"He kept the gaming receipts in here along with his private files. By the time we got a search warrant, he'd cleaned everything out."
Cody, as prime suspect, had what amounted to a perfect alibi: at the exact time of the Flamingo shootings, he was lunching at the Downtown Athletic Club with a municipal judge. Mace wasn't surprised. In his view, the alibi only served to confirm Cody's involvement.
"It was too pat, like he went to a lot of trouble to make sure his actions were accounted for that afternoon. That told me he'd ordered the hit, which from an investigative point of view was happy news. When whoever killed those people was picked up, he'd have something valuable to trade. And hitmen eventually are picked up, or else they boast to a pal or girlfriend. Then the pal develops a conscience or the girlfriend gets dumped, he/she's got a way to get payback."
Cody's old living quarters are down the hall, with a one-way glass viewing window set into the floor so he could observe the action in the gaming room.
"This is where they fucked," Mace tells me. "The bed was over there."
He gazes almost wistfully at the empty space as if imagining Jack and Barbara making love. Watching him, I wonder if he felt a little in love with her back when he was actively working the case.
"Did she spend nights here?" I ask, wondering too whether I'm starting to fall a little in love with her myself.
Mace shakes his head. "She always went home. She had live-in help, but even years after the kidnapping she was afraid for her sons. Two or three times a week she'd drop in here for lunch, then she and Cody'd come up here and screw. But she'd always leave in time to meet her boys when they got home from school."
"That final summer, when the boys were away at camp, she started meeting Cody here every night. That gave her free time in the afternoons to hook up with Jessup. Everyone knew she was sleeping with Cody, but no one knew about Jessup. To keep it that way, keep Cody and her ex from finding out, they'd meet secretly at that crummy motel. Except she wasn't so secretive. She drove a Jag. People spotted her turning into the motel lot. Still boggles my mind -she had such a tremendous amount to lose and still she risked it."
We ascend the main stairs, exit the house, then circle round back to look at the gardens. Mace tells me that all the trees near the house were strung with lights, creating a magical effect outside the club window at night.
"I've been waiting years for someone to come forward, say he knew who did the Flamingo hit on Cody's orders. But no one has. Maybe they figured once Jack was dead there was nothing to be gained."
Mace describes how less than a year after the Flamingo killings, Cody was ambushed.
"He was in his Cadillac, sitting beside his driver the way he liked to do, when they stopped at a traffic light at the corner of Joslin and Tremaine. Suddenly two gloved and helmeted motorcyclists pulled up on either side, drew pistols, and blasted the driver and Cody at the same time. Then the shooter nearest Cody pulled open the door and shot him twice in the head. It was all over in a couple of seconds. Both shooters dropped their weapons, then peeled off in opposite directions."
"Did this have anything to do with Flamingo?"
"Not as far as we know. Cody was connected with the Torrance Hill mob, then there was a falling out. We thought it had to do with the big stickup happened out here. Quite an event. One Saturday night, just after the midnight floor show, eight guys with submachine guns, wearing fatigues and stocking masks, came in through the kitchen door, rounded up the staff, pushed them into the Cub Room, shot up the ceiling to get attention, announced a stickup, and demanded jewelry and wallets. Three of them went around collecting valuables while two escorted Cody upstairs, where they forced him to open his safe and hand over the weekend receipts. It was scary and also exciting. A couple of the more clever ladies had the presence of mind to hide their rings by dropping them into there coffees. One guy dumped his watch into a pitcher of cream. Later everyone spoke with admiration of how well Cody handled himself. Even though he was cleaned out, he never lost control. Next morning it was all over the papers: GAMING CLUB HEIST. Everyone was talking about it: ‘D’you hear what happened out at The Elms?’ ‘Wow, isn't that wild!’ Contrary to what you'd expect, it added another layer of glamour to the place. Among Cody's regulars, it was prestigious to have been here. People who were nowhere near at the time went around claiming they were among the robbed. Meantime, Cody told some of his friends he knew who'd done the job and promised he'd get even."
We mount the terrace that runs along the length of the gaming room.
"The robbers came in through there," Mace says, gesturing toward a field below the gardens. "They avoided Cody's security guys by crossing the adjacent property, then approaching from the rear. It was a slick operation, showed intimate knowledge of The Elms, which is why some, me included, thought it was Cody staged it."
"Later when he was assassinated, I changed my mind. Then it looked more and more like a chill off, a bunch of out-of-town guys, maybe the Purple Gang from Detroit acting for the Torrance Hill mob, brought in to send Cody a message. They wanted a bigger slice of the action. Cody refused, so they sent in some muscle to show what they could do. A classic move, what they used to call ‘dressing down the joint,’ ‘giving the joint a shake.’ Afterwards Cody confronted them, there were hard feelings, and a few months later they had him killed."
As we walk back up the drive, I tell him what bothers me about his theory that Cody ordered the Flamingo killings.
"Seems like there's a big difference," I tell him, "between ripping up your girlfriend's face with a broken bottle and ordering your mistress and her lover killed. One's a hot, angry act that has to do with punishment. The other's totally cold-blooded."
Mace shrugs. "Depends on how you size the guy up. I saw him as a sociopath subject to flashes of rage but also cold and cruel. So, see, for me it can work either way. Also, who else had a motive?"
"Andrew Fulraine?"
"He wanted his kids back and was looking for evidence to get custody, but he was in New York at the time and wouldn't have had the slightest idea how to hire a hitman. Bottom line – he didn't have the heart. He was too fancy and wimpy. When he heard what happened, he burst into tears."
"What about her other lovers?"
"We checked them out. Cody and Jessup were the only current ones. Far as we could tell all the old ones had cooled off."
"What about someone you didn't know about?"
"You mean like someone who'd been spurned. Look, we did a thorough investigation. Since we suspected Cody from the start, we made a point of looking deep to eliminate everybody else. When a couple's killed like that, shot to pieces in their love nest, the motive's almost certain to be sexual jealousy. Jessup wasn't involved with anybody. He was new in town, been here less than a year, barely knew anyone outside his colleagues at the Hayes School. Barbara Fulraine had had a string of lovers, but she was a classy lady who ended her affairs in a classy way. Several were visibly upset when they heard the news. All seemed genuinely sad. We looked at Cody's old flames but couldn't find one who cared. Couple of them made it clear they weren't even sorry. Cody was the only one who refused to talk with us. He referred us to his lawyer, who told us to arrest him or buzz off. So if there was someone else, we didn't find him. And, God knows, we looked."
Back at the ruined gates, there's a quiet moment as Mace and I get ready to part. He looks me in the eye in the manner of a seasoned cop.
"Those drawings you did of the Zigzag Killer," he says, "they were knockouts. Law enforcement folks give you great references. After you called I checked you out, wanted to know who you were before I agreed to meet."