Murder and the Married Virgin

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Neal said, “You’re crazy. This whole thing is crazy.”

“So you think it was too dark on the street last night for you to be recognized,” Quinlan said. “I don’t know what picture you’re talking about, but the identification was authentic and Shayne had nothing to do with it.”

“I didn’t say anything about the street last night,” Neal said with controlled fury. “I just said it was too dark last night for anyone to recognize anybody.”

The inspector spoke to a policeman behind Jordan: “Read that line back.”

The policeman read from his notes: “You know it was too dark there last night for-”

“Why did you stop so suddenly? Why didn’t you finish the sentence?” Quinlan demanded.

“Because I realized how it sounded. I didn’t mean to say there. I didn’t mean any particular place. Why do you think I would have killed Trueman? He’s never harmed me. I scarcely knew him.”

“What did you do with the necklace?”

“What necklace?”

“The emerald necklace you passed to him. The one you fought over in his office.”

“You’re crazy,” Neal said again, and there was more conviction in his voice.

“We’ve got you dead to rights,” Quinlan told him in a cold, even tone. “We’ve got the motive and we’ve got an identification from eye-witnesses.”

Neal had recovered his normal composure. He shrugged and replied with deliberation, “You’re doing the talking.” He put his face down against his hands again to shield it from the awful brightness.

The inspector stepped back, shook his head at Shayne, and admitted in a low, worried tone, “You’re right. He’s plenty tough.”

Shayne grinned. His eyes were very bright and his expression was one of certitude. One word from Neal Jordan had given him assurance. He said confidently, “I can make him talk.”

“Go to it.”

Shayne moved forward to face Neal. He said harshly, “I’m going to give it to you straight. You’re too smart to scare into talking, and it was pretty dark last night outside the Laurel Club for a witness to recognize anybody.”

Neal lifted his head and looked at him with a caustic smile.

“You’re admitting it now?”

“It isn’t going to help you. You might beat the Trueman rap before a jury. But I can prove to any jury that the same man who killed Katrin Moe killed Trueman. Fingered for one, you’re dead set for the other.”

“Katrin Moe committed suicide,” Neal growled.

“You hoped we’d think so. But I can prove it was murder-without any phony witnesses on dark nights; You might get a hung jury on Trueman if you keep your mouth shut, but I’ll hang you for the Moe job.” Neal was sweating freely and his voice was strained when he asked, “How could it be murder? I don’t see how you figure it.”

Shayne laughed softly. “It wasn’t so hard to dope out how and why she was murdered. But you and Lomax and Eddie all had about the same motive and opportunity. Until we got something else on one of you we couldn’t make the pinch. Now, we’ve got what we needed.”

He turned as though to walk away. “Wait a minute.” Neal was breathing fast and audibly. “If you’re telling the truth-”

“I’ve no reason to lie about it,” said Shayne, turning back. “You know Katrin was murdered.”

“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.” His protest was high-pitched and anguished. “I thought a lot of her. If I had even suspected-” He stopped abruptly and his labored breathing was loud in the silent room.

Neal Jordan clenched his fists and stared down at them, then lifted them over his head and said evenly. “That old bastard. So that’s what he did. All right. I won’t protect him any longer. Trueman was different. That was a clean struggle and a lucky blow. But coldblooded, premeditated murder of an innocent girl is different.” He shuddered as if with revulsion. “And I never even suspected it.”

Shayne said, “Keep talking.”

“I certainly will.” Neal’s voice was firm with righteous anger. “I was at the Laurel Club last night. I still think it was too dark for anyone to recognize me, but I’ll pass that. Sure I was there-waiting for Mr. Lomax while he was fighting with Dan Trueman. Though I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t know it until I read the paper this morning.”

He paused and curled his lips in a snarl. “And he offered me five hundred dollars to keep my mouth shut about driving him down.”

“Do you mean he confessed killing Trueman to you?”

“No. He swore to me that he didn’t do it. But he realized that it would look bad if he admitted going there, and he didn’t want to answer any questions about the necklace, so he asked me to keep still. I would have, too,” he admitted sullenly, “as long as it was just Trueman. But if he murdered Katrin, I won’t lift a finger to save him.”

Shayne said, “You’d better give us the whole story.”

“I will. He buzzed me a little after midnight last night. I’d already turned in, but I dressed and went down to the garage. He was waiting for me and he was nervous. I guess I looked surprised when he told me to drive to the Laurel Club, and I told him it would just about be closing when we got there.

“He said that didn’t matter-that he just wanted to see Trueman on a private matter. As we drove along he told me in confidence that he’d just had a call from Trueman offering to sell the necklace back to him. He seemed awfully anxious to get it-instead of having the insurance company get it back. I got the impression that he was afraid Clarice or Eddie had stolen it and given it to Trueman on a gambling debt, and I felt sorry for him.” He paused to shrug his naked sweating shoulders. “I’ve always felt sorry for him for having to put up with those two.”

Shayne said, “Go on,” impatiently when Neal put his face in his hands again.

“That’s about all there is. I parked outside and he went in that side entrance. He was gone about half an hour, and I walked up and down smoking my pipe. He came out in a hurry and seemed excited, but when we drove away he told me it was all right and he’d arranged to buy the necklace back the next morning as soon as he could get the money from his bank. I promised him I’d keep still about it.

“But he didn’t say anything about any fight. This morning he came down to the basement after breakfast and asked me if I’d read the paper and said it was terrible about what had happened to Trueman after he left, and he seemed pretty sure you had killed Trueman and got the necklace. He offered me the money to keep quiet. I thought he was telling the truth, so I promised.”

Neal stopped, lifted his head and squared his shoulders. He licked his lips and admitted, “I feel better now. I guess I’m not a very good conspirator. May I have a drink of water-and my pipe?”

“Give him anything he wants,” Quinlan ordered. “Get that statement typed and have him sign it while it’s hot. Gleason, you and Barnes get out to the Lomax house and pick up the old man. Bring him to my office and don’t tell him anything.” He motioned to Shayne, and they went back to his office.

Quinlan leaned back in his desk chair and smiled whimsically. “Doesn’t it beat hell, Shayne, how things work out sometimes? We think we’ve got a case sewed up with a square knot and blooie! it turns out to be a granny.”

Shayne scowled thoughtfully. He agreed that it did beat hell how things turned out sometimes.

“Don’t look so downhearted,” Quinlan chuckled. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. Good God, you said it might have been Lomax from the beginning. Putting the screws on Jordan is what cleared it up, no matter how you look at it.”

Shayne nodded and cleared his throat. “It cleared up one angle that’s been bothering me: how the killer found out that Trueman was dickering with me to buy the necklace.”

“Why was the old man so anxious to get it back? If he grabbed it in the first place to collect insurance, why did he turn it over to Trueman and then kill him to get it back?”

Shayne asked, “Have you still got that bead?”

“Right here.” Inspector Quinlan took the envelope from his desk drawer and dumped the gem on the blotter.

Shayne held it up to the light, asking, “Have you examined it carefully?”

“I don’t know. It’s an emerald. That’s all I know.”

Shayne shook his head as he squinted. “It’s a phony. Synthetic. A damned good job, but still a phony. I’ve worked too many insurance rackets not to recognize the real article.”

Quinlan said, “I’ll be damned-a phony.” He passed his hand across his eyes. “But the Lomax necklace was genuine. Your company insured it for a hundred and twenty-five thousand. They wouldn’t do that without checking up.”

“The Lomax necklace was real, all right.” Shayne rolled the glittering gem back and forth in his palm reflectively.

“What’s this, then? Was Trueman pulling a fast one? Did he have a reproduction made up to sell back to Lomax?”

“Let’s let Lomax tell about it,” Shayne suggested. He got up and walked across the room with his hands thrust deep in his pants pockets, a moody scowl on his rugged face.

“I can’t help wondering about one thing, Shayne. That identification of Neal Jordan. Those two witnesses-how dark was it last night?”

Shayne said, “Pretty dark.”

“Jordan said something about a picture being stolen from his room,” Quinlan went on hesitantly.

Shayne didn’t say anything.

“Was that one of your deals? Did you frame the identification as he charged?”

Shayne said angrily, “When I went out of here a few hours ago you told me you didn’t want to know what I was going to do. All right. Leave it that way. You don’t know.”

“That’s fair enough,” Quinlan agreed unhappily. He picked up his fountain pen and rolled it between his palms, his eyes filled with curiosity.

Shayne smoked a cigarette while they waited for Lomax. When he heard a commotion outside the door he drew a chair aside and sat down.

Mr. Lomax looked worried but determined when two detectives ushered him into the office. “I thought a private citizen had some constitutional rights,” he said irritably to the inspector. “These men dragged me here-”

“A murder suspect,” Quinlan interrupted harshly, “has no rights.”

Lomax looked suddenly deflated. He sank into a chair and nodded helplessly. “I was afraid that was it. After they arrested Neal. He couldn’t take your third degree, I suppose.”

“He sang like a canary when he found he was in it up to his neck,” Quinlan told him.

Lomax’s face was more like a death mask than Shayne had seen it. He said sadly, “I think I knew it wouldn’t work out. Ever since I read this morning’s paper. In a way, I’m glad. It’ll be a relief to tell my story.”

“Anything you say may be used against you,” Quinlan warned. “You can refuse to testify if you wish.”

“No… No. I want to get it off my chest,” said Lomax earnestly.

Quinlan rang for a stenographer and said, “Go ahead,” when the elderly court reporter came in.

“It was shortly after midnight when Mr. Trueman telephoned. He told me the necklace was in his possession and that Mr. Shayne had offered him forty thousand dollars for it in behalf of the insurance company.” He paused to turn his murky blue eyes reproachfully upon Shayne. “You had promised to keep me informed of developments.”

Shayne said, “You fell for a gag. Actually, I’d refused to deal with Trueman.”

Mr. Lomax sighed. “I didn’t know, of course. I was anxious to avoid any loss to the insurance company because I felt the whole affair was due solely to my wife’s negligence. So I told Trueman I’d come down and discuss the matter with him. I had Neal get the car ready, and I explained the elements of the situation to him as I drove down.

“I remember that he thought it extremely foolish for me to take that attitude, but I felt duty-bound to pay for my wife’s negligence.

“The Club had just closed when I arrived-some time after midnight. I found Mr. Trueman in his office and it was not difficult to reach an agreement with him. Though he refused to tell me how he had obtained the necklace and insisted he was acting for a third party, he agreed to turn it over to me for fifty thousand dollars. But he insisted on cash, naturally, and I arranged to withdraw it from the bank this morning and complete the transaction at noon today. Mr. Trueman was in perfect health when I left him, and it wasn’t until I read this morning’s paper that I knew what happened afterward.”

“Can you prove your story?” Quinlan asked.

“Neal will tell you-”

Quinlan chortled mirthlessly.

“Your chauffeur saw you go in and saw you come out. Can anyone testify that Trueman was alive when you left his office?”

Lomax moved his skull-like head dispiritedly. “No. He was alone in his office. I’m afraid no one saw me leave. But surely you gentlemen don’t think I caused that havoc in his office, that I bested him in a deadly struggle. I haven’t the strength nor the will for a thing like that.”

“The damage may not have been as extensive as the papers made it sound,” said Quinlan. “They’re apt to exaggerate a thing like that. At the time we suspected another person who would fit into such a rough and tumble.” He looked at Shayne quickly and cleared his throat, shook his head decidedly. “No. Trueman was killed by a single blow on the head,” Quinlan went on to Lomax, “with some sort of an iron bar. A weakling could have delivered the blow-or even a woman.”

“But why would I do it? I was willing to pay his price.” Mr. Lomax spread out his pasty white hands nervously.

“That’s your story. Fifty grand is a lot of money. Or he may have demanded a hundred. That’s a good enough motive for a jury.”

“I’m a wealthy man,” Lomax told him with quiet dignity.

“Maybe. We’ll check on that. In the meantime, here’s another motive that’s going to sound good to a jury. You made him show you the necklace. As soon as you saw it you realized he was trying to palm off an imitation on you. In your justifiable fury you killed him.”

“Oh,” said Lomax faintly, “you know about the necklace being only an imitation?”

“Certainly. In the struggle the necklace was broken and the stones scattered all over the floor. You left one behind when you gathered them up. As soon as we saw it we recognized it as synthetic.”

Shayne lounged forward and said, “That’s why you were so anxious to get the necklace back, wasn’t it, Lomax? Because if it reached the insurance company your fraud would be discovered.”

“Yes. But I tried to do the honest thing. You know I told you I’d prefer not to collect any insurance-that I’d rather pay it out of my own pocket than have your company lose.”

Shayne nodded. “I smelled a nigger in the woodpile right then. I’ve known a lot of wealthy men, but never one with a conscience before. And when I learned you were hard up for cash six months ago, I guessed you’d cashed in the necklace and substituted an imitation. Your wife didn’t know about it, did she?”

“No.” Lomax shuddered. “It was in her name, you know.”

“Wait a minute there, Shayne,” Quinlan protested angrily. “You’re breaking down your own case. If Lomax had substituted an imitation, why would he steal it in the first place-if he didn’t want to collect insurance?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Lomax protested.

“The hell you didn’t.” Quinlan pointed his cigar at Lomax. “You wouldn’t have had to murder Katrin Moe if you hadn’t stolen it. She was the only person in the house who knew it was in the safe in your bedroom at the time the house was burglarized.”

Lomax threw up one arm as though to fend off the accusation.

“Murdered? Katrin? No. She committed suicide. It must have been suicide. I saw the locked door myself-and the gas turned on in her grate.”

“Sure you did,” Quinlan said in a cold even tone. “You were even careful to have someone else break down her door-to have a witness to the fact that it must be suicide. But we know how you did it. And it was smart. I concede that. Damned near perfect. A mere twist of the wrist to shut her gas off after she’d gone to sleep with it burning. Then another twist of the wrist to send gas pouring into her room while she slept.”

Mr. Lomax looked from Quinlan to Shayne in consternation.

“You’re demented,” he panted. “It couldn’t have happened that way. Katrin never burned her gas. We all knew of her aversion to a gas fire.”

Quinlan remained leaning forward. He stopped poking his cigar at Lomax and held it perfectly still in mid-air.

He didn’t move a muscle for a full thirty seconds. Then he twisted his head to look at Shayne in mute appeal.

Shayne drew in a long breath and exhaled noisily. “I didn’t tell you because I figured you’d lock me up the moment you found out that theory had blown up on us. Lomax is right. Katrin Moe never turned her gas on. She wouldn’t stay long in a room where gas was burning.”

Quinlan slowly sank back in his chair and put his cigar in his mouth. He said, “Now, by God-” in a low, stifled voice.

“There’s just one question I want to ask you, Lomax,” Shayne interrupted. “Whose idea was it to put that insulating material around the hot-air pipes in the basement?”

Lomax looked up at Shayne, completely surprised. “That was Neal’s idea. He suggested it Wednesday afternoon, and explained that fuel would be greatly conserved. I thought it was fine of him to offer to do the work himself-”

“That’s all I want,” Shayne cut in.

He turned to Quinlan and said grimly, “Bring Neal Jordan in here.”

Lomax looked at Shayne quizzically.

Quinlan hesitated and started to expostulate angrily, but the look on Shayne’s face checked him. He flipped a button and said into the mouthpiece, “Bring Jordan in here.”