Ed McBaines 87th Precinct Mystery Magazine. Volume 1, No. 4. April, 1975

The Mannequin Murder by Irwin Porges

The girl, like one yanked abruptly from the darkness of a dream into the glare of electric lights, found herself blinded and confused. For a moment she was in a world of floating colors; then, awareness returning, she discovered the cement under her feet and the stretch of sidewalk about her. The brilliant square of light came from a huge window. Her eyes focusing, she stared and saw the figures take shape. Of course — a department store window, and these were dummies, mannequins, posed in some kind of scene. But she couldn’t recall how she had gotten here.

She gazed about, seeing the grayness at the edge of the light and the blackness beyond. It was late, very late, she felt. Her mind groped for the place and the events. She was in the downtown area, alone, not a soul in view, not even the sound of a footstep. The deep gloom beyond the patch of light brought a sudden touch of fear. She shivered. She turned to the shining window, moving nearer to its bright safety. The scene itself was homey and comforting. She looked at a living room, the furniture and carpets in vivid colors. A man and woman, both gray-haired, sat on a divan, while nearby, a younger woman sat in a club chair. They all seemed poised in listening attitudes. The girl noted the grand piano set to one side and the man who occupied the bench, his hands raised stiffly above the keys.

There was something wrong, some jarring note in the pleasant scene. The man’s mouth strained open, as though to cry out, and his face was oddly contorted. Behind him, emerging from the drapery, an arm slowly descended. The girl stared at the gleam of the silver knife. But she was quickly reassured. The arm moved mechanically, operated by some electrical device. Even now it was rising again, fingers wrapped about the knife. Curious though, how careless somebody had been. The knife would strike wide of its mark — that was obvious. The mannequin was placed on the bench in the wrong position.

Her eyes were drawn again to the pianist’s face with its expression of agony. The red moistness on the forehead was puzzling. Why there? She stared as it trickled down one side. The pianist tilted forward; she could have sworn that he moved. Then he fell face down onto the keys. There was a discordant crash of notes. She cried out. A voice sounded in her ear, and her heart jumped. “Why did he do that, lady? Why?”

She swung around in terror. The liquor breath was overpowering. A bum, a wino, the kind that always roamed the downtown area. A dirty, shaky old man who leaned toward her and appeared menacing. “Lady, please, could you give me some money. I need...”

“Stay away from me,” she said. He moved and she turned to run blindly down the street, out of the brightness of the store into narrow dark lanes that seemed like alleys. After a while she panted, slowed, caught her breath and stopped. She peered about the unlit street in despair. Memories of a car came to her — a car parked somewhere. She heard rustling, scraping noises and ran again down one black street after another. Exhausted, she grew calmer and noticed a pattern of lights in the distance. Soon, she came out on a broad boulevard. Cars passed, some slowly while men called out to her. She stood at the curb, waving frantically at cabs until one stopped.

She tugged the door open and climbed in. As she talked incoherently the cabbie, with the boredom and annoyance of one who has heard everything, interrupted: “Look, do you want to go someplace? I don’t know anything about bodies and store windows.”

“Take me to a police station,” she said. “The nearest one.”

“Police station? Well, if that’s what you want.”

The ride was short, and when she got out, she remembered and gazed helplessly about. “My bag — is it in the cab?”

The man gave her a sour look and turned to search the cab. “No bag, lady,” he announced.

“I guess I lost it,” she said. “I can’t pay you now.”

“Another one of those,” he said in disgust, following her into the station.

The desk sergeant listened for a moment and then raised a hand. “Let’s take things in order. Your name, please.”

“Howard — Charlene Howard.” She faced the cabbie. “I work downtown. I have an apartment. I wouldn’t cheat anybody.”

“Sure, sure,” said the man. “But when do I get my money?”

The sergeant growled. “Hold it. We’ll get to that later. Now, about this bleeding man.”

She told the story, conscious of the disbelief in the sergeant’s gaze. “In the store window?” he said. “That would be Leland’s. Oh, I see.” He sat back and grinned. “I guess it’s scared lots of people. We’ve had complaints about it. Just a display advertising a crime novel, the one that’s a big seller. Did you see the book covers in the window?”

“Of course it was a display. Anybody would know that.” She swallowed her irritation. “But I’ve told you. On the piano bench — it was not a dummy. I saw a man.” She shuddered. “His eyes... I think he was dead.”

The sergeant was studying her. “It’s late,” he said. “About one a.m. You’ve been out, right? Maybe you had one too many... or...”

“I haven’t been drinking. Or anything else.” The moment after she said it she felt confused and bewildered. The sidewalk and store wavered before her. She remembered — they had appeared suddenly, as though she had just awakened from a dream. Both her mind and vision were fogged. She struggled to force some clue out of the blankness, to find some memory of the night. Had she been drinking? How else to account for the dizziness?

“Miss.” The sergeant had been talking. His voice came from far away. “Are you all right? Maybe you’d better sit down.”

Broken details of the night were returning. First there was a bright room, with twirling, flashing colors. Then she was in an enormous gloomy place and around her mocking faces appeared... one man... or was it two?... and a woman. She stared at the sergeant and at the cabbie, aware of the derision in his eyes. “All right,” she cried. “You don’t believe me. A man may be injured or dead. Why don’t you send a policeman to the store? That would settle matters, wouldn’t it?”

The sergeant nodded. “Exactly what I was planning.” He had lifted a phone and given an order. The policeman who entered was introduced as Officer Foster. She gave her office address to the cabbie, promised to pay him extra for his trouble.

In the car she felt the officer’s quick, curious glances. “At Leland’s,” he finally said. “You think there’s something wrong there.”

“Yes, I do.” She sounded defiant.

“People have been upset over the display,” he said. “The mayor was even annoyed. He asked the store to remove it — or at least get rid of that moving knife.”

As they parked and walked toward the glowing window, a couple appeared from a side street. Several men and another woman came from the opposite direction. Strange, she noted, how ail these people showed up now and at this time of the night. When she needed help, she thought bitterly, she could find nobody.

She stood close to the window, hearing the officer’s voice over her shoulder. “What was it you — uh — saw? A bleeding man?”

She stared, incredulous. The scene was changed, different. The piano bench — it didn’t seem possible. The mannequin was a woman. She sat there, a smile on her face, her fingers curled above the keys. Behind her, from the drapery, the arm still moved, rising with its knife to plunge downward toward her back. She turned to the officer. “The man — he was on the bench. What happened to him?” She examined the rest of the scene. The older couple occupied the divan and a woman was in the club chair. She saw the flashy book covers arranged in a row with a sign in front of them. Meeting the officer’s gaze, she felt foolish and ashamed. “There was a man,” she announced. “And I watched him fall forward onto the keys.” A dozen people had gathered around and were gaping at her; it was almost as though she were defending herself before an audience.

“I don’t know if you’ve read the book,” the officer said. “It’s actually a woman at the piano. She’s the one who’s murdered.” He added hastily, “In the story, that is.”

They returned to the car, the officer attempting to be sympathetic. “Don’t let it bother you,” he said. “The imagination can play tricks, especially late at night. And with a scary scene, like the one in the window — well.” She remained silent, speaking only to thank him when he accompanied her to the door of her apartment.

Through the darkness that enclosed her, Charlene could catch the faint gleam of a light far ahead. She was in an enormous room that stretched forward and upward beyond her vision. She walked hesitantly, afraid of falling, one arm reaching out into the gloom. She neared the light and could detect shapes, odd, rigid figures with blank faces. A whirring sound drew her attention. The escalator was moving, sliding downward from high above. Her eyes were pulled unwillingly to the top. She waited, gripped by fear, as the shining metal descended. There was nothing, they were empty stairs. Why was she afraid? Then a figure appeared on high, began its descent. It lurched downward, seated askew on the metal. Midway, it grinned at her, and at the bottom it tumbled to sprawl at her feet. She shrank back. Another figure was journeying down. Dummies, she thought, no cause for terror. The escalator moved faster. The figure, its head abnormally large, seemed to soar toward her. The eyes were glazed and blood seeped in a thick stream from the forehead. She screamed.

Charlene, awake, blinked at the sunshine. It was morning and the nightmare at once thinned and began to vanish in the light of reality. She slid to the edge of the bed and sat up, trying to overcome the odd, foggy sensation that gripped her. The sound of a bell echoed in her ears several times before she realized that the phone was ringing. The voice at the other end was unfamiliar.

“It’s Dana — Dana Hoffman. Don’t you remember? We used to go to high school together. We met at the party last night, recognized each other at once.” Dana was chuckling. “Lord, I don’t know what happened to you. Have you looked for your car this morning?”

She had no recollection of the girl, but vague memories of the party began to return. She put down the phone and walked to the window to gaze at the car port. The empty slot gaped before her. Her heart sank. The car was gone.

“My... my car,” she stuttered over the phone.

“You left it at the party. I’m sure it’s O.K. You don’t remember anything, do you? Wowie, what did you drink?” While Charlene mumbled, Dana went on, “Look, I’d like to come over. I’ve been worried about you. Just for a little while, all right?” Charlene had hardly murmured agreement before the girl hung up.

When the bell rang and Charlene opened the door, she stared at the tall, slim girl. The two seemed like foils, Charlene’s light brown hair and creamy complexion contrasted by Dana’s olive skin and glowing black hair.

“Of course,” said Charlene. “You are Dana — you haven’t changed at all in six years.”

“But you don’t remember the party, right?” Dana squeezed her arm. “Just touching you to see if you’re safe and sound.”

“I’m beginning to.” Charlene nodded. The happenings of the night were taking shape. She groped for the missing pieces of the puzzle.

“Well,” said Dana, sitting at the breakfast table. “How many drinks did you have?”

“Only two.” Charlene reflected. “But they were something crazy... called Devil’s Dew. I never tasted anything like it.”

“Where did you go — that’s the question. One minute I saw you and the next, you were gone. Aren’t you going to tell me?”

Charlene hesitated. “First I want to hear about the party. I can’t seem to recall much of it.”

Dana stared. “You’re actually serious. You don’t remember all that stupid business, a ‘Sojourn with Satan’, the corny psychedelic lights — that stuff was out of style five years ago — and the guys that were nothing, the kind you wouldn’t date unless you were desperate.”

“The guys. Who was I with?”

“Who weren’t you with. Boy, you were popular.”

Charlene tried to summon the floating faces. “I seem to remember a fellow... kind of wobbly... I guess he was half-drunk... talked in a loud voice. Attached himself to me. Did you see him?”

“What a description. That could be anybody. Most of them were stoned.” Dana twisted impatiently. “Are you going to tell me where you went? When I couldn’t find you, and I saw your car, I was thinking of calling the police.”

The picture was getting clearer. “I was feeling funny, kind of sick. I went outside to get air. I think that fellow was there. And some other people... I don’t know... another fellow... or a girl? I’m not sure. Anyhow, I got into a car with them and we drove someplace.”

“Someplace? What are you talking about?”

“You won’t believe it when I tell you. Things are coming back to me.” Charlene paused, probing at the gaps in her memory. “We drove downtown and parked. Then we went to a big department store — Leland’s. And get this — we were inside the store.”

Dana was incredulous. “At that time of the night? You must have dreamt it. You know the store would be closed.”

Charlene threw up her hands. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself — the drinks or a crazy dream. But it’s too real. How can I be imagining? I see the inside of the store, a huge dimly lit room. There was a lot of noise and laughing. Something wild was going on.” Part of the scene returned. “Of course... they were fooling around with the dummies. But then...” She felt a sudden chill. “I got frightened. And suddenly, I was outside the store. It isn’t clear.” She told Dana about the store window and the man on the piano bench.

“You idiot.” Dana began to laugh. “It’s all in your mind. You mean you don’t remember? At the party there was a big poster on the wall. You were looking right at it. A copy of a Dali painting or some weird scene. Doesn’t it come back? A man with three eyes, an extra mouth and blood dripping down his face?”

Charlene stared. “I seem to recall a poster.”

“Of course.” Dana patted her, grinning. “Take my advice. Give up liquor. Two drinks, colored lights, and what do you do? You climb into anybody’s car, dream up a wild trip, and then—” Dana was all disbelief. “A department store at midnight? Come on, now. Just imagination gone berserk.”

“No.” Charlene was firm. “That was not dreamt up. I know I was there.”

At the Great American Insurance Company, Charlene, as a secretary to Mr. Hunt, worked in the middle of an expanse of desks and partitioned offices that covered an entire floor of a downtown building. Any suspicion that the department store may have been a dream was dispelled when the taxi driver stood in front of her.

“You remember me,” he said. The sarcasm in his voice was evidence of his annoyance over the time he was wasting, but when she apologized profusely and paid him more than double the fare, he turned friendly and curious.

“I guess you had a kind of wild night,” he said, with a grin. “Did you ever find your purse?”

She shook her head and merely admitted that things were a “little confused.” She evaded his other questions, and after he had left, sat in a reverie, the events of the night drifting through her mind. She recalled being helped into the back of the car; then, a man slid next to her. At the party he was the one who had talked most to her. He had laughed loudly and foolishly, even in the car, and she had an impression of his features — a rounded face, somewhat feminine, large eyes and long, ragged hair. But who else was in the car? Evidently another man, one who sat in front. She tried to force a picture of him, but nothing would appear. Someone else was in front, a woman, perhaps. Or was she imagining? She had talked to several women at the party. Did she remember a thin, high voice in the car — and later on?

A woman’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Are you floating off into space?”

Charlene, pulled abruptly into awareness, looked up in confusion.

“You are a million miles away.” Lisa, who worked in an adjoining office, stood next to her, smiling. “How about coming down to earth?”

Charlene nodded, fingering the papers on her desk. “I guess I’d better, with all these letters waiting.”

“You’ve had some strange visitors,” said Lisa. “Since when do taxi drivers come to the office?”

Charlene laughed. “You really notice things, don’t you?” She saw the girl’s eyes narrow and added quickly, “Not that I object. I appreciate your bringing me back to reality.” She had only spoken to Lisa a few times and had an impression of her as rather aloof and cool. Now, the girl’s expression was pleasant, but Charlene detected the same coldness and even a touch of resentment in her face. As Charlene gazed, noting the girl’s features, the high cheek bones, thin lips and firm chin, she felt an odd sensation. She groaned inwardly. It couldn’t be a sense of familiarity. Was her imagination out of control again? Unable to repress the words, she blurted them. “Did I see you at a party last night?” She continued awkwardly. “It was one of those affairs... you know... people coming and going all the time. I thought...”

“Me — at a party?” Lisa acted as though the idea were absurd. “Last night I was at school. I’m taking a course in French.”

Charlene watched the girl turn and leave. She shook her head ruefully. She really must forget about last night and settle down to work. She was typing determinedly when Mr. Hunt appeared at her elbow. “There’s a man who wants to speak to you,” he said. She thought his glance was odd. He waved a hand. “You can use my office. He’s waiting there.”

Actually, she found two men waiting. She sensed at once that they were policemen. The younger one introduced himself as Lieutenant Corey and his companion as Officer Gerber. Corey pulled out Mr. Hunt’s chair for her, and she found herself sitting behind the desk, facing the two men. She looked at them in disbelief. “This can’t be about last night.”

Corey, slim and boyish, had an earnest gaze, and when he spoke in a soft voice he seemed more like a student than a policeman. “Why couldn’t it be?” he asked.

“The officer at the station thought I was imagining or that I’d had too many drinks.”

“Well, how many did you have?”

“Two very strange drinks,” she said. “They were called Devil’s Dew and I have no idea what was in them.” She smiled. “Except that they were very potent.”

Under his questioning she told him about the man on the piano bench and how, when she returned later with the policeman, the display was normal, with a woman at the piano. She watched him as she finished. “Like a crazy nightmare,” she said. “Go on — tell me you don’t believe a word of it. I won’t mind. I’m about ready to admit that none of it happened.”

He avoided answering. “The man on the bench. Can you describe him?”

“I don’t know. My mind was fuzzy. All I can remember is the staring eyes... and the face, in agony. And the blood dripping down the side of the face.”

Gerber and Corey exchanged glances. “The knife,” said Gerber. “One would think that if a man was killed, well, he’d be stabbed in the back. But the blood on his face...?”

“I told you,” she said. “When I looked through the window, I could see that the knife would miss his back. At the time I was thinking — the window dresser had been very careless in placing the dummy on the bench.”

Corey, obviously puzzled, made no comment but asked her to describe the party and what followed. Prompted by his questions, she supplied the details and told of the drive downtown. “I know it sounds impossible,” she said. “It was after midnight, but they went inside that department store, and I was with them.” She looked challengingly at Corey.

He was grinning. “It’s not impossible. In fact, I’m sure you were inside the store.” He met her astonished gaze and bent down to reach under his chair. He offered her the black bag. “I presume this is yours? We found it in the store, behind the window.”

She took the bag, recognizing it at once as hers. She inspected him coldly. “You kept this hidden all the time and never told me about it.”

He flushed. “I’m sorry. It was important to hear your story first; there was no attempt to trick you. We’re trying to fit things together. And now, as you can see, we’ve checked out one part of your story.”

His concern and his attempt to soothe her seemed so sincere, that she found herself liking this sensitive young man. “And the rest of my — story?”

He was cautious, explaining that more information was needed; to begin with, one question must be answered: how did she and the others get into the store?

She had no idea, and although she had thought of a watchman before he mentioned one, her mind could produce no image of anybody. “Was there a watchman on duty?” she asked.

Corey nodded. “He’s probably sleeping now. We’re going to his house. I don’t imagine he’ll be in a happy mood when we wake him up.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “How’d you like to come along? Your boss has given permission.”

Charlene was surprised. “Why would you want me?”

“The faces are all blanks to you, right now. The watchman’s face might stir some memories. Perhaps you’ll recall him or his actions. And that might bring back some of the others — and what they did.”

As they left the floor, Charlene could glimpse Lisa staring at them through the glass partition of a nearby office. The girl’s probably dying of curiosity, she thought, resisting a momentary impulse to smile and wave.

The watchman, a stocky gray-haired man named Lawrence, reacted with even more impatience and irritation than Charlene had expected. Awakened by his wife, he stalked into the room, glaring at the two men. “Police?” he said. “What’s this all about?” Corey’s most tactful approach did little to change the man’s attitude. Lawrence made it plain that the questions were ridiculous. “I’ve been working for Leland’s for thirty years,” he announced. “And I’ve been night watchman for ten. I check all the doors as soon as I go on duty, and I make sure everything’s locked.” His angry gaze shifted to Charlene. “What’s this girl got to do with it? Is she claiming somebody was in the store? Well she’s lying. She—”

“Let’s hold that,” said Corey “We just want some simple answers. You’re telling us that nobody was in the store. You let no one in, is that right?”

“Of course I let no one in. Why would I do that in the middle of the night?”

“Could someone have gotten in, without you knowing it?” Gerber asked. “Perhaps you were on another floor and didn’t hear.”

“Or maybe...” Corey started to say and hesitated. He was thinking that the man, alone during the long night hours, might do some drowsing.

“Nobody could get in,” Lawrence said positively. “Anyone trying to force one of those doors would make a lot of noise. And besides — you probably checked it yourself — there’s no sign that one of the doors was forced, is there?”

Corey shook his head. At the same moment he had detected the impatient look on Charlene’s face. He was aware of the question she could barely suppress. “That’s exactly the point,” he told Lawrence. “Nobody broke in. Yet, we know that some people were in the store.” He gestured toward Charlene. “We’re certain she was there — we found her handbag in the store.” He watched Lawrence intently. “Are you still saying you didn’t open the door for someone?”

Lawrence reddened and stared in confusion. “I’m telling you I didn’t,” he said, his voice rising. “What kind of proof is that? Why couldn’t she have been in the store during the day — and left her handbag at that time?”

“But I wasn’t in the store,” said Charlene. “I spent all day at the office building, even eating lunch there.”

Further questions led only to repeated statements by Lawrence that he had admitted no one to the store. As they drove away, Corey remained silent, apparently meditating over the watchman’s account. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me what you think?” Charlene demanded.

Corey smiled. “I think he was lying.” He looked at Gerber who nodded in agreement and said, “That brings up the next question.”

“Yes.” Corey rubbed his forehead. “Why? What is he hiding? Obviously, someone was admitted to the store; that means that Lawrence, the only one inside opened the door.”

When they dropped Charlene off at her apartment, she asked “What will you do now?”

“Well, we have some leads to follow,” said Corey.

Charlene laughed. “You’re not going to tell me. All right, but remember, I’m involved.”

Corey grinned back. “We’ll be in touch — if there’s anything important.”

At the station later, the two men sat discussing the matter. To Charlene, Corey had not explained why an investigation had been launched. Her report of the man on the piano bench was too incredible to get beyond the sergeant’s desk. After all, an officer had accompanied Charlene back to the store and discovered nothing more than the familiar window display. The incident might have been forgotten, except for something more tangible and significant: in the morning an exasperated policeman had found a car parked in a forbidden zone on a downtown street. The flashy foreign car, jutting out into the street, seemed almost to have been abandoned. The door on the driver’s side was half-open.

A check of the license number produced a man’s name, one that made the desk sergeant straighten up. He telephoned and learned from the landlady of an apartment building that the man hadn’t returned home the night before. At that point the sergeant, remembering the girl’s story, called the detective division. Corey and Gerber checked at the store and talked to a salesgirl who told of coming on duty at 9:30 to find a handbag on the floor near the window. Corey had considered all incidents and decided that they formed a pattern. Something odd, perhaps serious, had occurred in or near the store.

It was this pattern that he and Gerber were discussing. Corey sighed and reached for his jacket. “You know where we’re going.”

“Sure,” Gerber replied. “Back to the store.”

At Leland’s they stood behind the crowd that watched the window. People, gaping at the woman on the piano bench, murmured and pointed as the arm rose to plunge down with the knife. “Nothing like a quiet musical evening at home,” said Gerber.

An elderly woman glared at them. “Disgusting. The police should stop it.”

Inside, while they examined the carpeting behind the window, a man named Raymond hurried up. Obviously agitated, he introduced himself as the window dresser. “I set up that display,” he said, waving a hand. “Is there something wrong? I’ve heard some — uh-rumors.”

“We don’t know,” said Corey. “The display — does it appear the same, no changes?”

“Changes?” Raymond’s voice lifted in shrill surprise. “Nobody touches it except me.” He pulled the drapery back to gaze at the woman on the bench. “I don’t see anything different. Wait a minute. It seems to me that the woman is not exactly as I placed her. I have a good memory for details.” He bustled out, saying, “I must see this from the street.” When he returned, his agitation had increased and his eyes bulged with excitement. “The mannequin on the bench,” he said. “It’s not the one I posed there. I had chosen a black-haired one, you know, to be absolutely faithful to the story. Well, it’s unbelievable. This one has light brown hair and the clothes aren’t the same. She’s been brought from some department in the store. Who would dare to do this?” He clucked indignantly. “I’m going to see the manager, right away.”

“Hold it,” said Corey. He leaned inside the window to study the mannequin and then bent down to inspect the piano keys closely. “Don’t let anybody touch these keys,” he said. “They must be dusted for prints.” He nodded significantly at Gerber. “Come here and take a look.”

Gerber stared at the dark brown stains on the edges of several keys. He made a whistling sound.

“Blood,” said Corey. He was thinking of the girl. Her story had been too wild to swallow — like something out of an acid trip. Now, it seemed she had reported what had actually happened. He felt guilty. The girl deserved an apology.

Raymond shrank back from the window. “Blood. It’s horrible. What do you suppose...?”

Corey fixed him with a stern look. “You’re to say nothing. Is that clear?” Raymond’s head bobbed and Corey said, “Now I think I’ll see the manager, if you’ll take me to him.” He left Gerber behind to summon a lab man and an officer to stand guard.

The gold-lettered sign on the glass partition read Martin King, General Manager, and at a desk near the door a woman glanced up to appraise him. Her cool expression showed no change when he mentioned the word “police.”

“Perhaps I can help you,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m Ann Loret, Mr. King’s secretary.”

Unmistakable, Corey thought. Even on the street she’d be identified as the secretary to some top executive, She looked thirty but was probably closer to forty. When she stood up he noticed the trim suit with its subdued pattern. I’l bet everything here is organization and efficiency, he reflected.

“If you don’t mind,” he said “I’d like to see Mr. King.” He wondered if she’d frown, but her face remained blank as she pressed a buzzer and ushered him into the office. A stocky man, round-faced, extended a hand and then returned to drop into the chair behind the desk. He offered a picture of ease, body tilted back and hands clasped behind his head.

King motioned him to a chair. “A police lieutenant,” he said with a genial gaze. “I’m sure our usual shoplifting problems haven’t brought you here.”

Corey described the events of the night before and then explained what he wished to do. King, his relaxed attitude gone, straightened in his chair. He was plainly shocked. “You mean you actually expect to find...?”

Corey nodded. “We’ll do it quietly. Your customers won’t be disturbed.”

“But Leland’s has eight floors. Do you realize what kind of job you’ve got?”

“We won’t have to search the whole store,” said Corey. “If we find anything, it’ll be on the first floor or basement, in some storage room or out of the way place.”

Some twenty minutes later Corey entered a small room in a corner of the main floor. Through a narrow window a beam of light focused downward like a spotlight. Two white faces offered a startling reflection. Corey drew in his breath. He leaned out the door and called to Gerber. “Come here and take a look.” His hand lifted toward the switch and stopped. “Don’t touch anything.”

“My God,” said Gerber. “Are there two of them?” He moved nearer and then spoke in relief. “One’s a dummy. Weird... how lifelike it seems in the shadows.”

“They inspected the body huddled against the wall. It’s him all right,” said Corey. “I’d recognize him in any condition. I’ve seen his picture in the papers often enough. He’s been in about every escapade under the sun.”

Death had been caused by a blow on the left temple. They noted the dried blood on the forehead. “Hard to believe,” said Corey, “but that’s what the girl saw — trickling down.”

Gerber rubbed his chin. “The window. What the devil was he doing there — and on a piano bench?”

“Notice his pants and shoes,” said Corey. “He was dragged or half-carried some distance along the floor.” He turned to study the female mannequin sprawled nearby. The two men exchanged glances, their eyes lighting up. “I’ll bet...” said Gerber. “Of course,” said Corey. “Black hair — Raymond’s missing mannequin. This is our original pianist.” He felt as though the eyes, filled with urgent appeal, were seeking his. She’d witnessed everything, he thought. Shame she couldn’t talk. What a story she could tell!

Young Arthur Leland, whose antics had created numerous headlines when he was alive, produced the biggest and boldest type with his bizarre death. The papers blared the story: the grandson and heir of old curmudgeon Walter Leland, who at seventy-eight still held an iron grasp on all his enterprises, had been murdered, his body discovered in a back room of the family department store. Most of the scandalous episodes in young Leland’s past were referred to again.

At the detective bureau Corey meditated over the available information. “No answers here,” he told Gerber. The weapon, obviously a heavy one, had not been found. Although they had a puzzle with no clues, the next steps were apparent. Three persons must be prodded and probed until they supplied some real answers. Corey jotted down names: 1. Charlene 2. Leland’s landlady 3. Lawrence, the watchman. Corey was aware also of new questions that had arisen, but these might lead to lengthy investigation. He would concentrate on them later.

Charlene had finished dinner when he arrived, and they sat in the living room, sipping coffee. He made small talk at first, careful to avoid the case, but he knew by the amusement in her gaze that she understood his stratagem and was waiting for the probe to begin. After an awkward silence they laughed simultaneously, and then he said, “All right. First, I’ll offer you an apology — on behalf of the department. You did see what you described and it wasn’t wild imagination or...”

“Liquor?” she inserted. “But I did have two drinks.”

He mentioned the idea that he’d considered for some time. “Your actions were strange. You felt so funny. Could it be that your drinks were drugged?”

She was astonished. “I never thought of that. Do you mean — deliberately?”

“I’m only speculating. I was thinking of what has happened before. You know, some crazy prank. A person puts LSD or some other drug into a drink.”

The idea still amazed her; she could offer no reason why she might have been chosen. Corey turned to the questions that were plaguing him most. First, he wanted more details of the party.

She knew the host, who gave the kind of parties where dozens of people were invited. They milled about, came and went, and one recalled familiar faces but never remembered names. Oh yes, there was a girl whom she had known in her high school days; she told him about Dana Hoffman.

His disappointment over her vague descriptions of the people in the car was quite evident. She believed that the man who sat in the back with her was the same one who had hung around at the party. Who else was in the car? Possibly two people in front. She had an impression of a dark-haired woman but could recall nothing about the man.

Corey’s persistent questions could produce no real information about happenings inside the store. No, she didn’t know how they got in. She was certain about the loud laughing and the fooling around with dummies. “I’m afraid I’m unable to draw the line between fantasy and reality,” she confessed. She told him about her dream with the descending escalator and the mannequins riding grotesquely down. “Would you believe... I think it really happened?” She watched his face. “All right, I’m cracking up. But I can see that escalator gliding down with the dummies perched on the stairs.” What had frightened her? Had she seen a man being struck? She couldn’t reply. She remembered a sudden panic and believed she ran out the door. Perhaps the damp night air shocked her into awareness.

“You’ve seen young Leland’s pictures in the papers,” he said. “Does his face seem familiar?”

She hesitated. “In a way — yes. Something about the wide eyes and the smile. You’re wondering if he was with me in the car. Or... the man in the window.” She shuddered. “I’ve thought about it. I believe he was.”

At the door their glances met, both understanding that there was something more than official about their relationship. “I’d like to know,” she said. “You’ll keep me informed?” It was taken for granted.

Gerber’s task had been to interview Mrs. Weiss, the landlady who occupied an apartment adjacent to Leland’s. She had cried and insisted he was not a bad boy, just careless and wild. She mothered him and he confided in her. Leland was reforming, especially since the last incident. “It was time he reformed,” said Gerber. “Did you know he was thirty-one?”

Corey listened and waited, knowing from Gerber’s manner that important information was forthcoming. The “last incident” was a car smash-up, with Leland, obviously drunk, responsible for the death of the other driver. There had been earlier citations for drunken driving, and this time his license was cancelled. Gerber paused significantly. “Mrs. Weiss said that Leland hadn’t driven his car at all. She knows — the car just sat in front of the building. He was taking no chances on anymore trouble. In fact, he asked her to drive it around the block to keep the battery up.”

Corey’s mind raced over the possibilities. “The question is, what to believe? Let’s say that Leland took a few drinks. Then, forgetting his resolution, he decided to drive the car.”

Gerber shook his head. “Not according to Mrs. Weiss. She insists he was absolutely sober — said goodbye to him in the hallway.”

Corey stared. “Well, what did she see? Who was driving?”

Gerber threw up his hands. “It was too dark to see anything except some shadowy figures in front of the building. She heard a car drive off but didn’t know it was Leland’s. The next morning she discovered his car was missing, and then she was really worried. There is one thing. She thought she heard a woman’s voice.”

“She thought.” Corey’s voice was edged with impatience. “Not very helpful. Is that all?”

“No, it isn’t.” Gerber grinned. “This’ll cheer you. Leland was an impulsive young man. He had a habit of telling other people how he would do things. You might call him the voice of inexperience. Well, anyhow, several days earlier he got into a quarrel with King, the department store manager.”

“A quarrel? What about?”

“Mrs. Weiss’ story is that Leland said the store needed modernizing. It catered to stuffy old people. When he told this to King, you can imagine what followed. There was a hot argument and King ordered him to get out of the office and stay out. Mrs. Weiss said there had been some previous disagreements and that this was a kind of climax. What do you think?”

“Don’t know.” Corey weighed the information. “If Leland was given to sounding-off, he might annoy or anger a lot of people.” The two detectives were still discussing the situation when a most astonishing report came in. Two newspapers had received the same call on the night of the murder. The voice on the phone, evidently a woman’s, had been brief: there was a great chance for a story. Leland was involved in another of his escapades, this time, of all places, at the family department store. It was significant that at both papers. The Mirror and The News, the woman asked first for the gossip columnist, who, of course, was not there. But the calls produced an even more surprising outcome. Carroll, the News columnist, contacted at a night club, rushed down to the department store. He told his story at the station. He arrived at about one a.m. to discover exactly nothing. The door was locked, and gazing through the glass he could see a gleaming light in the center of the floor. But there wasn’t a soul around. He circled the store, peering in, and finally gave up in disgust, convinced it had been a crank call or a hoax.

Corey, baffled, tried to conjure up some motive for the calls. Clearly, there was an attempt to splash Leland’s name in the papers, an effort to create another scandal. But why? Corey straightened abruptly. “A change of plans,” he announced to Gerber. “Do you think we can get to see the old tycoon himself?”

“Walter Leland?” Gerber was incredulous. “He never talks to anybody.”

Corey was already thrusting an arm into a coat. “Too many blanks,” he said. “Don’t forget there’s a lot of money lying around, money that would have Dassed down to young Leland. Let’s fill in the blanks.”

Beyond the girl who sat in an elegant reception room, and who was very pleasant and impressed by their credentials, the two detectives got as far as Ronald Eliot, an aggressive young man who identified himself as Mr. Leland’s personal secretary. “We don’t grant any interviews,” he snapped.

“We’re not requesting an inter view,” said Corey. “This is police business.”

Eliot displayed both indifference and insolence. “It wouldn’t matter to us if one of you were Chief of Police. First of all, Mr. Leland isn’t here.” He waved an impatient hand. “You’re aware of the tragic — ah — circumstances. Mr. Leland, above all, wants to be let alone.”

“It’s just general information, about the estate,” said Corey. “Perhaps you—”

“That’s lawyer’s business.” Eliot had bent down to scribble on a slip of paper. He handed it to Corey. “Contact Mr. Isner, our legal adviser. I’ve written the address.” He turned away, making it quite clear that the conversation was finished.

“Pleasant character,” Gerber murmured as they walked to the reception room The girl’s friendly smile encouraged Corey to linger for a while. “Terrible thing... about young Leland,” he said.

She agreed and noted that Walter Leland was deeply upset. Corey drew her out, and she went on to explain that the old man had plans for his grandson to take a responsible position in one of his enterprises. “He hoped the boy would straighten up,” she said. “And lately he felt optimistic. Arthur seemed to have a new attitude — as though he were maturing.” She glanced nervously toward the inner office. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. Mr. Eliot wouldn’t like it.”

The offices of Sidney Isner on the sixth floor of the Guarantee Trust Building, seemed as solid and respectable as the thirty-year old walls that enclosed them. The detectives were ushered in at once and Isner, gray-haired, distinguished, almost the stereotype of a corporation lawyer, greeted them cordially. Corey’s question brought a measured response. “Some things are — ah — general knowledge. I handle Mr. Leland’s personal affairs and I’m also administrator of the Leland Foundation.” He murmured his regrets over the “distressing situation.” He had known Arthur for many years, had watched the boy grow up. At Corey’s next question he appeared taken aback.

“What you’re really asking about,” Isner said slowly, “is Mr. Leland’s will. I don’t know — ah — that he’d approve of my giving any information.” He meditated. “Well... it’s been a matter of public record for years. Young Arthur, of course, was the main heir. With his death there is no individual who inherits. By arrangement, the — ah — funds will be transferred to the Foundation, to be used for medical research.” He seemed amused at Corey’s persistent queries on the same subject. “I know what you’re after, of course.” He chuckled. “We lawyers are detectives, too. You want a motive for the — ah — dreadful murder. The most likely suspect would be someone who could benefit, right? A person who would now be the new heir, in the event Mr. Leland died? Well, no other heir is mentioned in the will, and I can assure you that the document is drawn so that future claimants would have no chance of success.”

Leaving the office, the detectives shared the same feeling of frustration. “I guess he punctured that idea,” said Gerber. “What do we have left?”

“A very important gentleman — name of Lawrence. I’m sure you remember our evasive watchman?” Corey was grim. “We may have to throw a scare into him, but he’s got to open up.”

Lawrence, if anything, was in a more surly mood than the previous time. “You, again,” he growled. “Why don’t you let me alone? I’ve got my rights. I’ve committed no crime.”

“But a crime has been committed,” said Corey. “A man was murdered — and in the store where you were on duty. Some people were there, after midnight. Now suppose you tell us how they got in.”

“I’ve told you. Nobody got into the store.”

“Yet young Lelands body was found there.” Corey faced him sternly. “I’m placing you under arrest as accessory to a murder. Officer Gerber will read your rights to you.”

“Murder?” Lawrence cried in dismay. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were the only one with a key to the door. You let someone in — deliberately.” Corey nodded at Gerber. “Go ahead.”

“Wait a minute.” Lawrence gazed about like a trapped man. “All I did was let him in. What else could I do? How could I even imagine... a murder...”

“It’s time you told everything,” said Corey. “Remember — no more lies.”

The story emerged under questioning. Young Leland had rung the night bell. Lawrence, who had seen him before, peered through the glass and recognized him at once. “I wasn’t going to let him in,” said Lawrence. “In fact, I turned around and walked away. But he kept pounding on the glass and shouting. I couldn’t call the police, could I? After all, he was the grandson of the big boss. And I’d heard about his past record. If the police came, he’d be in trouble again. I was thinking, one day he might be my boss. I didn’t want—”

“Never mind that,” said Corey. “What I want to know, is who was with him?”

Lawrence considered. “I’m not sure. When I opened the door, there was someone behind him, in the shadows. A man, maybe.”

“What about a girl?” asked Gerber.

Lawrence stared. “Maybe. Later on, I heard voices. One could have been a woman’s.”

“Are you telling me,” Corey demanded in disgust, “that you didn’t even see their faces?”

“How could I?” Lawrence was aggrieved. “Leland told me to go about my business and let them alone. He—”

“ ‘Them’.” Corey pounced on the word. “He spoke of others?”

“That’s right. I can remember. He said, ‘Let us alone’. He was half-drunk — I could tell from his voice.”

When Lawrence asked him what he intended to do, Leland laughed and said he’d show them how a department store should be arranged. Lawrence tried to protest but was ordered to go back to his office. Watching from the doorway, he soon discovered what was happening. He could see Leland lifting mannequins and moved them about. Later, Lawrence knew that somebody had started the escalator, but he had no idea why.

Some time afterward, when he could hear no sounds at all, Lawrence walked toward the front of the store. To his surprise, nobody was there. The door was partly open and the escalator still running. He locked the door, stopped the escalator and then checked the floor to see if anything had been damaged. Some dummies had been moved and several had been knocked over. Lawrence rearranged the dummies as best he could.

Corey listened, aware that the real puzzle was unexplained. What about the window display, he wanted to know? Had Lawrence checked that? The watchman never even looked at it. “Why should I?” he asked. “Who’d think that anybody would crawl into the window?”

Corey studied the man, uncertain what to believe. “You concealed all this and lied to us. Why?”

“At first I was afraid I’d lose my job. I’d made a mistake by letting Leland in. Also, I didn’t want to make more trouble for him. It was all petty stuff and I thought it best to forget it. Then I heard about the murder. I was really scared — figures I might be accused. I decided to say nothing.”

On their return to the station, Gerber remarked gloomily, “The more we hear, the less we know.” Corey, however, had been nagged for some time by a bit of information that remained in a corner of his mind. He grinned. Investigation might lead nowhere, but it would give Gerber something to do and cheer him up. An hour later Gerber, clutching a slip of paper, entered Corey’s office. “I got it,” he said.

“Let me guess,” said Corey. “I could be way off base — but is the man’s name Hoffman?”

“All right.” Gerber’s eyes glinted. “I won’t ask how you knew. Happened five months ago. Leland, drunk as a lord, ran a red light. Bad smash-up. Joel Hoffman — killed instantly. That’s when Leland’s license was revoked.” Gerber became cynical. “He should have gone to jail, but the old man pulled a lot of strings.”

Corey stood up. “There’s a girl who may have some answers.” As they walked to the car, he said, “I’ve been toying with a crazy idea. Try this one: Leland’s little trip to the store at midnight — what if it was arranged?”

Gerber looked startled. “Why... and who...?”

“Exactly. Why and who? Mull this over. Phone calls were made to the papers. The whole situation seemed contrived. The plan was to involve Leland in another scandal — young heir drunk and causing disturbance at his own store.”

“If that’s so, why was he murdered?”

“I don’t know. But it’s evident that something went wrong.”

At the apartment building Corey pointed to the name printed above the button. “Does that jog your memory?”

Gerber stared. “I don’t see...” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Of course. The girl Charlene met at the party — Dana Hoffman.”

In the living room the detectives sat facing the girl who met their gaze with annoyance. “I don’t know why you’re questioning me,” she said. “Sure, I was at a party. Charlene must have told you. I knew her years ago, recognized her when we were parking our cars. Later that evening she began acting goofy. I think she drank too much. All of a sudden she disappeared. But her car was still there. That really had me worried and I called her. She told me some weird story — I couldn’t believe it.” She became impatient. “And really, that’s all I can tell you. Now if—”

“I think you can tell us much more, Miss Hoffman.” Corey emphasized the name. “I’m sorry, but I believe you had a brother named Joel. And there was an unfortunate accident.”

She paled and sat silent.

Corey waited and finally spoke. “Leland was responsible for his death. Because of that, you devised a plan for revenge.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, defiantly.

Corey shrugged. “Deny anything you wish. You were the woman in the car with Charlene. I think you’re involved in the murder of Arthur Leland. We intend to charge you—”

“No.” Her voice rose in panic. “I had nothing to do with it. I don’t even know how it happened.”

The story poured out. She had brooded for months over her brother’s death and the fact that Leland, through money and influence, was able to avoid punishment. One day she received a strange phone call. A man who apparently knew all about the death asked her if she’d like to get even with Leland. A meeting was arranged. The man, who called himself Edwards, proposed a scheme. She was to become acquainted with Leland; this first step was easily accomplished when she flirted with him outside of his apartment. Edwards then instructed her to bring Leland to the party. There, the plan was to get him drunk, or, if necessary, to drug him.

“It wasn’t easy,” she said. “He had sworn off drinking and had to be coaxed.”

Some unexpected obstacles developed. Leland wandered about, talked to various people and showed a special interest in Charlene. Edwards, doubting that the liquor was affecting him strongly enough, gave Dana a pill to drop in one of his drinks. Although the two didn’t realize it at the time, it became evident later that Leland had passed the drink to Charlene.

Corey interrupted the account. “I think I know what the scheme was. But suppose you explain it. Why all this effort to get Leland drunk?”

That was the very question she had asked Edwards at the start. It seemed that Leland was being given one last chance by his grandfather. If there were another scandal or escapade, he would be disinherited. Frightened by this ultimatum, he had quit drinking, had avoided trouble for the past months and was showing an interest in the business. The old man, highly pleased, was ready to give his grandson a responsible position.

Edwards told her it was a perfect scheme for revenge, and she had to agree with him. What better way than to cause Leland to lose his inheritance? Edwards explained the rest of the plan. The old man was extremely sensitive about the reputation of his store. Why not create a disturbance down there, invite the press and even get young Leland arrested? His grandfather would never forgive him.

“Let’s backtrack a little,” Corey said. “What about getting to the party and then to the store? Leland’s car was found there, but I can’t picture him driving.”

Dana flushed. “He didn’t.” Her tone became defiant. “All right, that was my idea. I knew his license had been revoked. I wanted to get him into as much trouble as possible. We had been going out in my car. This time I parked it a block from his apartment and told him the car had broken down. Then I drove his car to the party and the store, where I left it. I figured the police would find it and think he’d driven there, and well...”

“I see,” Corey said, dryly. “Just a little extra trouble — driving without a license.”

Her eyes blazed in anger. “He had it coming.” She told what happened after they persuaded Leland to leave the party. Outside, he encountered Charlene and insisted that she come along. They couldn’t talk him out of it. “We were playing it by ear,” Dana said. “Nothing definite, we just thought we’d start some kind of rumpus at the store. But all we had to do was encourage Leland. He pounded on the door until the watchman let us in, and then he began playing around with the dummies. He started the escalator and ordered us to send some mannequins down from the second floor.”

After a while Dana slipped away to a phone booth in a corner of the store and called the newspapers. When she returned, Leland was still laughing and shouting as he shifted the dummies about. Edwards, nervous, said, “Let’s get out of here. The reporters will soon arrive.” When she looked around for Charlene, he grabbed her arm and said, “She’s wandered off some place. Come on — there’s no time to search for her.”

“We sneaked away,” Dana said, “and Leland never noticed. He was busy climbing in and out of the window.” She was astonished the next day when she saw nothing about the escapade in the papers. Later, the murder came as a terrible shock to her.

Gerber looked puzzled. “You left Leland’s car. How did you get home?”

“We walked about a block from the store. Then Edwards hailed a cab.”

“Oh, yes,” said Corey, “the so-called ‘Mr. Edwards’. Can you tell us more about him?” He exchanged grins with Gerber. “I believe the same name has popped into our minds.”

“He was a man that Leland had mentioned several times before, always with a kind of contempt,” she said. “I only heard his first name. He was called Ronnie.” She reflected. “At the party, when Leland saw him, he said, ‘Well, dear old Ronnie,’ in a sneering tone.” Her description brought nods from the detectives.

“Mr. Nasty, himself,” said Gerber.

“Yes,” Corey agreed, “old Leland’s friendly secretary — Ronald Eliot.”

Gerber considered. “The motive fairly shouts. There’s a lot of money involved.”

“Eliot wanted to disgrace Leland, to keep him from inheriting. But why?” Corey sighed. “Sounds like financial hanky-panky. I think we’ll need an audit of all the funds.” He turned to Dana. “Did our friend Ronnie mention his motive to you?”

She shook her head. “All I know is that he was eager to have his scheme succeed.”

Corey probed for other information. The girl had spent time with Leland; they’d had conversations. What names were mentioned? She couldn’t recall any, but wait — he did refer to a lawyer, claimed the man had influenced old Leland, making him think that his grandson was too immature for any responsibility. “When I talked to him,” Leland had said, “he put on an act — you know, the old friend of the family. But I knew what he was up to. I told him he was two-faced, and that if I had a chance, I’d pay him back for his conniving.”

Dana gazed at Corey. “I’ve told you everything. And I swear it’s the truth. Do you believe me?”

He hesitated. “It’s not important whether I believe you. I think I do. But I must discuss this matter with the district attorney. After all, you did help lure Leland to the store — where he was murdered. I’d suggest that you keep your present address. And perhaps you should consult a lawyer.”

She appeared white and shaken. “I didn’t want him killed, even though he was a murderer, guilty of my brother’s death.” She challenged the detectives, her voice bitter. “I was entitled to some kind of revenge, wasn’t I? What would you have done?”

Neither Corey nor Gerber answered.

Within a few days one of the puzzling aspects of the case was cleared up. Through the mayor’s office Corey was granted a conference with Walter Leland. The old man, immediately suspicious, ordered an audit of the company and Foundation books. The figures revealed that Eliot and the lawyer Isner had collaborated in diverting funds to their own accounts. With old Leland’s reign almost at end, and the prospect that control might pass to his grandson, Eliot had evidently devised the scheme to have young Arthur disinherited. With him out of the way, the two men could continue to juggle the money without any danger of discovery.

“I’m sorry to say,” Corey told Gerber, “that we’ve succeeded in giving Eliot an air-tight alibi. He was the man in the car, but he and Dana left in the same cab. She can testify to that. And Leland was alive when they left. So where are we?”

Gerber threw up his hands. “Nowhere.”

“Well, there has been a process of elimination. The question now is what or rather who do we have left? Our suspects might be listed as A and B: Lawrence, the watchman, or some unknown person. Not much help, right?” Corey leaned forward. “Three people accompanied young Leland to the store, and all three are innocent of murder. That forces an obvious conclusion, doesn’t it?”

Gerber looked blank. He could find nothing obvious.

Corey and Charlene spent that evening in a small, cosy restaurant, returning late to her apartment. He had avoided any discussion of the case, even though he knew she was curious. But now, sitting across from her, he noted the question in her eyes and grinned. “All right, I might as well confess. We’re hopelessly lost. I doubt that we have a real suspect. Lawrence is about the closest.”

She shook her head ruefully. “If only I could remember more.” He probed again. What had frightened her in the store? Had she seen someone or been near at the moment when Leland was struck? She couldn’t answer. She could see herself, alone in the dark store, terribly afraid, and somehow groping through the blackness toward the front door — and escape.

He explained his theory to her. Leland, clowning around, removed the dummy from the bench and sat there himself, hands above the keys, pretending to play piano. At that moment he was struck on the temple with a heavy instrument.

“I believe you either saw the arm striking him or you heard a cry of pain,” said Corey. “You were still dazed by the drug, but it was beginning to wear off. Then, only sensing that something terrible had happened, you moved to the door, found it open and went out. There, you became aware of the store window, realized you were alone downtown, but had no memory of events.”

When Cory returned to his apartment, close to midnight, he could hear the sharp ring of the phone as he inserted his key. Listening, he recognized the voice as that of Lawrence. The watchman was almost incoherent, his words tumbling out. “...must see you... right away... something important I’ve got to tell you...”

Lawrence, waiting at the door when Cory arrived, let the detective in. Before Corey could ask any questions, the watchman said nervously, “Not here.” He moved out of the stream of light from the window into the dim shadows that covered the floor. “I think we’d better go to my office,” he said.

Corey followed him across the floor, feeling his way around the counters and circling the displays and racks. At a corner of the floor Lawrence stopped at a small room, flicked on the switch and gazed around carefully before entering. Once the detective had come in, Lawrence moved quickly to close the door.

“All right,” said Corey. “Suppose you tell me what this is about. What are you afraid of?”

Lawrence stood tense and silent, his head tilted as though listening for sounds. He finally spoke. “I made a mistake — a bad mistake. I should have told you the last time.”

“I had an idea you were holding out,” said Corey.

Lawrence’s voice rose shrilly. “I had nothing to do with the murder — nothing. I didn’t know about it until later. He—” Lawrence stopped abruptly.

“Go on,” said Corey. “Let’s hear the murderer’s name. Or, would you like me to tell you? While Leland and the others were fooling around in front, somebody entered the store by a side or back door. Now who could that be? Obviously, a person who had a key. There would be only one, right?”

Lawrence was nodding, his body rigid.

“But why would he come to the store at midnight? That question had a ready answer — and a clue. He came because somebody phoned him.” Corey pointed a finger. “Of course, you did. Your story bothered me for quite a while. As a watchman, now, what would you naturally do when Leland entered with all his friends? To avoid trouble, or a chance of losing your job, you’d call a person who was in charge.”

“Yes, yes,” said Lawrence, “I phoned him. And he said he’d be right down. But I never dreamed—”

Corey was shocked by the loud explosion before he saw Lawrence stagger and tumble to the floor. He tugged at his gun and whirled about, his first thought to get away from the open door and the light. He must get out of the small room where he was like a sitting duck. Crouching, he moved through the door toward the safety of the semi-darkness, but at that moment he heard a shot and felt a sharp pain in his arm. His revolver slipped out of his grasp, sliding across the floor. He groped for it without success. Creaking sounds made him aware that he must move away; the murderer knew exactly where he was.

He remained crouched, twisting into the deeper gloom. His shoulder bumped some sort of rack. It fell with a clatter and was followed by the piercing whine of a bullet and the spattering sound of glass. Corey slipped behind a counter and peered about. He was startled for a moment by the figure of a mannequin, poised ahead and above him, one arm extended. He listened again and detected soft footsteps. He kneeled and flattened against a corner of the counter, trying to gaze across the floor. Where was he? His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He noted the other mannequins, the slim figures and gleaming buttons. He was in the women’s clothing section. Now there were no sounds, but Corey knew that the man waited, alert to the slightest movement.

Once more Corey inspected the dummies, their white faces reflecting beams of light. He stiffened. One figure was incongruous. He thought, with a grim humor, that it were almost as though the mannequins, staring anxiously, at him, were on his side. They were exposing the thick, heavy figure, obviously masculine. Corey crawled slowly between the mannequins and then leaped. The man grunted and tried to raise the gun, but Corey had clutched him, pinning his arm. The man jerked violently, and locked together they sprawled on the floor. Corey tore the gun loose, and then, with his free hand, struck hard, once and twice. The man collapsed. Seizing the gun, Corey got to his feet. He stared down at the man and shook his head. The search for the murderer had led to so many blind alleys, that now, he could hardly believe it was over.

Corey, his flesh wound bandaged, sat in his office the next day talking to Gerber. Lawrence, shot in the chest, was in serious condition but expected to pull through. His statement about the murder was finally complete and truthful. Feeling he had made a mistake in admitting Leland to the store, and worried about possible damage, he had called his boss — Martin King, the General Manager. King, instructing him not to interfere with Leland, said he would come there to handle matters.

“Lawrence was playing a dangerous game,” said Corey. “He knew that King had murdered Leland and so he decided that a little blackmail was in order. King made one payment, but he was not the kind of man who would feed a blackmailer. He lay in wait for Lawrence near his home, shot at him and missed. Lawrence had a change of heart; he was scared stiff and now anxious to tell all. The store late at night was an ideal place to eliminate Lawrence and of course, me, since I happened to be there.”

Corey explained what the police had learned from King’s confession. Leland was scheduled to take over the job of general manager. He had taunted King, whom he never liked, jeered at him and promised he would be out on the street. On the night that King came to the store, he had hidden, watching Leland and the others playing with the mannequins. When Eliot and Dana left, he walked to the drapery in back of the window and pulled it aside. He had picked up a heavy statue from a counter. King had not intended to strike at that moment, but Leland, recognizing him, laughed contemptuously. King, losing his temper, swung the statue as Leland was turned toward him.

“King didn’t know that Charlene was still in the store,” Corey said. “He learned a few seconds later when he saw someone walk out and stand in front of the window. Her life might have been in danger, but he soon realized that she couldn’t identify him. His first impulse was to conceal the murder. After waiting until she left, he carried Leland out of the window, placed a dummy on the piano bench, and then removed Leland’s body to a back storeroom. He returned to check, found the original black-haired mannequin on the floor near the window where Leland had left it, and carried that away to the same storeroom. Then he slipped out the back door.”

“This time,” said Gerber, “I believe we have no more surprises coming.” He chuckled. “But I thought there was a bit of news that would interest you. Because of public protest, a new window display has been arranged at the store. It’s a scene from the same murder mystery. A real homey setting, nothing that the people can object to. A woman is playing the piano and a man is standing next to her, turning the pages.”

“Great,” said Corey. He stood up. “I’m invited to Charlene’s tonight and I think I’ll take her down there to watch a pleasant, relaxing scene.”

“You should hear the rest,” said Gerber. “Those who haven’t read the book, don’t know what actually happens. You see, the man turns the page, moistens his finger with his tongue touches a page again moistens his finger...”

Corey groaned. “Poison! Tonight we’ll stay home and watch TV.”