to save it,” he said in a pleased voice.

Harry Strife had been searching his pockets, too. He said, “Whata’ya know? I happened to save mine, too.”

I took both stubs, glanced at them, and dropped them into a pocket.

“Let’s go,” I said to the suspects.

“Where?” Big Julie asked.

“Down to the Felony Section.”

“For what?” he demanded. “You can’t hold us for a little thing like this.”

“We aren’t,” I told him.

“Then what’s the charge?”

“Couple of minor things.”

“Like what?”

“Suspicion of armed robbery,” I said. “Plus suspicion of murder.”

10:24 p.m. We took the suspects down to the Felony Section and booked them. Then we went back upstairs to see Lieutenant Bud Newton, the night-watch commander in Homicide Division. We asked him to tell Andy and LaMonica when they returned that the suspects were in custody and to request them not to start questioning them that night.

“Why not?” Bud asked.

“They’ve built a fancy alibi,” I said. “We’re going out to see if we can break it down. Like to have some of the answers in advance before anyone starts throwing them questions.”

“Okay,” Bud said. “I’ll tell Andy and LaMonica.”

We left the Police Building and drove over to the Odean Theater. The Odean was one of those movie houses that specialize in foreign-made films that heavily emphasize sex. The advertised feature was “Summer Lust,” and it was billed even more sensationally than Big Julie had indicated. All he’d quoted was the last part of the ad. In full it read: Passion at its basest. Lust without love. The savage story of a man and woman who hate each other’s souls, but whose bodies crave each other. An orgy of sex.

Frank said, “Sounds pretty strong, huh? Didn’t know they allowed pictures like that.”

“They don’t,” I said. “Ever been to one of these places?”

Frank looked at me. “Think I’d ever get Fay to a movie like that?”

“All the sex is in the ads,” I told him. “You wouldn’t have to worry.”

“What you think,” Frank said. “One look at the ads, and she wouldn’t fix me Swedish meatballs for a year.”

As the last show was well under way, there was no one in the box office. A ticket taker was still on duty, however, apparently for no other purpose than to keep latecomers from sneaking in to see the last part of the show free. He told us the girl who sold tickets was in the manager’s office. We found her there helping the manager check the night’s receipts.

She was an attractive blonde of about twenty named Sharon Strawser. The theater manager was a sleek, oily-haired man of about forty with a hairline mustache and sideburns just a shade longer than the average man wears. He introduced himself as Henry Thomas.

I said, “We’re checking on a business dispute you had about nine thirty, Mr. Thomas. Like to ask you and your cashier a few questions.”

The theater manager raised his eyebrows. “Seems a lot of fuss over a minor incident.”

I said, “We have reason to believe that the men involved were deliberately creating an alibi to clear them of a serious crime. It’s important to establish whether or not they really were in the theater during the time they claim.”

“Oh,” Thomas said. “Sure, Officers. We’ll do anything we can to co-operate.”

I handed the girl the two ticket stubs. “Can you tell by the numbers on these about when they were sold?”

She checked them against the first number on the remainder of the roll of tickets that had been used that night. “They were issued for the show starting at seven thirty,” she reported. “You really didn’t need these, though. I remember the two men buying them. It was about twenty-five after seven.”

Frank said, “How’d you happen to remember them, ma’am?”

Sharon Strawser didn’t exactly blush, but she looked as though she was on the verge of it. “The big man kidded around some when he bought the tickets. It held up the line for a minute.”

“How do you mean, ‘kidded around’?” I asked.

“Well, before he bought tickets, he said, ‘You sure this show’s all right for innocent young men to see? We don’t want to lose our Bible-class pins.’ The way he said it, it was a lot funnier than it sounds. I mean he was such a big fellow, and looked so sophisticated and sure of himself, like he’d been around a lot. The kind of fellow a girl would know at first glance it wouldn’t be safe to park with. That’s what made it so funny.”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“Well, I cracked right back at him. I said, ‘If you ever had a Bible-class pin, I bet you pinned it to some girl in Lovers’ Lane.’ He laughed, then looked serious again and said, ‘Honest, does the show come up to its billing? Is it really hot?’ I told him we had the air-conditioner turned up double to cool off the audience. He said, ‘It better be. I’m a congenial character myself, but my pal here has a nasty temper. Hates to be cheated. He’ll be out here yelling for his money back if the show’s no good.’ The little fellow with him grinned at me, so I figured the big guy was still kidding. I told them we guaranteed satisfaction, and gave them their tickets. Then I forgot all about them until the show broke two hours later.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“They came out with the rest of the crowd. There were a couple of people waiting to buy tickets for the next show, but the little guy pushed right in front of them and said, ‘Okay, baby. We gave you fair warning. We want our money back.’ At first I thought he was just trying to be funny, but customers were waiting and I didn’t have time for jokes. I told him to please step aside. Instead he planted himself right in front of the window and announced that no one at all was going to buy a ticket until he and his friend got their admissions back. One of the men in line started to push him out of the way, but his big friend tapped him on the shoulder and sort of shook his head. The man gave him one look and decided not to interfere. The little fellow started to tell everyone in line what a lousy show it was and how much the ads lied. I saw I couldn’t handle it, so I closed the box-office window and went for Mr. Thomas.”

I looked at Henry Thomas and asked, “What’d you do about it?”

The theater manager frowned. “I went out to the box office and tried to reason with them. They became abusive. Or at least the little man did. The big man just stood there and grinned. I’d have returned their money just to quiet them down if the little guy hadn’t been so insulting. But he made me mad. I came back in and called the police.”

Frank said, “Any way they could have left the theater and gotten back in again later?”

“They could have left at any time by one of the fire exits,” Thomas said. “But they’d have had a hard time getting back in. They don’t open from outside. And our ushers are instructed to keep a sharp eye on them to prevent kids from sneaking in. Whenever one’s opened, light shines in from outside. I’m sure they would have been spotted if they’d tried anything like that.”

“How about the washroom windows?” I asked.

“There aren’t any. It’s an inside room.”

By now it was past 11:00 p.m. As the last show broke at 11:30, we waited until the house was clear, then examined the fire exits. There were two on each side of the house, all clearly visible from the back of the room.

There were three ushers on duty. We questioned them all, and all three assured us that they would have spotted the suspects trying to re-enter the theater by that route.

One of them said, “When one of those doors opens, it throws light all over the house. You couldn’t miss its opening, even if you weren’t looking that way.”

We also questioned the ticket taker. He was of no help at all. He didn’t recall seeing anyone of the suspects’ descriptions either enter or leave.

“It’s pretty dark there by the door,” he explained. “And when they come in, the light from the lobby’s right in my face. They all look just like dull blurs to me. Don’t think I’d recognize my own mother.”

When we left the theater, we stood on the sidewalk in front, thoughtfully looking the building over. Suddenly I got an idea.

“Think I got it,” I said to Frank.

“Yeah? You’re one up on me.”

I pointed to the ticket cage. It faced the street, bulging out onto the sidewalk for a couple of feet. On either side of it were two pairs of double doors into the lobby.

“You buy your ticket there,” I said. “Then what do you do?”

Frank gave me an odd look. “Go inside and hand it to the ticket taker, I guess.”

“Yeah. First crossing the lobby. Once you enter the lobby, the box-office girl can’t see you any more. And the ticket taker doesn’t see you until you open the door into the theater.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The box-office girl also can’t see those two end doors. Unless she cranes her neck. Big Julie and Strite bought their tickets, walked into the lobby by one of the center doors, walked right out again by the end door. Two hours later they came back in again by the same door, presented their tickets to the ticket taker, spent about five minutes in the theater and came out with the crowd when the show broke.”

After mulling this over, Frank said, “Could be. Only one thing.”

“What?”

“Why present their tickets at all? They could tear them in half themselves, and just pretend to be coming out with the crowd. That way they wouldn’t risk the ticket taker remembering the time they turned them in.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “And maybe that gives us a break.”

“How’s that?”

“If the other halves of their stubs aren’t in the ticket box, it will prove they never entered the theater.”

We went back inside and asked the manager if he minded sticking around for a few more minutes. He said he’d be glad to. When we told him what we wanted, he asked his other employees to stay over to help. So all together there were seven of us to check the numbers on the stubs in the ticket box.

It took us about a half hour. And the only result was to make the suspects’ alibis stronger.

Both ticket stubs were in the box.