Chapter 16

July 30, 1996

Tuesday morning

Busy work. I'd kept myself busy all day Monday, and then when I got home I kept it up. I did two loads of laundry and then vacuumed the whole downstairs before I mopped the kitchen floor. When he got home at seven, Ronnie looked at me like I'd gone mad.

But I hadn't gone mad. I was just trying not to think too much about Sunday afternoon. It had been wonderful to see my old friends, but it made me nervous. What if they'd been followed? Ridiculous, I know. I was sure they'd traveled in the last decade. Probably quite a lot. If someone had been following them, they'd have given up long ago.

No, the bigger thing to worry about was whether I'd been seen there by someone who knew Ronnie. Someone who'd mention it to him. If he did find out, I'd tell him I was visiting two old friends. He wouldn't want to leave it at that, but I could say they were from Detroit. I could give them different names and make up stories about who they were. And no matter how good I was… he wouldn't buy it.

After a fitful night, I got to The Freedom Agenda around eighty-thirty. Lydia was already in her office with the door closed. That was fine. I'd decided I needed to spend the morning tackling the list of names Karen had given me for the Patrick Gill case. Several of the numbers were long distance. It was just easier to call them from the office, I wouldn't need to be reimbursed.

I made a fresh pot of coffee, poured myself a cup, then sat down and dialed the first number. Vera's friends, Harper and Georgia Dawson. They had a 602 number and an address in Scottsdale, Arizona. I was pretty sure that was a tony suburb. They'd done well for themselves.

A man said hello when the phone was answered.

"Is this Harper Dawson?" I asked.

"It is. You're not selling something are you? 'Cause I'm not buying."

"No. I'm not. I wonder if I can talk to you about Vera Korenko?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

I could hear a woman in the background asking, "Who is that? Who are you talking to? Harp, what's going on?"

I forged on. "You were mentioned in a book about Vera's murder. Your photo is in there."

"We didn't really know her, though. Georgia worked with her at the bank. The writer made things up. That's all."

"Vera? Are you talking about Vera?" The woman must be Georgia.

I asked, "Could I talk to your wife?"

He set the phone down, which made a clunking noise. A moment later the woman came on the phone, "Hello?"

"Is this Georgia?"

"It is. I'm Georgia. Do you know something about Vera?"

"I was hoping you could tell me about her. You worked together?"

She left a pause, took a long, ragged breath, then: "Vera was a wonderful girl. So, so smart. And pretty. But the boys… Well, she was too smart for them. I told her she had to pretend she didn't understand things or she'd never get a husband, but she didn't listen. Always had to let the boys know how smart she was."

"Did the boys get angry at her?"

"Some did, I suppose."

"Do you remember anyone in particular?"

"Oh, no… I'm sorry, I don't. I was already married to Harp. I didn't pay any attention to other boys."

"Do you remember the last time you saw Vera?"

"I do. I mean, I wouldn't normally, not after all these years… but the police came to the bank and interviewed all of us. It was very exciting. The last day Vera worked was September 30th. I remember it was hot that day. We didn't have air conditioning in those days. All the windows would have been open and the fans blowing. All of us, we couldn't wait to leave."

"What was it you and Vera did at Security First National?"

"We did mortgage settlements. They were complicated and they had to be right. The tiniest typo and you've screwed up someone's life for twenty years."

"Was there anything unusual about her last day?"

"The police asked me that when they came to the bank. They came about a week later. It had cooled down by then. I remember I was wearing a cute little sweater set."

That wasn't an answer. "What did you tell them?"

"No. I told them no. There wasn't anything strange about her last day. She was her normal self. Happy. Busy. She was so good at her job. I was sure she'd be promoted, but then?—"

"What about that last week, did you notice anything?"

"No. She seemed happy. Maybe even happier. I don't remember why though."

"Did she talk to you about her engagement?"

"She did. But I don't think it was real. She didn't have a ring. I mean, it would only come up if one of the managers started to mash on her. I think she got tired of being asked out all the time, so she made up a fiancé. And it wasn't in the book, so I don't think…"

"You don't know the name Patrick Gill?"

"No. Who was that? Is that the person who killed her?"

"You don't remember the name of Vera's fiancé?"

"Well, she didn't use his name much. She'd say ‘my fiancé' this or ‘my fiancé' that.' But she wouldn't say a name. She might have said he was in the Marines. It wasn't that long after the war and all of us girls were just crazy about servicemen. I mean, I was married; I wasn't crazy about anyone."

"Well thank you. You've been very helpful. If I have more questions, do you mind if I call you back?"

"Oh no, you can call me. I don't mind."

Then I gave her my number in case she remembered anything she thought might help. After I hung up, I sat back and thought over what she'd said. It did sound like her husband was right. Philburn had exaggerated their friendship for his book. But why would he do that?

The bell rang at the front, and someone walked into the office. I walked out that way and found Karen settling in at her desk. I decided to take the opportunity to say, "Listen, I'm sorry about yesterday. I know you don't work for me."

"It's fine. I'll let you know when you have to apologize to me. All right?"

"Okay."

Then she actually smiled at me. A rare event. Particularly in the past few months.

"You're in a good mood."

"Of course, I'm in a good mood. Carl Lewis won a gold medal last night. That makes me happy."

I'd noticed this before. Karen was always happy when Black people did well. For a moment, I wondered if that was weird. But then I thought, I'm actually pretty happy when gay people did well. Though there weren't a ton who were honest about who they were. Other than Elton John you didn't hear much about gay men unless they died of AIDS. So, yeah, more power to her.

Of course, there was a long discussion of whether or not Lewis was gay at our dinner table. But I decided not to mention that to Karen. It didn't seem like a good idea.

"Anyway, thanks for the phone numbers. I'm calling them now. Has Lydia's door been closed since you got here?"

"Yeah."

She nodded and turned on her computer. After that I walked to the back. Manny and Virginia Marker lived in Eagle Rock. I called the number Karen had found and got an answering machine. I decided it was too complicated to leave a message; I'd call back later. Before answering machines, if you didn't get an answer you could call back to your heart's content. Now that everyone had an answering machine it seemed rude to call back if you'd already left a message. That's the main reason I didn't.

Rocky Havoc had a number in Long Beach. That shouldn't surprise me. Long Beach had a pretty large lesbian population. Unfortunately, when I called the number it had been disconnected. There was a street address, and it took me a few moments to realize it was around the corner from us. 243 Lime Avenue.

As I walked through the lobby again, I said to Karen, "One of these addresses you got is right around the corner."

"It took you four days to figure that out?"

"It took me four days to look. I figured it out pretty fast."

"Tell her I said ‘hello'."

I decided to ignore that and just walked out the door. It was over eighty degrees and expected to hit ninety sometime in the afternoon. The sky was clear and there was a barely there breeze. Lime Avenue was two blocks down. When I reached it, I turned north and walked almost the whole block. Right before 3rd Street there was a small, clapboard, one-story courtyard complex made of five small buildings. It was painted light green with cream-colored trim. Between the two buildings at the front was a black iron gate that had been added at some point. It wasn't a great part of town.

The two buildings at the front were 239 and 247. That meant the other buildings had the numbers in-between. There was a call box attached to the fence. I pushed the button for 243 and waited. And waited. Nothing happened.

I could see 243 from where I stood. It was the back building. I couldn't tell if it looked lived in or not. Taking a chance, I pressed all the buttons to see if anyone in the complex was at home.

While I waited, I moved my shoulder around to loosen it up. Ronnie was right, I should go to a doctor. It had gotten worse over the years. When I was a bartender, I managed to avoid lifting cases of beer and wine whenever possible. I wasn't a dick about it, I'd tip the other bartenders if there wasn't a barback around. Lifting a single bottle of vodka was well within my abilities.

A screen door flopped, and a short, squat little woman in her late twenties came out of 245. Her hair was cropped except for a patch above her forehead, and she wore a T-shirt that said QUEER NATION. She looked at me and said, "Yeah?"

"I'm trying to find Rocky Havoc. Do you know if she's around?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"My name's Dom Reilly. I used to be a bartender at the Hawk. Now I'm looking into the murder of a lesbian in 1949. Vera Korenko. She and Rocky were friends."

I put as many bona fides into my response as possible, and still she stared at me like I was a Christian minister ready to cart her off to a conversion camp.

"She told me all about Vera. What do you want to know?"

"Well, I'd like to know where Rocky is."

"Yeah, I get that. I'm not sure I want to tell you. Do you get that?" She was jutting out her chin ready to keep fighting.

"It's coming across," I admitted. "So, you're close to Rocky? You watch out for her?"

"Everyone watches out for Rocky. You don't know who she is? You said you worked at the Hawk. You should know who she is."

"I worked there for about three years."

Doing some quick math, Rocky had to be at least in her mid-70s and was probably more like 80. That made it less likely I'd know who she was even if she was locally famous.

"Do you want to know what she told me about Vera or not?"

"Okay."

It would have been nice if she'd open the gate and at least sit on the stoop with me, but that didn't seem likely. I said, "She and Vera were friends. How close?"

"Close. Rocky's a bull dyke. I don't like that expression, but she calls herself that. To each their own, you know? Vera was femme. Rocky was crazy about her, but she wasn't Vera's type. Vera had a thing for straight girls, mostly married."

"Did she mention any straight girls in particular?"

"A lot actually. She wasn't a U-Haul kind of girl."

I smiled at that. She was referencing a joke that has made the rounds a hundred times. What does a lesbian do on a second date? Rent a U-Haul. But that wasn't Vera. She liked to get around, and she chose women who'd have trouble maintaining a relationship.

"Does she remember anything specific around the time of Vera's murder?"

She took a moment. I could tell she was having a little trouble remembering. Then, "I think she said once that she had an idea about who murdered her, but she didn't say who it was. We were probably drinking. She was a bartender at Que Sera until about five years ago."

"Okay, if she thinks she knows who killed Vera then I really do need to talk to her. She's not here now, is she?"

She didn't answer, so I took that as a no.

"Do you know why her phone's disconnected?"

"Someone forgot to pay the bill."

That was vague.

"So, what's a good time to catch her?"

"Do you have a card or something?" she said. Then added, "It's the best I'm going to do."

I wasn't happy about that. Even so, I took a business card out of my wallet – Ronnie had made it for me on his printer – and held it through the gate. She snatched it like my fingers might burn.

"I'm not going to hurt her," I said.

"You don't know what's going to hurt her." Then she turned and walked away from me. I stood there watching as she disappeared. That had been helpful and not helpful at the same time. Rocky thought she knew who might have killed Vera. That mattered.

I started walking back to The Freedom Agenda and decided I'd pick up coffee for everyone. There was a little shop right on the edge of the East Village. I stopped in and ordered two regular lattes and one vanilla soy. They gave me a little cardboard carrier, and I walked the three blocks back to the office trying to think of other ways I could get to Rocky Havoc.

It was after ten when I got back to the office. When I set Karen's coffee in front of her, she raised an eyebrow. Then I stepped around the corner so I could see if Lydia's door was still shut.

"Has she been out at all?"

"Not yet."

I looked down at the coffee I was holding and said, "Wish me luck."

"You may need it."

I knocked on Lydia's door. I heard her say yes, so I opened the door. She was dressed casually and had a very glum look on her face. Several thick legal books were open on her desk.

"I brought you a coffee."

"Thank you."

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm ruminating."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No. Legal questions. I have a few calls out."

I nodded. "I have to drive over to be in Palm Springs Thursday and Friday for the Karpinski thing."

"Really? You're getting a vacation out of that?"

"Looks like. It's actually only half them. I'm also going to stop in Riverside to talk to the journalist who wrote the first story about the Michaels murder. That piece first mentioned the idea of an engagement."

"Don't mention that to Edmund. I don't want to pay for half your trip."

"Got it."

I left her alone and went back to my area to enjoy my coffee. I tried the Markers again and didn't get an answer. I wondered if they were screening their calls. If they were twenty years younger, I'd be sure of it. But then, if they were twenty years younger they might be at work.

I thought about what Rocky's friend said about Vera liking married women. Had she liked Georgia? Did Georgia even know it? Or was she hiding something? And what about Virginia Marker? Had she been one of Vera's married girlfriends?

I ruminated for a few minutes, just like Lydia, then I called Junior and invited him to lunch.