The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 2: A Rude Awakening

Max Niemand awoke with a start. The front doorbell was buzzing like an angry bee. He rolled over to his left, switched on the bedside table lamp. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. According to his alarm clock, it was just after six in the morning.

“Oh hell,” he said as he swung his legs out of bed. Max had spent the previous evening with his pals at Otto’s tavern, and he had planned on sleeping late. Muttering imprecations, half-naked and shivering in the early morning chill, Max shambled out of the bedroom and up a dark hallway in the direction of the persistent buzz. Near the front doorway he stopped, turned on a light switch and pressed a button next to a speaking tube. “This had better be good,” he growled.

“It’s Mike and Mueller,” a familiar voice answered. “We want to talk to you, Max. It’s important.”

“At this hour, it had better be damned important; give me a minute.” Max returned to the bedroom and grabbed a bathrobe, trousers and slippers from a closet. He dressed quickly. Now presentable, he returned to the front hallway and pressed a button that opened the downstairs door. He stepped out of the apartment onto the third-floor hallway landing where he waited for his unwelcome guests.

Sergeant Mike Sugrue’s rock-solid six-foot-six bulk appeared first, coming up the stairs, followed by his squat bulldog of a boss, Lieutenant Mueller, chomping on his customary stogie.

Max greeted the detectives with a singular lack of enthusiasm: “Come on in, boys.” He led the two officers into his apartment.

“How do you guys like your coffee?” Max asked as he made a beeline for the small kitchen.

“Uh... we’d rather talk first, Max,” said Sugrue.

Max looked back over his shoulder. “I ain’t saying a word until I’ve had my cup of java. Now, you guys can make yourselves comfortable and join me, or blow.”

“Peg Rooney’s dead,” Mueller said, his stogie shifting around in his mouth. “We fished her out of the river early this morning.”

The news got Max’s attention, but it did not surprise him. Peg had gone down fast, after his attempts to get her back on her feet had failed. He turned around, walked back toward Mueller and stopped a few feet from the Lieutenant. “How did it happen?”

“That’s what we’d like to know. We thought you might help,” Sugrue said.

“Yeah, Niemand,” said Mueller. “After all, everyone knows Peg was—”

“Everyone knows nothing,” Max broke in. “I haven’t seen Peg in almost a year. You’d get more from Sharkey and Harry Schmidt.”

“So, you haven’t seen her in almost a year, but you know about Sharkey and Schmidt?” Mueller squinted suspiciously and removed the stogie from his mouth.

“I didn’t have to see her to know how she fit into their racket. And I suspect you guys know more about that racket than I do.”

Mueller’s face reddened at the implication they were in on the take, which they were, but Big Mike intervened: “Now, Max, don’t be like that. Remember, you were one of us, and not that long ago, too. We’re just doing our job. Peg was your girl, after all, and we figured you’d want to help us find out what happened to her.”

“Yeah, she was my girl. But that’s all in the past. Anyways, I’ll help, if I can. Now I need that coffee. You guys want to join me?”

“Sure,” Mueller grunted. “I like mine black, with sugar.”

“I take mine with a little milk, no sugar,” said Mike.

Max fixed the coffee and then returned to the living room with three steaming mugs on a tray. They drank the warm brew and furtively eyed one another until Mueller broke the silence: “So, Niemand, where were you around one this morning?”

Max looked up at Mueller and said, “In bed, where I ought to be right now.”

“Any witnesses?” Mueller asked.

“Yeah. Rosie Palm and her five daughters.”

“Don’t crack wise with me, shamus,” Mueller growled.

Max put down his cup, got up and walked toward Mueller. “What is this? Are you guys trying to roust me like some punk on the street?”

Mueller rose to confront Max. Big Mike got between them. “Calm down, Max. Like I said before, we’re just doing our job.”

“Yeah, and a swell job at that.” Max grinned. “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll help you investigate.”

A tense silence. Then Mueller spoke: “All right, Niemand; if you’ll cooperate.”

“I said I’d help your investigation,” Max replied.

“Your help and cooperation ain’t always the same thing,” Mueller said.

Max backed off a couple of paces and Mike stepped aside.

“Max is on the level,” Mike said to his partner.

“OK, Niemand. I’ll tell you what we know, and then you talk.” Mueller squinted and started chewing on another stogie.

“Fair enough,” Max said.

Mueller began his narrative. “Around one-thirty this morning, a beat cop got a report from a deckhand on the Lady of the Lake, a freighter docked near the Rush Street bridge. The guy said he saw what looked like a body go over the pedestrian railing and into the drink. The cop called in from his box, and then searched the area around the dockside. He spotted a body floating face down near the wharf pilings. He made another call, and we came with a crew to fish her out of the river.”

“Did you search the bridge?” Max asked.

“Of course,” Mueller replied.

“Find anything?”

“Yeah, a woman’s purse containing a few bucks and change, a handkerchief, cheap perfume, cosmetics, and an Iver Johnson .32. The revolver was loaded but looks like it hadn’t been fired lately.”

“Doesn’t sound like a robbery,” Max said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Mueller replied.

“Who identified Peg?”

“Monahan, the beat cop. Peg was well-known around the docks.”

Max paused a moment to consider the situation. Then: “So, what do you guys think?”

Mueller glanced at Mike, then turned back to Max. “An accident’s unlikely, although if she was drunk, I suppose she could have leaned over the railing and then took a tumble. Can’t rule it out. Murder’s a possibility, but we have no suspects, so far. I’m thinking suicide, but that’s up to the coroner. Anyways, she’s in the morgue, and we might know more after the autopsy.”

“Any witnesses, besides the deckhand?”

“He’s the only one who saw her go into the drink, but we’ve just started the investigation. Others might turn up. We’ve got a farmer in custody, a Dutchman from South Holland. Picked up early this morning in the vicinity of the bridge, wandering around in a daze. Started out as a routine drunk and disorderly, but he’s got a big lump on the back of his head. Claims he was jackrolled. We questioned him. He says he was at Sharkey’s with a girl who matches Peg’s description. Says she took him for a walk down the alley behind the saloon. Then he felt a thump on the back of his head and was out cold. Doesn’t remember anything after that... or so he says.”

“Well, that is Schmidt’s M.O.,” Max said with a wry grin.

“You sure of that?” Muller replied flatly.

Max let the comment pass. “You got the name of the deckhand and the Dutchman?”

“Of course.”

“You want to share?”

Muller lit his stogie and took a couple of puffs before answering. “Maybe. First, you tell us about Peg.”

“All right. Just remember, I haven’t seen or heard from her in almost a year. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you break up with her?”

“She developed bad habits, and bad friends to go along with the habits.”

“What sort of habits? What sort of friends?”

“Too much booze, and coke. As for the friends, Harry Schmidt and his gang, and Pete Sharkey.”

Mueller winced at the mention of the names. “Yeah, we know what you think of those guys. Any other reasons?”

“Ain’t that enough?”

“Maybe.” Muller dropped his stogie in a nearby ashtray. He looked Max straight in the eye. “You know anyone who’d want to harm Peg?”

“No, but I’d start with her friends, and their marks.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Mueller muttered. “I’ve heard you and Peg had fights, especially before you broke up.”

“No worse than you’ve had with your old lady.”

“Leave my wife out of this, Niemand.” The bulldog face turned another shade of red.

“OK,” Max said calmly before taking another sip of coffee. Then he added, “Not that I mind this friendly chat, but don’t you guys have better things to do with your time?”

Muller looked at Mike. Mike shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head as if to say, “I guess we do.”

“All right, Niemand. But we might want to talk to you again,” Mueller said.

“Fair enough. Now how about giving me those names.”

“I suppose you’re going to investigate?”

“That’s the idea.”

“You promise to cooperate with our investigation?” Mueller’s eyes narrowed to a porcine squint.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Max said while performing the gesture.

“OK. The deckhand’s Bob O’Neill. The Dutchman’s Jan Meijer. Meijer’s still in custody.”

“When will he be released?”

“As soon as his wife comes to bail him out of the drunk tank.”

“So, in Peg’s case, he’s still just a witness, not a suspect?”

“That’s right. We got nothing more to hold him on, at least not yet.”

Max looked from Mike to Mueller and back. “Is he going to file a complaint for the jackrolling?”

“That’s up to him, ain’t it?” Mueller’s face screwed up in an ugly grin.

“All right,” Max said. “Now if you guys don’t mind, since I’m fully awake, I’d like to get dressed and go down to the office.”

“Fine with me, Max,” Mike said and glanced at his boss.

“Sure, go ahead. We got other business to attend to,” Mueller said. “But you will let us know if you turn up something we can use?”

Max nodded in the affirmative and said, “Right.” Then he followed the detectives to the door and locked it up. No use trying to get more sleep. He grabbed a bottle of whisky and a shot glass from his liquor cabinet, eased back in an armchair, and thought about Peg. He remembered the good times when she was clean and reasonably sober: walks along the lake shore; picnics in the suburbs; dining at Henrici’s; nights at the theater and opera.

“Why, Peg?” he sighed. Max downed his shot, then set the glass on an end table. He stared into space. After a moment, he saw her ghost beckoning him, as though the spirit were about to reveal the secret of her untimely death.

Max grinned. “This ain’t Shakespeare. Spooks don’t solve murder cases.” The vision faded and disappeared. He headed to the bathroom to wash and shave.

Proceed to Chapter 3

Copyright © 2018 by Gary Inbinder