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Authors: Douglas Perry
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classy lady like Belva Gaertner—that was something to talk about. Belva pulled a powder puff from her handbag and buffed her face, then stepped purposefully into the room. Mrs. Law was already inside and sitting.
Maurine Watkins also found a seat. She may have been the Tribune reporter on the scene last night, but she was going to have to fight to keep the story. Genevieve Forbes had been sent out to the inquest, too. Robert Lee had realized he had a potentially big story and a rookie reporter covering it. Maurine took no mind of Forbes; they didn’t sit together.
Belva, sitting with Tom Reilly and Marshall Solberg, two of the lawyers provided by her ex-husband, looked gorgeous. It was a remarkable transformation. When William was allowed to visit with her in the morning, he must have been shocked by what he saw. Belva, his beautiful Belle, seemed to have aged dramatically in the week since he’d last seen her. Her face, always so pleasantly plump, had gone slack. Those alluring, sleepy eyes that had captivated him were fogged up and rimmed in red. And yet here she was now, just a few hours later, fully restored. William, managing to think things through, had brought her a conservative outfit: a brown full-length dress, a simple black coat with a fur collar, a brown hat. He’d also brought her seven rings to choose from, but she didn’t bother making up her mind; she wore them all. With the hat and the fur collar cropping her face in a perfect box frame, with makeup expertly applied and her naturally unabashed smile back in place, she was young again, a vamp. She pulled the hat down over her forehead, the brim edging toward one brow, giving her eye a dashing glint. William Gaertner couldn’t help it: He was besotted anew. “I hope for a reconciliation just as soon as possible,” he told reporters.
The inquest, or coroner’s jury, was a pro forma proceeding that laid out the basic facts of a possible crime and served as a prelude to a grand jury. It rarely attracted much attention. But on this dreary afternoon, the benches were full of reporters and other observers. The lawyers weren’t surprised. The afternoon Daily News, which had hit the street less than an hour before, crashed the story across the entire front page in mammoth type: “One-Gun Duel Tragedy Told by Woman.” It held pride of place even over a gangland-murder story about the notorious bootlegger Dean “Dion” O’Banion, the Torrio gang’s chief rival, who was supposedly planning to surrender to police for questioning about the assassination of a fellow bootlegger. That morning, Maurine’s story in the Tribune had also gone on page one, but in a smaller slot and with a more demure—and incorrect—headline: “Mystery Victim Is Robert Law; Hold Divorcee.”
Everyone expected the follow-up stories, with the benefit of evidence from the inquest, to be juicier, and they wouldn’t be disappointed. Walter Law, the state pointed out, was younger than Belva Gaertner, a good ten years younger, which was how she liked her boyfriends. But the younger ones were getting harder and harder to come by, so she had been desperate to hold on to this one. “The motive which the state believes lies behind the case is this,” declared Assistant State’s Attorney Stanley Klarkowski. “Mrs. Gaertner had ensnared Law. He tried to break away, to stick to his wife and family. She killed him rather than lose him.”
Klarkowski walked through the details of the events that led Belva Gaertner to be in custody today. Sometime after midnight she and Walter Law, who had been seeing each other for about three months, parked near her apartment in a black Nash sedan. Belva left the car, presumably to go up to her apartment. At about one in the morning, two policemen walking their beat saw a woman open the passenger-side door and disappear into the Nash. Pausing, the cops noticed that the automobile didn’t go anywhere, but that was hardly unusual. Everyone had a
Maurine Watkins also found a seat. She may have been the Tribune reporter on the scene last night, but she was going to have to fight to keep the story. Genevieve Forbes had been sent out to the inquest, too. Robert Lee had realized he had a potentially big story and a rookie reporter covering it. Maurine took no mind of Forbes; they didn’t sit together.
Belva, sitting with Tom Reilly and Marshall Solberg, two of the lawyers provided by her ex-husband, looked gorgeous. It was a remarkable transformation. When William was allowed to visit with her in the morning, he must have been shocked by what he saw. Belva, his beautiful Belle, seemed to have aged dramatically in the week since he’d last seen her. Her face, always so pleasantly plump, had gone slack. Those alluring, sleepy eyes that had captivated him were fogged up and rimmed in red. And yet here she was now, just a few hours later, fully restored. William, managing to think things through, had brought her a conservative outfit: a brown full-length dress, a simple black coat with a fur collar, a brown hat. He’d also brought her seven rings to choose from, but she didn’t bother making up her mind; she wore them all. With the hat and the fur collar cropping her face in a perfect box frame, with makeup expertly applied and her naturally unabashed smile back in place, she was young again, a vamp. She pulled the hat down over her forehead, the brim edging toward one brow, giving her eye a dashing glint. William Gaertner couldn’t help it: He was besotted anew. “I hope for a reconciliation just as soon as possible,” he told reporters.
The inquest, or coroner’s jury, was a pro forma proceeding that laid out the basic facts of a possible crime and served as a prelude to a grand jury. It rarely attracted much attention. But on this dreary afternoon, the benches were full of reporters and other observers. The lawyers weren’t surprised. The afternoon Daily News, which had hit the street less than an hour before, crashed the story across the entire front page in mammoth type: “One-Gun Duel Tragedy Told by Woman.” It held pride of place even over a gangland-murder story about the notorious bootlegger Dean “Dion” O’Banion, the Torrio gang’s chief rival, who was supposedly planning to surrender to police for questioning about the assassination of a fellow bootlegger. That morning, Maurine’s story in the Tribune had also gone on page one, but in a smaller slot and with a more demure—and incorrect—headline: “Mystery Victim Is Robert Law; Hold Divorcee.”
Everyone expected the follow-up stories, with the benefit of evidence from the inquest, to be juicier, and they wouldn’t be disappointed. Walter Law, the state pointed out, was younger than Belva Gaertner, a good ten years younger, which was how she liked her boyfriends. But the younger ones were getting harder and harder to come by, so she had been desperate to hold on to this one. “The motive which the state believes lies behind the case is this,” declared Assistant State’s Attorney Stanley Klarkowski. “Mrs. Gaertner had ensnared Law. He tried to break away, to stick to his wife and family. She killed him rather than lose him.”
Klarkowski walked through the details of the events that led Belva Gaertner to be in custody today. Sometime after midnight she and Walter Law, who had been seeing each other for about three months, parked near her apartment in a black Nash sedan. Belva left the car, presumably to go up to her apartment. At about one in the morning, two policemen walking their beat saw a woman open the passenger-side door and disappear into the Nash. Pausing, the cops noticed that the automobile didn’t go anywhere, but that was hardly unusual. Everyone had a
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