The Confessors' Club

TWENTY-FOUR

The fellow flashing a badge early the next afternoon had to be one of the cops Wendell accused me of calling. He didn’t look like a cop. Blond and fresh-faced, he wore a gray herringbone sport coat, charcoal slacks, a white shirt and a blue-striped tie. Right down to his highly polished burgundy penny loafers, he looked bound for the Ivy League, Princeton perhaps. He said his name was Delmar. I asked if that was a first name or a last name. He said his first name was Delray.

‘Delray Delmar?’

‘I figured a guy named Vlodek would understand.’

‘Like we were joined at the hip.’ I invited him in.

‘Nifty,’ he said, looking around the bare limestone room. First-time visitors are always impressed with the craggy, curved limestone walls and the beamed wood ceiling, though typically they offer up more than one word of architectural praise.

I motioned for us to sit in the two white plastic chairs. Except for those, two cans of varnish and my table saw, the first floor is unfurnished.

‘I know how it is, starting out,’ he said.

I was old enough to be his father, almost. Mature enough, certainly, to control my temper.

‘I’m saving up for furniture, too,’ he added after another beat, as if that helped.

I fought the urge to ask if he’d like some chocolate milk. He might have said yes, and I didn’t have any. Milk. Or chocolate. So I stayed silent, and stared at the knot of his striped tie.

He cleared his throat. ‘You were hired by Mr Wendell Phelps to investigate the recent deaths of three prominent businessmen?’

He was asking two troublesome questions. He wanted me to confirm the identity of a client, something I wouldn’t do. And he was asking me to admit to running an investigation, terminology I had to tiptoe around, because ‘investigate’ is a touchy verb in official Illinois. Investigators – private detectives – are required to be licensed, and that in turn requires law enforcement experience or a law degree. I had neither. But there’s a loophole, as there usually is in Illinois laws: a person can operate as an investigator if he’s working for a lawyer. It’s a gray line, but it’s a mile wide. I knew several lawyers, including the Bohemian, who would cover for me if I ever got in trouble. Still, I like to dodge the word ‘investigate.’

‘Did Wendell Phelps tell you that?’ I said, instead of answering.

‘I got your name from Debbie Goring, who was delighted to talk to me. It didn’t take much Internet research to learn that you nibble at investigating. I also learned you are Mr Phelps’s son-in-law.’

‘Former son-in-law,’ I said.

‘Mr Phelps is a friend to many powerful people, including Arthur Lamm,’ he said, floating the name while watching my eyes.

The kid had a contact in the IRS. ‘I went to see Mr Phelps,’ he went on. ‘One of his guards said he wasn’t home. So now I’ve come to see you.’

‘I’m a records researcher,’ I told the lad. ‘Mostly I work for insurance companies, though I chase down information for law firms as well.’

‘And for Wendell Phelps?’

‘I agree with Debbie Goring. I’m troubled by where Jim Whitman got the pills to kill himself.’

‘I believe you’re also bothered by the timing of the deaths of Benno Barberi and Grant Carson because they, like Jim Whitman, died on or just after the second Tuesdays of even-numbered months.’ Young Delray Delmar had also talked to Barberi’s and Carson’s secretaries.

‘Therefore,’ he went on, ‘you’ve probably deduced that the three dead men spent those Tuesday evenings together.’

I liked the way he applied the word ‘deduced’ to my thinking. It made me sound like something other than a schlump who couldn’t hang a kitchen cabinet straight.

‘By Jove, Holmes, it’s an interesting puzzle,’ I said.

‘Work with me, Mr Elstrom. I’m not interested in Wendell Phelps. You can continue to protect Mr Phelps and perhaps help Debbie Goring. She might even part with some large dollars if you help her gain insurance money.’

‘Who are you really interested in?’

He leaned forward. ‘Arthur Lamm. What do you know about him?’

‘If he’s not gone fishing, then he’s gone missing,’ I said, rhythmically.

‘I think he’s on the run,’ he said.

‘From the IRS?’ I asked.

‘Surely from them, but I’m wondering if he’s running from something more. I want to question him about those deaths. Do you know where he might be?’

‘No. Do you think he killed Whitman and Carson?’

‘All I think right now is he travels in the same circles as the dead men and now he’s disappeared.’

‘Do you think he’s part of that Tuesday evening group?’ I asked.

‘He’s wealthy enough. Do you have any idea where they hold their get-togethers?’

‘No idea.’ It was true enough. All I had was the letter ‘C,’ and I wasn’t going to share that without Wendell’s permission.

‘Somewhere north of the Chicago River, on the Gold Coast?’ he asked.

‘Because that’s where Grant Carson was killed?’ I shook my head. ‘Are you in Homicide?’

‘Special Projects.’

‘I’ve never heard of it. How many are in that department?’

‘Just me.’

‘Why isn’t Homicide looking into this?’

‘Not enough heat yet.’ Delray grinned. ‘My boss respects unofficial inquiries from powerful men.’

‘Someone asked your boss to look into Arthur Lamm?’

‘You got it.’ He stood up. ‘I’m going to take apart Grant Carson’s hit-and-run, because it’s the freshest death. I’m looking at Whitman, too, because his daughter, and you, can’t figure where he got those extra pills or even why he would have bothered. I’m saving Benno Barberi for last, because frankly, I see nothing in his death that suggests murder.’

‘And Arthur Lamm?’

‘I’m interested in him most of all.’ We walked outside. ‘Keep me informed, and I’ll do likewise. I’ll even put in good words to Debbie Goring, help you get a reward. But we do things my way.’

‘Who’s your rabbi?’ In Chicago-speak, a rabbi is a clout guy, somebody connected, a person who can take care of getting whatever a kid in a striped tie needed.

Grinning, he said, ‘The deputy chief,’ and got into his car.

As I watched him drive away in his long black cop sedan, I saw a young, brash, arrogant guy who knew how to get clouted into a job. He was ambitious, and he had power behind him. He’d be relentless; he’d learn things.

Some of which would lead him straight to Wendell Phelps and whatever he was hiding.