Tuesday October 7th 1947
It’s a gorgeous fall day so I decide to walk to work, it’s not that far and I could alway use the exercise. You wouldn’t think so but a fair amount of a PI’s job is done sitting behind a desk. When I get to the office Janice has everything shipshape and seems to be in a pretty good mood. She’s got a stack of files for me to go through but before I dig in I ask her for a quick synopsis while I’m pouring my coffee.
First up is a concerned bank owner. He thinks someone is stealing money from the bank, mostly small bills. Security at the bank hasn’t been able to turn anything up but the owner is positive that it’s an inside job. He seems quite anxious to have this figured out and is willing to pay handsomely. The extra pay is more than likely hush money. Can’t have people lose their trust in the banks after all. Seems like this might be something better suited to the boys in blue so maybe I’ll pass it along to Brian. Maybe I can pull a consultant’s fee.
The next case has Janice pretty jazzed up. It seems that one of her neighbors, Mrs. Jefferson, has had her apartment broken into. She wasn’t home and nobody was hurt but the intruder took antique flatware that’s been in the family for a long time. Not a high ticket item but something with a lot of sentimental value. I tell Janice that I’ll take this one pro bono. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a nice old lady’s dishes.
There was an armored car that was hit while picking up the daily sales receipts from one of the local pastry places. One of the bags went missing. Doesn’t seem like anyone was hurt. Again this seems like something for Brian and his bunch. My guess would be either the local street gangs or the mafia families are upping their game. Either way I’m not too keen to stick my nose in that kind of business.
Janice places the files neatly on the corner of my desk and asks if I need anything else. I shrug out of my coat, hang my hat and tell her I’m fine and to close the door on the way out. I retrieve the pack of Lucky Strikes out of my suit coat pocket and toss them on the desk next to my coffee cup before sitting down. I light a cigarette before tackling the stack of papers on my desk. Besides riding a desk, the other part of being a PI is lots of paperwork, expenses, bills, taxes, reports, it’s not all glitz and glamor like the movies make it out to be.
The phone rings and I look up from the report I’m writing, cigarette hanging from between my lips. I take a puff and place it in the ashtray as I hear Janice answer the phone. “Armstrong Investigations, how may we assist you? Yes, he’s in. Is everything ok. Yes, one moment please.” The sound of heels on the floor and then Janice opens the door poking her head in.
“Evelyn is on the line for you.”
“Huh, ok. Thanks kid, I’ll get it.”
I look down at the phone with slight trepidation. Evie usually only calls me at the office if she’s mad or something’s wrong, neither of which I’m really looking forward to dealing with. I lift the receiver and punch the flashing red button.
“Hey Evie, it’s George.”
She definitely sounds like something is wrong. She sounds small if that makes any sense. The Evelyn I know is as bold as brass, it’s one of the things that drew me to her initially and maybe what finally drove us apart but that’s another time now. She’s telling me that Matt sent her a letter but she can’t read it.
Dumb bastard can’t leave well enough alone. They did seem like they were thick as thieves though. Maybe it hit them both hard. Maybe Evie’s developed a soft side. She says she’s feeling pretty down and she’d like me to come over and read it for her. I’m really thrown for a loop by how meek she sounds before I realize what I’m saying, I tell her I’ll be over in a bit. We both murmur goodbyes and I gently replace the receiver in the cradle.
Almost immediately the phone rings again and I answer it unthinkingly.
“Armstrong Investigations, George Armstrong speaking.”
It’s Jane and she’s really excited. Carol is going to sing one of Jane’s songs tonight during her set. She wants me to come down to the Glow at 7pm and I tell her I wouldn’t miss it. We chat for a few minutes playfully bantering, a weird juxtaposition after my call with Evie. We say our goodbyes and hang up and I’m left feeling much less interested in my paperwork.
I sit staring absently out the window smoking and sipping my coffee. I wonder if I’m going to need to make a trip out to see Matt and tell him to lay off if he knows what’s good for him. I wonder about Evie and who she’s become and I wonder about Jane and where all of this is going. If only I could work through these things with the detachment of one of my cases.
I finally decide I’m not getting any more work done in the office and grab my coat and hat. Time to blow this pop stand I think to myself. A good walk will clear my head. As I’m opening my office door, there’s a knock at the outer door and two people enter the office. An elderly African American woman is being helped by a tall, stoic looking African American man.
Neither of them looks familiar to me but then the woman introduces herself as Claire Abram and that rings a bell. Turns out she’s the wife of JJ Abram the legendary jazz singer. I’ve seen him play a number of times, truly amazing. I ask what brings her into my office and she reveals that JJ has died in a fire and she thinks it’s suspicious. The excitement of meeting Claire is smashed by the fact that JJ has passed, whatever the circumstances. Janice surreptitiously slides today’s paper across the desk, showing me the headlines about an apartment fire that killed a number of people.
I offer my condolences and ask her why she thinks it suspicious. Claire explains that she was out with a friend when the fire happened. When she came home the police said there were eyewitnesses that said hooligans started a fire in the boiler room and that it started a chain reaction. No one was caught but police were looking into it. When she talked to the neighbors though, some of them said there was a fire that started in one of the apartments. Another neighbor, Mr. Arnold Dubie said there was a strange man in apartment 3C on the third floor but that apartment was never rented out. One of the joys of apartment living, everybody knows everybody else’s business.
I drop into PI mode and begin asking questions apologizing in advance for the personal nature of the inquiry. I asked who she was with, if JJ had any enemies, the normal line of questioning. She kind of laughed and said that in theory the list of suspects was vast since they were a biracial couple. I can’t discount that line of reasoning but it doesn’t feel right. Usually an attack like that is more performative. The attacker wants everyone to know the reason for the attack. No, I think this is going to be something different.
The man with her has remained quiet and inscrutable. He looks like he’s about 70 and his suit looks expensive. Lawyer for the family maybe. He extends his hand and with a firm shake introduces himself as Malcom Jensen. Claire, he explains, is his sister and he is or rather was JJ’s writing partner. With a bit of steel in his eyes he offers to help in any way he can. I admire the old guy’s candor and tell him I’ll let him know if I need anything.