I threw on my coat and went out to brush the snow off my Edsel and head downtown to Lake Michigan and the Pfister Hotel not knowing exactly what was happening. Two murders in two days in Milwaukee? Must be something in the water.
It started to rain and then snow and then rain and snow, or sleet as Wisconsinites call it.
By the time I pulled onto state Highway 18, it had turned into a light mist; not enough to require the windshield wipers to go all the time. So I had to turn them on and off which only caused the light film of dirt that had accumulated on my windshield to turn to mud and smear as the wipers passed over it making it difficult to see. I kept my defroster running full blast to keep the mist on my windshield from freezing into a brown muddy film of ice. I hate Wisconsin winters and it isn’t winter yet.
Police cars were parked all around the hotel. I pulled my Edsel in behind a black and white and threw my press card on the dash. I opened the door and ran across the front steps and into the lobby of the Pfister. The press card didn’t mean much. Most times the cars with the press cards were the first to be towed. Since it was a new Edsel, I figured the boys in blue would admire it instead, while drinking their coffee and eating donuts.
The Pfister Hotel is located three blocks from the shores of Lake Michigan. It was built in 1893 and billed as The Grand Hotel of the West. It’s been the premier joint in downtown Milwaukee ever since.
It started to get a little shabby beginning in the early 1950s before being purchased by a guy named Ben Marcus who said he would bring it back to its glory years.
I have to admit it’s looking nice but I won’t go near the place. People have claimed to have heard and seen strange things, such as pounding behind the headboard of their bed, to seeing apparitions of the hotel’s founder, Charles Pfister, walking down the halls; and, if you want to believe all of the stories, some goats and dogs walking around as well. I think the goats were seen by some Arabs and my friend Allen Dupont.
I saw a uniform standing by the elevator turning people away. I recognized him as Sergeant Jimmy Sadowski from the Ninth Precinct. He knows Harry and I go back many years and he usually allows me to get into restricted areas others are banned from. Today, I knew Harry told him to let me pass.
“Hiya, Sarge,” I say as I approach him with my right hand extended for a friendly handshake. He grasps it and nods at me, taking the ten spot I have hidden there.
Even though today I don’t need to make the bribe, I figure it never hurts to make one of Milwaukee’s finest feel a little better whenever the opportunity arises.
“Sixth floor, Max. Lt. Marshall and Detective Menjou are up there sniffin’ around. They’ll be happy to see ya’.”
“I bet they will. Thanks, Sarge.” I pushed six and the door of the gilded cage closed behind me. I looked up at the intricately designed ceiling as the elevator groaned and moaned, taking me up to the sixth floor, where I entered the scene of another killing. The first thing that came to mind was, ghosts or goats?
When I arrived, Harry and Paulie were standing in the far corner of the room looking at a body lying on the floor next to a large ornately carved bed. I started to look around when a uniform grabbed my arm.
“Careful there, chum. Don’t touch nothin’. We ain’t had a chance to dust everything yet.”
“Sorry. Chum? That’s