Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 7, No. 9, September 1962

Innocent Witness by Irving Schiffer

The role of innocent bystander, or witness, if you prefer the term, is one which is usually played involuntarily... yet sometimes most effectively.

The detective was waiting for her as she emerged from the office building at five o’clock. Suddenly in the midst of the homegoers he was standing before her, very tall, a young man with a surprisingly gentle voice and considerate manner.

“Hello, Julie...” he said.

She was twenty, a dark-haired girl who worked as a secretary in the financial district of New York. She was one of many, not much different at first glance than the girls who sat at the desks around her, pretty enough, not very sophisticated, a girl everyone liked, accustomed to anonymity. She was, above all things, not used to being singled out by detectives; and she looked about self-consciously as the other girls passed, certain that some of them recognized Sergeant Ruderman from his visit to the office that morning.

“I wonder...” he said, as if sensing her thoughts, “is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

She nodded gratefully. “Yes, there’s a diner next door.”

Bill’s Diner was one of those trolley-shaped affairs with a long counter, a few booths and very good food. They sat in a booth, Julie facing the rear, and he signalled for two coffees. She looked at the telephone booths and thought that perhaps, if she were going to be late for dinner, she ought to call her mother. He said nothing until after coffee had arrived.

“Julie... Miss Stevens... something has been bothering me all day. This morning, when I spoke to you in your office...”

“Yes...?”

“I had the feeling you wanted to tell me something. About your boss, Mr. Turner, and his wife.”

She shook her head. She sipped at the coffee so that she could look away from him. “I told you everything, Sergeant Ruderman.”

“Did you?” If he weren’t a policeman, his easy tone of voice could be considered that of a friend, even a lover. He was a nice man, she thought, and he was probably very good at his job. “You know what I think,” he said, smiling faintly over his steaming coffee mug. “I think you’re a very confused girl. Maybe you’ve got a misdirected sense of loyalty. Come to think of it, I like a person who’s loyal.”

She didn’t fall into that trap. “I really can’t think of anything I haven’t told you,” she insisted.

“About the Turners... they weren’t getting along too well. Some of their friends have told us that. Did they have a blowup or a serious argument in the last few days?”

Julie shrugged. She could tell he didn’t believe her, but he wasn’t angry. He was an even-tempered man, and he was calm as he finished his coffee, looking at her all the while. Then suddenly he glanced at his watch and placed some change on the table for the waiter. He handed her a card.

“That’s my number at the station. You can call at any hour.” His grin was a pleasant surprise. “Just in case you find you have something to tell me, I mean. Now, will you kindly write your name and address on this other card?”

“My address...?” she said warily.

“Sure. Have you ever had a date with a detective?”

She thought of his motives, of his job.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You won’t hear from me until after the case is closed. I don’t mix business with pleasure. And I don’t meet girls like you every day.”

She liked him, there was no getting away from that. And the straightforward, almost vulnerable way he looked at her was convincing enough for any girl. She filled in the back of the card and handed it to him.

“You’ll hear from me,” he said. “Or maybe... who can tell?... maybe I’ll hear from you first. Goodnight, Julie...”

After he left, she barely moved. A woman walked past to enter one of the phone booths. Abstractedly, Julie watched the stranger’s lips through the glass door and thought again that she ought to call her mother; but she couldn’t move.

Yes, there was something. The detective was right. It was not only the problem between Mr. Turner and his wife. About that she had lied. It was something else. But what?

She sighed. It occurred to her that Sergeant Ruderman might even believe there had been something between her and Mr. Turner. Well, there hadn’t been. Not really. Mary kept hinting that there was, but Mary was always carrying on... Like yesterday morning at the office... Wednesday... just before Mrs. Turner called...

Mary was Mr. Cassidy’s secretary. He was one of several vice presidents at Empire Investment, married; an outrageous wolf. Sometimes it seemed as though Mary... blond and vivacious, led him on, just a little. On Wednesday morning, there was a lot of flirtatious patter before Mr. Cassidy got past Julie’s and Mary’s adjacent desks to enter his own office.

“Sometimes I’m inclined to forget that he’s married,” Mary remarked, once his door had closed behind him.

“You’re just a lot of big talk,” said Julie.

“Oh, I don’t know. Married men are just men who happen to be married. Don’t be so naive, Julie. All these vice-presidents with their private telephone lines... I’ll bet it isn’t all business they talk about behind those closed doors. And I’ll bet if your Mr. Turner gave you a tumble, you wouldn’t exactly fight him off. I can tell when a girl has a crush... Oops, get to work, here’s your boss now...”

Mr. Turner was as unlike Mr. Cassidy as a man could be. In his middle thirties, the company’s youngest vice-president, he was clean cut, methodical and one hundred percent business. He walked by the girls’ desks quickly, offered a brusque good morning, then disappeared into his office.

“Well, I have to admit he’s good looking,” Mary sighed. “But did you ever see his wife? Ten years older if she’s a day. And she looks like something the cat dragged in.”

“No, she doesn’t...” Julie objected.

“Yes, she does. And everyone here knows he married her strictly for her money. I remember when she was just another rich client... only six months ago... a born old maid if ever I saw one.”

“I remember her very well,” said Julie. “She was just an unhappy, lonely woman...”

“Sure. But then handsome boy took over the account and... wham!... they get married. One of these days, you’ll see, he’ll quit working, retire for life... on her money, of course.”

Julie’s telephone rang. Saved by the bell, she thought, reaching for it. But it was quite a shock... speak of the devil... to learn who was calling.

“Julie, this is Mrs. Turner.”

“Oh, good morning. Just one moment, I’ll tell Mr. Turner you’re calling...”

“No, no, no, Julie. I don’t even want him to know I’ve called. I want to speak to you. Can we meet for lunch? I must have a talk with you...”

“With me?” There was no mistaking the urgency in the woman’s voice, Julie reflected. “Well, yes, of course, Mrs. Turner. What is it you want to speak to me a—?”

A burst of static interrupted the girl as the intercom box on her desk came to life. The signal light was on.

“Julie...” Mr. Turner’s voice crackled.

For one eerie moment, Julie experienced an inexplicable panic. She stared at the intercom box and then at the telephone receiver in her hand, realizing that if Mrs. Turner spoke again, her husband would hear. Quickly, Julie clamped her hand over the telephone mouthpiece. Then just as quickly she realized she had covered the wrong end to shut off Mrs. Turner’s voice, and switched to cover the ear-piece.

“Julie, will you bring me the file on Sloban Company...” Richard Turner’s voice directed.

“Yes, right away,” said the girl. She waited until he turned off the intercom, then spoke hurriedly into the telephone. “I have to go now...”

“Yes, I heard,” said the woman.

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes,” Julie promised. “I’d better use a telephone outside. Are you home, Mrs. Turner?”

“Yes. Please don’t forget. I’ll be waiting...”

Mary’s eyebrows were two question marks, but Julie had no time to explain. She moved to the filing cabinets behind the long line of typists’ desks and quickly located the Sloban file. Feelings strangely conspiratorial, she pictured Mrs. Turner in her Washington Square apartment, an overweight, somehow pitiful woman, waiting for the return call. Her expression revealing none of these thoughts, Julie knocked on Mr. Turner’s door.

As she came into his room, Richard Turner was speaking on his private telephone. His grey eyes barely flicked in his secretary’s direction while he continued to charm his widowed client, Mrs. Sloban.

“...Yes, Vera... I realize you don’t want to take risks with the principal. Empire Investment wouldn’t allow such recklessness. I mean, we’d certainly advise against it...”

Julie gazed at the sharp, handsome profile. As always, it did something to her equilibrium she preferred not to acknowledge. There were two telephones on his desk, one an extension of the phone on her desk, the other for “confidential” contact with clients. Julie could remember when Mrs. Turner was one of those clients, a lonely heiress, who rated long conversations as he was now indulging Mrs. Sloban. Marriage, thought Julie, as she placed the Sloban folder on his desk, can certainly cool a man’s ardor... if there had been any ardor in the first place...

“Are you waiting for something?” He had broken off his conversation and was frowning at her irritably. “Well, as long as you’re here—” He fingered the folder. “Are the reports in here up to date? I’m speaking to Mrs. Sloban now and I may have to prepare a detailed report tomorrow—”

Julie explained that there was some tallying of latest dividends to complete but she could bring the folder up to date by tomorrow morning. He interrupted with a weary gesture.

“Instead of daydreaming at my desk, Julie, if you paid more attention to your work...”

He tossed the folder on his desk, dismissing her.

A moment later, Julie emerged fuming from the inner office. Mary’s gaze followed her to her desk. “Obviously he didn’t offer you a raise in salary,” she quipped.

“Mary, tell me, do I ever daydream on the job?”

“Is that what lover boy said?”

Julie opened her desk drawer and yanked out her handbag. “I must be a masochist to find something appealing in a man like that! If he asks for me, say I’m off daydreaming somewhere.”

“You going down to call Mrs. Turner?”

Julie nodded. “I promised. She wants to meet me for lunch. Wouldn’t you just bet she’ll ask me to help her pick out a lovely surprise gift for her dear, dear husband? Arsenic — that’s what I’ll recommend!”

The elevator man was chatty and helped to cool Julie’s temper as he brought her down five flights to the lobby. The counterman at Bill’s Diner next door waved to her familiarly. Faith in human nature was momentarily restored. Julie slipped into one of the telephone booths in the rear of the diner and dialed Mrs. Turner’s number.

They arranged to meet for lunch at 12:30, at a restaurant Julie was reasonably sure her employer was not likely to patronize... he was expected at a business lunch today anyway. When Julie arrived at the meeting place, Mrs. Turner was already sipping a drink at the table, her gross features a portrait of determination and bitterness.

It was not long before Julie understood the reason for this grim countenance. No sooner had the waitress brought their order when Mrs. Turner clutched her companion’s hands across the table.

“Julie, I want you to be honest with me. Don’t be afraid of hurting me with the truth—”

“I’ll try, Mrs. Turner, but what...?”

“Tell me, is my husband carrying on with another woman?”

The girl was too surprised even to deny having such knowledge. Mrs. Turner leaned forward tensely.

“Julie, I must know. I’m leaving him anyway, don’t you understand? But I must know who she is.”

“Mrs. Turner, I really don’t know anything about—”

“Yes, you do. You’re his secretary. All of you at the office know who she is. Julie, I want to strike back. You can understand that. I want to disgrace both of them!”

“Did he tell you he was in love with some other woman?” Julie asked, aware of a guilty flush on her cheeks.

“Love? Richard doesn’t love anybody. He uses people. He married me only for my money.” The ugly woman smiled thinly. “But now he’s angry at me... oh, how he raged last night... because I won’t transfer any of my money into his account. Transfer my money? What kind of fool does he think I am? Do you know what he said when I refused? He taunted me. He said he was going to find other women... beautiful women... to take his mind off his money troubles—”

“But, Mrs. Turner, he didn’t say there already was another woman, did he? He only threatened...”

The older woman shook her head sagely. “You don’t know Richard. He never threatens until he’s sure of what he has. The bird in the hand philosophy. But I want to ruin it for both of them. I want to leave him before he’s ready to leave me. Then he’ll have nothing. And at the same time I want to create such a scandal that I’ll ruin all his chances of marrying someone else. They won’t even dare speak to each other after I’m through. Julie, who are his clients? The unattached women?”

She was quite alarmed. “I couldn’t give you the names of clients.”

Mrs. Turner leaned back with an appearance of defeat. She could sense Julie’s determination, and her own wilted. “Oh well, I understand. Of course you can’t. I suppose you’ve been as helpful as you can, and, don’t worry, Julie, I won’t tell him about our meeting. But tonight I’ll tell him I’m through with him...” Again she smiled. “I’ll enjoy telling him. It’ll be interesting to see how he tries to convince me he didn’t mean to threaten me, that he really loves me... Yes, it’ll be quite a night...”

At the office again, it was impossible to get any work done. Mr. Turner was still out with a client most of the afternoon, but Mary gave her no peace until she had told her everything that happened; and it was a relief to share the incident with someone. It was an even greater relief when five o’clock came and she left the office to board the subway to the Bronx.

Not until she was at the dinner table that evening did Julie remember the Sloban account. Her mother was berating her kid sister for not doing her homework, for daydreaming... and Julie suddenly realized that in her distress this afternoon, she had forgotten to bring the Sloban folder up to date. The idea of facing Mr. Turner the next day with this oversight was a dreaded one, especially after his criticism this morning and considering the mood he would be in after tonight, after his wife...

It was barely seven o’clock, she noted. She could return to the office, bring home the folder to work on it, and have it finished before bedtime. Despite her mother’s objections to her going out again, Julie slipped into her coat and dashed out of the house.

The night elevator man at her office building was almost asleep behind his desk. He recognized her and smiled sheepishly.

“Can you take me up and wait for me?” Julie asked, as she signed the register book. He shook his head and reached for his keys. “No, I have to be on duty down here. Just buzz the elevator when you’re ready to come down.”

He brought her up... the elevator seemed so noisy when the building was empty... and opened the office door with a master key, then returned to his post. Julie felt deserted. Whistling, she snapped on a central overhead light and walked across the empty floor to Mr. Turner’s unlighted office. The Sloban folder was still on his desk. The moment she reached for it, his telephone rang. Her hand jumped back.

The effect of the second loud ring in the darkened office was no less startling. Who could be calling on Mr. Turner’s private telephone at this hour? On the third ring she collected her wits and picked up the receiver.

“Hello...” she said.

“What? Who... who is this?”

It was Mr. Turner’s voice.

Quickly overcoming her surprise, Julie identified herself. She explained her presence at the office. “Is it all right if I take the folder home to work on it?”

“Yes... yes — certainly. Are you leaving now?”

“Right away, Mr. Turner.” She could picture his intense face and she had never before known such a sense of intimacy and aloneness with this man. Perhaps it was simply the fact that it was night. More than anything else, she wanted to prolong the conversation. “Was there anything you wanted, Mr. Turner? Was there anyone—”

“No, of course not.” His laugh was short, forced. “I just dialed the wrong number. I was having a few drinks at a bar and I got mixed up. Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Turner.”

She hung tip and stared at the telephone. It occurred to her to wonder if Mrs. Turner had already told her husband she was leaving him, disinheriting him, and the rest of what she had threatened. If so, she could understand very well why he was drinking. But why had he called the office — at this hour? Was someone supposed to be here? Had her own presence frightened that other person away? She could not really believe that he had dialed the wrong number.

Julie picked up the Sloban folder and walked out to the center of the floor. She half expected to find some person lurking behind one of the typists’ desks. Whatever the explanation, her curiosity had to be satisfied. Why should she let him chase her home? She could do her work here, couldn’t she? She sat at her own desk and opened the folder. She could finish posting the dividends in less than an hour...

Slightly more than an hour was required. With a sense of accomplishment she closed the folder and returned it to Mr. Turner’s desk. At her own desk, she picked up her handbag and topcoat. Then she froze.

Like a shriek in the night, the telephone on Mr. Turner’s desk rang... first once, then again and again...

She swung about to look at the frosted glass entrance door. At any moment, she knew, someone would come bursting through that door in answer to the imperative ringing. But no silhouette approached the glass. Stiffly, resisting the magnetism of the unanswered ringing, Julie made her way across the office floor. Looking back, she flicked off the lights, opened the door, then closed it behind her. Standing at the elevator, she heard the telephone ringing still, like a petulant child, calling her... calling someone. Finally, just before the elevator arrived, the ringing stopped.

In the morning, Mary listened to the previous night’s events with wide-eyed astonishment. “You mean he called the office? Yipes, he sure must have been plastered! But, you know, I can’t imagine that man getting so plastered...”

Mr. Turner arrived only minutes late and seemed as self-possessed as ever. He appeared to have forgotten that yesterday existed. After a sharp “Good morning,” he entered his office and closed the door behind him. At about 9:20, the intercom came to life on Julie’s desk.

“Julie,” he said, “will you get Mrs. Turner on the phone for me?”

“Mrs. Turner?” Somehow she was startled to find that he could still be on speaking terms with his wife.

“Yes, Mrs. Turner. Didn’t you hear me?”

What she did hear, just before he broke the connection, was a puzzling undercurrent of sound.

“That’s strange...” she mused, turning to Mary.

“What is?”

Julie nodded toward the closed office. “He’s calling somebody on his private phone. I could hear him dialing...”

“The other woman,” said the blond girl, snapping her fingers. “He wants her to listen while he talks to his wife, don’t you see? Or maybe it’s his lawyer. Maybe they’ll make a tape recording... evidence for the divorce...”

Julie was disgusted with herself for believing Mary even for a second. She picked up the telephone, asked the switchboard girl for an outside line, then dialed. Mrs. Turner’s line was busy.

“Well, what did you expect?” Mary said. “She’s busy talking to her lawyer.”

Julie pressed, the intercom buzzer and waited for him to switch it on.

“Yes, Julie...”

“Your wife’s line is busy, Mr. Turner.”

“Oh? All right, thank you.”

“Shall I try her again in a few minutes?”

“No, don’t bother. It’s not very important...”

Julie was thoughtful as she slipped paper into her typewriter and began almost automatically to compose a monthly statement to a client. She wondered, as she often did when life gave her a glimpse of private lives, what her own future would be. Would she marry someone in all good faith only to learn one day that she hardly knew him at all? Could one trust one’s feelings...?

Absorbed, Julie did not even notice the two strangers approaching her desk. It was shortly before lunch time. She was typing, and then there was a man’s overcoat sleeve and an open hand showing her a wallet with a police badge.

That was the first time she saw Sergeant Ruderman.

“I’m very sorry I startled you. I guess you didn’t hear me over your typing. I asked if I could speak to Mr. Turner, please.”

There was another detective with him, somewhat shorter, older. She looked from one to the other. Then she nodded decisively. “Will you come this way please?”

She led them to Mr. Turner’s office. She did not follow them inside. Somehow she knew why they were here.

When they emerged with Mr. Turner, she could almost feel what he was feeling. She had never seen him so pale.

“Julie, Mrs. Turner has had an accident. I’ll be out—” He looked questioningly at the detectives. “I’ll be out the rest of the day.”

“An accident? Is it very serious?”

He nodded briefly. “The maid found her—”

Sergeant Ruderman stepped closer. “I’ll explain it to your secretary, Mr. Turner. You’d better go with Detective Wilson. I’ll be along later.”

When they had gone, he asked Julie to step into Mr. Turner’s office. He closed the door and offered her a chair. She knew by the slight narrowing of his hazel eyes that he had somehow read her involuntary feeling of resentment when he, in turn, chose the chair behind the desk.

“Mrs. Turner is dead, isn’t she?” Julie asked.

He merely inclined his head, watching her.

“How did it happen? When?”

He showed little expression. “The maid let herself in around ten o’clock this morning. That’s the time she comes in every day. She found Mrs. Turner in the bathtub. Evidently, she had struck her head and... You don’t really want to hear the details, do you?”

Julie turned away. “No... Of course it was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“That’s the way it appears. Julie, you spoke to Mrs. Turner on the phone this morning, is that right?”

“I did not. Who told you that?”

“Mr. Turner did. He said you called her this morning.”

“Yes, he asked me to. But I didn’t speak to her. The line was busy at the time.”

“I see. Yes—” The detective’s lips quirked with spontaneous humor. “That is what he told us. What time did Mr. Turner arrive at the office, by the way?”

“Nine o’clock. A few minutes after nine perhaps.”

“And what time did you call Mrs. Turner?”

“Nine-twenty, I think.”

“And Mr. Turner did not leave the office since he arrived this morning?”

She was pleased at having stumped the interrogator. “He was here all morning,” she said loyally.

“Well, that’s good.” He, too, seemed pleased. “We’ve determined that she died somewhere around nine o’clock. Whether it was before nine or after nine... that’s in question. However, none of the phones in her apartment were off the hook when we got there, or when the maid got there. And you say her line was busy at nine-twenty. So the probability is that she was alive at that time and had an accident a short while afterward.”

He smiled as he walked Julie to the door. “I don’t exactly apologize for taking you away from your work. It was a pleasure, I assure you.” His expression became earnest. “I admit I did have a kind of feeling... Julie, what was their relationship? Were they getting along?”

She almost said it then, all that had happened. He seemed such an easy and trustworthy man to talk to. But she stopped herself. He noticed all of these transitions, she was sure. As he held open the door, his expression was one of doubt and puzzlement. She knew he did not believe her murmured answer that she knew nothing about the Turners...

That was why tonight he had waited for her outside the building and then brought her to Bill’s Diner. Yet even he could not fathom how much she had learned in the last two days about that unhappy marriage. Mr. Turner, himself, was totally unaware that she had spoken to his wife and knew so much. Would anything be gained by offering this information? It would only hurt Mr. Turner.

Then why, she wondered, did she have this feeling of wanting to speak to Sergeant Ruderman again, to tell him...

“Julie...”

It was Mary. She had slipped into the very seat the detective had just vacated.

“Well, don’t look so surprised,” she said, pouting. “I saw him meet you outside the building, so I waited. You know I can’t resist the latest gossip. What did he tell you? What happened?”

“Nothing happened. He asked me again about the Turners and I still didn’t tell him.”

“Good!”

Julie stared at her. “Good? Why do you say that?”

“Because what’s the point of making extra trouble for poor Mr. Turner?” She leaned forward confidentially. “Now, what about that detective? Did he ask you for a date?”

Julie’s change in coloration answered her.

“I knew it... even by the way he looked at you in the office this morning. Much to my surprise, I envied you that look, gal. And the next time I try to tell you I’m not interested in that sentimental gush, and the next time I say that only money counts, and it makes no difference if your boyfriend is married... well, if I ever say those things again after all that’s happened, please don’t believe me, will you...”

Julie put her hand over Mary’s. “I never believed you. One thing I almost believed, though, was that you and Mr. Turner... that you—”

“Mr. Turner? Are you serious?”

Julie shrugged. “It would have explained so many things. But I know it’s not true. Still, something—” She frowned as she stared beyond Mary at the empty telephone booths. Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “Mary, suppose he wasn’t calling his lawyer, or some other woman?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Turner. Remember this morning, when I said he was calling somebody on his other telephone? Well, suppose he was ringing his wife’s number? I’d get a busy signal if I tried to call it at the same time, wouldn’t I?”

Mary was unsure. Julie walked to the counter and asked for change for a dollar bill, then entered one of the booths. “I have to find out if it works,” she said. “Who are you going to call?” Mary wanted to know.

“I’ll call Mr. Turner’s house on this phone and let it ring,” Julie explained. “Then I’ll call the same number from the other booth and see if I get a busy signal.”

She started to put a dime in the slot, then pulled her hand away.

“No, I can’t call his house. He might answer. Or the police might still be there. Is anyone at your place, Mary?”

Her friend winced. “The whole family.”

“They’re at my house, too. We need a phone that won’t answer. How about the office?”

Mary frowned. “That’s true... but I think the switchboard automatically shifts a second call to another line. So that wouldn’t be a good test. Why don’t you call one of the private phones? Mr. Turner’s phone doesn’t go through the switchboard...”

Julie had already dropped the dime in the slot. She dialed carefully. They could hear the buzz-click as the telephone rang at the other end. Suddenly Julie gasped. With a stunned expression, she slowly hung up the receiver.

“What’s the matter?” Mary stepped into the booth. “Why did you hang up? I thought you were going to let it ring and then try calling the number on the others—”

Julie was shaking her head. “No, Mr. Turner already made the test... last night. That was why he called the office. Now I can understand why he was so shocked when I answered...”

“Then he did it? He murdered her? You mean, she was probably dead before he even came to work this morning?”

Julie shuddered. “It’s unbelievable... that it could happen with people in your own office, people you see every day. Do you know what gives me the creeps, Mary? It’s knowing that I saw everything. I was part of everything that happened. I was a witness to every part of it... but I didn’t realize it at the time.”

She reached into her handbag for the detective’s card.

“He said I had a misdirected sense of loyalty. Sergeant Ruderman, I mean. I guess he was right.” Julie dialed the number from the card. “Hello,” she said into the mouthpiece, “is this the police station? Has Sergeant Ruderman arrived? He has? Yes, I’d like to speak to him...”