Murder Plays a Sour Note

It's New Year's Eve at the Pitz, the city's most famous (or is it infamous?) supper club. The usual mix of customers, some noteworthy and some notorious, decorate the tables that surround the crowded dance floor.

Everyone in the gregarious group of rarified revelers hoists a glass of champagne and readies their noise makers preparing to celebrate the arrival of the year 1955.

As the clock strikes midnight, Lou Gumbardo and his band, The Loyal Geraniums, begin the familiar strains of Auld Lang Syne. The moment has arrived - a new year that promises to continue the post-war boom of the Eisenhower administration.

Suddenly, without warning, the club is in darkness and, amid the rumbling of the assembled guests, three shots ring out. When the lights come on again, it's deadly obvious that the darkened room provided a killer with the opportunity to put a strategic bullet hole into a surprised victim.

Someone had dictated the dastardly demise of an individual whose brief glimpse of the new year proved to be a fatal attraction.

​