From the gem-studded pinkie ring that spelled out his initials to his well-cut cashmere coats, Edwin J. Bray looked the way a private investigator is supposed to look, if life were a Mickey Spillane novel.
Raised in an orphanage and a veteran of World War II’s Battle of the Bulge, Mr. Bray could play it tough if he had to, colleagues said. But most of the time, it was his gift of gab that cracked the case, a smooth and friendly interrogation style that coaxed truth out of the most reluctant subjects.
Mr. Bray, 82, died on Wednesday, Oct. 17, of cancer at his Las Vegas home, said his wife, Sybil. The couple had retired to Las Vegas in 2001, having previously lived in Arlington Heights.
After several years as a patrol officer and detective with the Chicago police, Mr. Bray struck out on his own as an investigator in the 1960s, his wife said. Edwin Bray & Associates had several offices but for many years was located in Lincolnwood.
The firm specialized in probes of corporate chicanery – employee theft, stolen trade secrets and the like, said Steven Kirby of Edward R. Kirby & Associates in Elmhurst, who worked with Mr. Bray on occasion.
“He was definitely old-school,” Kirby said. “Now the business is all databases and technology. Back then it was about relationships and moxie, and Ed had a ton of moxie.”
A few inches north of 6 feet and in the neighborhood of 220 pounds, Mr. Bray could be an intimidating figure, said Joseph Paolella, another former colleague.
“If you were on the other side, you didn’t want to mess with him,” Paolella said.
For the most part, however, Mr. Bray relied on charm rather than brawn.
“He could talk to anybody, from a convict to the president of a company,” Paolella said. “He always gave the impression that nobody, no matter how high up they were, he was just as high.”
“Give them the razzmatazz,” is how Mr. Bray would describe his methods.
His ability to gain the confidence of others came to the fore on a case – a “caper,” in Mr. Bray’s lexicon – involving the wayward husband of a North Shore woman. The man ran a scuba diving school and his wife suspected him of dallying with students while on class trips south of the border.
Mr. Bray and Paolella made their way to Cozumel and ingratiated themselves to the suspect so well, the suspect invited them to join in on one of his illicit sex romps, Paolella said. They declined, and when the unwitting Lothario returned to Chicago, Mr. Bray and Paolella were at the airport to hand him a subpoena.
Although he drove around town in a well-polished Cadillac and often conducted business in upscale boites like the Pump Room or the old Millionaires’ Clubs, Mr. Bray’s hardscrabble upbringing allowed him to truly empathize with the hard-luck subjects of his investigations, Kirby said.
“When he said he understood what some blue-collar guy was going through, he did understand it,” Kirby said.
His mother died when he was 5 and his father took off for parts unknown, leaving. Mr. Bray grew up and went to school at Maryville in Des Plaines. At 16, he went to working on a loading dock, enlisting in the Army two years later, his wife said.
He served in the Third Army, led by General George Patton, and fought in the Battle of the Bulge, his wife said.
After the war he worked in sales before starting with the Police Department. A brief first marriage ended in divorce before his marriage to the former Sybil Sharp 48 years ago.
Mr. Bray retired from private detective work in 1995. He wrote poetry in his spare time, including “Taps,” a remembrance of his wartime colleagues.
Kirby visited him in Las Vegas a few weeks ago. Weakened by illness, Mr. Bray grabbed onto the younger man to get into a sitting position.
“Don’t worry kid,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I’m not checking you for a piece.”
“He was just a classic old-timer, a tough guy with a heart of gold,” Kirby said.
Mr. Bray is also survived by two sons, Brian and Kevin; three daughters, Sandra Klosky, Debra Scalzo and Patricia Merwin; a sister, Virginia Oldham; four grandchildren; and two great-grandchildren.
Services are being planned.
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ttjensen@tribune.com
