Sinful Woman

Chapter Twelve

THE INQUEST, WHEN IT assembled in a quite battered casino, showed every indication of frayed nerves. It was, and had been even before the fire, in the last few minutes of its life, and the jury, to say nothing of officers, witnesses, and newspaper men, wanted to get away. The Coroner rapped for order, and instructed the jury that they were to certify the fact of death, the cause of death, the manner of death, if they had been able to ascertain it, and any consequences of death they thought proper to include, particularly whether they knew of any persons who should be held for the grand jury. He was interrupted by the Sheriff, who asked permission to add to his testimony. He then said what he had promised Dmitri he would say. Dmitri was then permitted to testify about the letter, and especially the way his head would hang in shame if it were fastened upon him that he had been careless enough to let his friend be killed by accident, whereas in truth the affair had been a deliberate, if cunningly concealed suicide. The Coroner said: “You are to disregard the last two pieces of evidence, since conjecture, regard for personal feelings, or other irrelevant things don’t concern you.”

The jury whispered for two or three minutes, then one of the middle-aged men got up and said: “We find the said Victor Alexis Olaf Hermann Adlerkreutz came to his death by bullet through the heart fired from a gun in his own hands and the hands of Dmitri Spiro in an accidental and unintentional manner.”

“So entered.”

There was a stir as the newspaper people stood up, and the Coroner opened his mouth to declare the inquest at an end.

“Just a minute.”

The sound of feet moving toward the door stopped, and Dmitri caught the Sheriff’s arm, whimpering, whispering, pleading. But the Sheriff paid no attention, being evidently interested in Mr. Layton, who was striding with masterful mien toward the Coroner’s table. Then Dmitri did what was perhaps the first stupid thing he had done in a long and terrible day. As he hung to the Sheriff’s arm, he saw a letter in the Sheriff’s pocket. With Mr. Layton just a few feet away, and Ethel slithering her way forward in his wake, he evidently thought it no time to hesitate. Taking the letter between a roguish thumb and forefinger he flipped it out of the pocket and said: “Sharf, Sharf, you kid me! You didn’t burn this note at all! You—”

But when he saw the envelope he stopped, and his face froze in horror. The Coroner, who had been whispering in puzzlement to Mr. Flynn, stopped too, he being no more than three feet away. For there, in the Sheriff’s handwriting, were the words: “Shoreham Confession.” Reaching out, he took the letter from Dmitri. Then, taking a knife from his pocket, and acting with grave, slow deliberation, he slit it open, took out the slip of paper that it contained, read it. Then, taking off his glasses and looking frighteningly solemn, he said: “Sheriff Lucas, Sylvia Shoreham, Tony Rico, Dmitri Spiro, and Gerland La Bouche, it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest, that you must submit yourselves at once to search, and that anything you say here may be used against you.”

No matrons were present to search Sylvia, but the Coroner swore in the Domino’s phone girl, and instructed her what she was to take, what to leave on the prisoner. The two women then went off to the ladies’ room. Police, expert on their job, made quick work of the men prisoners, while the reporters, still in the dark as to this unexpected twist, tried to break through the Coroner’s silence for their deadlines. It wasn’t until Sylvia and the phone girl returned, and a little memo book taken from her handbag had been placed on the table, that the Coroner resumed. Looking at the book, he handed it back to Sylvia; then, in a slow measured voice, read the confession. It emptied it, as no fire could have done. The newspaper people stampeded for their deadlines in a noisy, shouting throng, and for a full minute after their departure the air outside was full of the noise of their taxis and cars. The Coroner, who had rapped angrily for order, waited until things quieted down. Then he turned to the prisoners and said: “Is there any statement any of you people wish to make?”

Heads went together and in a moment Mr. Daly said: “I came here, Doctor, to represent Miss Shoreham, but Mr. Rico, Mr. Spiro, and Mr. La Bouche have asked me to take charge for them too. On behalf of them, I inform you that I have advised them to stand on their constitutional rights.”

Mr. Flynn said: “How shall I charge them?”

The Coroner said: “Murder, accessory after murder, suppression of evidence of murder, obstruction of justice, and perjury.”

“Miss Shoreham didn’t testify.”

“Disjoin her from the perjury charge.”

“What murder?”

The Coroner looked at the Sheriff in some annoyance. “Sheriff Lucas, are you in your right mind?”

“I am.”

“The murder of Victor Adlerkreutz as confessed by Sylvia Shoreham in a statement that has just been taken from your pocket.”

“That statement is not evidence.”

“That’s for the grand jury to determine.”

“That statement was given me by Miss Shoreham on my threat to prosecute her sister for killing Victor Adlerkreutz.”

“Why didn’t you present it?”

“It’s false.”

“Or might this be the reason?” Mr. Flynn handed over, and the Coroner grimly accepted, a slip of paper.

“What is it?”

“It’s a check. A check taken from your person when you were searched just now, signed by Dmitri Spiro, and made out to you.”

“To me, as Treasurer.”

“Of what? The Parker Lucas Benevolent Association?”

This got a laugh, but Sylvia suddenly looked up, as though it meant something to her. The Sheriff said: “Whatever I’m Treasurer of, the check’s not evidence and don’t concern this inquest.”

“Bribery might interest the grand jury too.”

“No bribery. Sorry, your honor. Bribery begins with the acceptance and retention of good and valuable things and it generally involves cash. A check proves an honest man. It’s been gone into many times. A check is not evidence until it’s cashed, and the cash is not evidence until it’s kept. What I’m treasurer of I don’t care to say at this time.”

“If Miss Shoreham’s sister committed this murder, or you think she did, why didn’t you put that fact in evidence?”

“There’s been no murder.”

“Sheriff Lucas, will you stop trifling with me?”

“I’m not trifling. Hazel Shoreham is dead.”

The Sheriff related briefly the discovery of the girl’s body earlier in the evening. Then he went on: “A homicide is not a murder until a jury says it is, and with the murderer dead no charge growing out of murder could ever be brought. Just the same, it seemed to me these picture people, in their desire to keep the Shoreham name out of this, had trifled with me and trifled with this state. The question was, how to get something on them, and I deliberately waited until the end of this inquest, or nearly the end of it, when I was going to break in on you with the truth, and then at least we’d have them for perjury. All, that is, except Miss Shoreham, since she didn’t testify, but I didn’t mind about her, because her effort to deceive me was at least from a motive no worse than trying to save her sister. But these men were concerned with money, the film they couldn’t release if this scandal got out. So I was ready to shoot, but this man, this man Spiro here, crossed me up.”

The Coroner’s face had changed quite a lot during this laconic recital, and the jury obviously believed it. The Coroner, in a different tone, said: “How do you mean he crossed you, Parker?”

“By setting this fire.”

“By — what?”

Tony jumped up with an exclamation, but Mr. Flynn rapped for order. The Coroner said: “Well! It’s one thing we could get him for.”

“If Tony prosecutes.”

“You think I won’t?”

“Yeah.”

The Sheriff drawled this out with half-lowered eyelids, then added: “On account of you and Spiro being such good friends lately. You wouldn’t cross a pal, would you?”

“I’d — have to think about it.”

“I thought so.”

The Sheriff turned to the Coroner, went on: “Friend Spiro set the fire to bust up the inquest until he could get me by the arm and try to buy me off. I couldn’t to save my neck figure what he was up to, because I hadn’t let out a peep yet, but when he said some more about suicide, and wanted me to say I’d read that note he talked bout here, I begun to smell insurance. And then I saw a way to get them all, and at the same time get our state what it’s needed so bad all this time, that tuberculosis hospital. I told Spiro to make out his check to me as Treasurer. And I had reason to think that whatever was paid for accident, that wouldn’t be paid for suicide, I could get that for our hospital too, and teach the insurance company a lesson. And I didn’t have to be told how much I could tap Tony for and this La Bouche, and maybe some others of them that had been trying to make suckers out of us.”

“Parker, you went too far.”

“Who says I did? We got one of the funniest states in this Union. It’s a big state, and once it was a rich state. Now it’s not, and only a few people live in it, but we all know those mines are going to come back, and I speak for every man, woman, and child in it when I say we all made up our minds long ago that we weren’t going to let it go to pot while we were waiting for whatever is in store. We’ve kept our state clean and given our children schools and our motorists roads but we had to do it our own way. We couldn’t do it with taxes because we didn’t collect enough. We did it with divorce and gambling and other things you all know about but I won’t go into here. We give them the decentest divorce, the squarest gambling, and the best-regulated things of other kinds, that you can find anywhere. We went on the principle our state’s preservation was involved, and if it was in the public interest and nobody got hurt, it was all right. You mean to tell me it’s not the same way here?”

Nobody answered. The Sheriff went on: “Now it’s been broke wide open, and a verdict of accident is out. Just the same, if this idiot hadn’t pulled this so-called confession out of my pocket, it would have given us our hospital, and everybody would have been taught all the lesson that was necessary.”

“You think so?”

Mr. Layton, who had been completely forgotten these last few minutes, now stepped truculently forward. To the Sheriff he said: “So, with a signed confession from her on you, it’s the other sister. With a fifty-grand bribe on you, it’s just taking up a collection for t.b. patients. With Hazel Shoreham made the murderer of Victor Adlerkreutz, instead of the beneficiary, Sylvia Shoreham, the Southwest General of N. A. is hooked fifty thousand dollars of life insurance, hey? Not while I’m here, we’re not. Your honor, I’d like to present a witness. One that’ll tell who really killed Victor Adlerkreutz.”

As Ethel, motioned on by Mr. Layton, came diffidently forward, there were many exchanges of glances, and the Coroner said to the Sheriff: “There’s nothing I can do but hear her.”

“I should say not.”

The Coroner told Ethel to be seated, asked her to hold up her right hand, swore her in. He had Mr. Flynn take her name, uneasily asked Mr. Pease if he wanted to take over the examination. Mr. Pease said he was doing very well himself, and should continue. He told Ethel that since he had no idea what she knew, perhaps the best thing would be for her to tell her story in her own way, and she did so, with a breathless, beady-eyed earnestness that could no more be doubted than a train-announcer could be doubted.

She said she dealt a game of blackjack that morning to a foreign gentleman known to her as Vic, though she had no idea he was Sylvia Shoreham’s husband. Then, she said, Jake the bartender whispered to her Sylvia Shoreham was in the office. She was that excited, she said, that she couldn’t count her chips, and paid Vic $1 to which he was not entitled. Soon, she said, Jake came out and called Vic and Vic went in the office, but she had no chance to go look because as soon as she rang up her cash three gentlemen came in and one of them wanted to play with $1 chips. She pointed to Mr. La Bouche as the high-limit customer, and then went on: “He played and he played and he played, and he lost $50 and wanted to get it back and all the time I seen Tony trotting in with a champagne set-up and I knew something was going on and I almost went wild. Then the little man looked at his watch and said come on, and this gentleman cashed his chips and all three went in the office. Then I started to go in. I was going to make out like there was two chips missing and this gentleman should look and if he had them in his pocket I’d give him cash, and then while he was looking I was going to hand my lipstick to Miss Shoreham and ask her to autograph my apron. But then Tony, he seen what I was up to, and said beat it back to my table.”

“When was this?”

“Around ten-thirty.”

“Go on.”

“So then they drove off.”

“Who drove off?”

“First Vic, and then Miss Shoreham. And then Mr. Spiro, he played roulette while he was having his boots shined. Vic went in his car and Miss Shoreham went in Tony’s car. But then, it took about an hour, here she came back. She parked in front, but didn’t come in the casino. That meant she had gone in the office the side way. So then Vic’s car came back with the lights on and some girl was driving and she let Vic out and then turned the car around and waited. So Vic come in the casino and went over and said something to Mr. Spiro and Tony told him his ring was in the office and he went in there. I kept watching Tony till he went out back and I started for the office door.”

“When was this?”

“Some time after twelve.”

“Did you go in?”

“No, sir. I put my hand on the knob, but then I could hear her voice and something told me to stay out. I couldn’t hear what she was saying but it had a funny note in it. So the slot wasn’t quite shut, the door that closes it I mean, and I peeped. I could only see that corner where the desk is, but she was over there, carrying on and carrying on and carrying on. Then she stopped and began looking for matches to light a cigarette. She opened the middle drawer and tried to bang it shut and caught her dress. So then she did bang it shut. So then she opened the righthand drawer, where the guns are kept. I seen this look come over her face and then she took out a gun and raised it. Then Vic was between me and her and then he was up there beside her talking to her and she put the gun down—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.”

The Sheriff turned to Mr. Flynn: “Did Miss Shoreham, Miss Sylvia Shoreham, come into my office this morning?”

“She did, yes sir.”

“How was she dressed?”

“Gray slacks, blue sweater, red ribbon around her hair, red shoes. We was talking about them slacks after she left, me and Dobbs and Hirsch.”

To Ethel, the Sheriff said: “Describe the dress.”

“It was green, with small brass buttons.”

“It wasn’t slacks?”

“She didn’t have on slacks at all.”

To a young officer, the Sheriff said: “Enders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You had charge of the Hazel Shoreham case?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“You saw the body removed from the car?”

“I lifted it out myself.”

“How was that girl dressed?”

“Light cream colored spring coat, brown shoes, light stockings, no hat, green dress with small brass buttons. The dress is in Mr. Daly’s car. In the valise we put in there for Miss Shoreham.”

There was a stir as two officers went outside, came back with the valise, and opened it. The effects that had been taken from the dead girl corresponded with the Enders description. Mr. Flynn opened an envelope, said to the Coroner: “Little snag of green silk we found jammed in that drawer.” The Coroner lifted the dress, found a little hole over the right hip from which the snag had been torn. He turned angrily to Ethel. “What’s the idea, coming up here at this hour at night, lying like that?”

“She’s not lying.”

Sylvia, over the protests of Mr. Daly, blotted tears from her eyes and said: “It all happened exactly as she says, and I’m sure she thought it was I she was looking at. My sister looked a great deal like me. She was often mistaken for me.”

“What was she carrying on about?”

It was some seconds before Sylvia answered, and then a hush fell over the crowd that wasn’t broken at once. She said: “She was insane.”

“...She killed your husband?”

“Yes. I didn’t actually see it. I had my back turned. But there can’t be any doubt about it. Then I decided I was going to say I did it, and I made her leave, so nobody would find her there.”

The tears were streaming down Sylvia’s face now, so it was some time before anybody remembered Ethel. Then the Coroner said: “Well — let’s let this girl finish. All right, she put the gun down.”

“She put it down, and Vic put it back. But then she picked it up again and put it in her mouth. I opened my mouth to scream, because I knew she was going to kill herself, but Vic grabbed the gun and got it out of her mouth and then it went off and—”

“What?”

The two voices, saying the same word, cut Ethel off, Sylvia’s voice vibrant with joy, Mr. Layton’s with utter consternation. Then Sylvia broke into a little sobbing laugh. “Thank God, thank God, — I might have known she never deliberately killed anybody. She was too sweet.” Then she ran over, put her arms around Ethel, and kissed her.

From the shadows, with a sic-semper-tyrranis clangtint, came Dmitri’s voice: “Sylwia Shoreham is windicated! SYLWIA SHOREHAM IS WINDICATED!”

In a hotel bedroom, in the black hour before dawn, a phone was ringing. A woman dressed in mourning entered, answered, said: “Send him up.” Then she went into a dark sitting room, opened the door into the hall, and sat down before a fire that had burned down to red embers. Soon there was a tap and she said: “Come.” A tall man came in, closed the door, and stood uncertainly before her, near the fire. He said: “I didn’t want to wait till tomorrow before asking you about those bodies.”

“My husband was Dimmy’s friend. I think he’d prefer that Dimmy took over the funeral. My sister — do I have to say at once?”

“Whatever you decide, if you’ll call my office there’ll be somebody there that’ll attend to everything without you being put to any trouble.”

“That is very thoughtful of you.”

“And I want to apologize.”

“We started the day with an apology.”

“For shooting past a big moment in your life, without knowing it was a big moment. That’s what you said. And that’s what I have to apologize for now, except that my big moment was a much bigger moment than yours was, and it was also a big chance, an opportunity, and I didn’t have sense enough to know it. If I had just had a little faith in you, I might have known that there was some explanation, that your sister was being mistaken for you in these hotels.”

“Even if I deliberately deceived you?”

“Yes. And... I come to say goodbye.”

He stood awkwardly a few moments, perhaps wondering if she would offer her hand. When she didn’t and when she made no reply, he turned, took one or two slow, heavy steps toward the door.

“Parker!”

He turned, and she said, “Come here.” When he was near to her she took both his hands in hers, pulled him down beside her on the little two-seater that faced the fire. “What are you talking about, goodbye? After the way you stood by me there at the hearing, and cleared me, and all the rest of it? And let me tell you something: If I ever found out that you had got those reports, and didn’t all but kill me, I’d never forgive you. Now: Did you blackjack any money for your hospital? Is that what you were doing out there all this time.”

“They all contributed a generous amount.”

“How much insurance do I get?”

“That was the funny part. After tearing in like a wolf, they were just as friendly as you could imagine when the jury came in with practically the same verdict, ‘in an accidental and unintentional manner,’ with nothing but the names changed. The chief claim adjuster, man by the name of Gans, said: ‘We’ll go the limit to hang it on you if you used loaded dice — we mean you play straight, because we do. But if you play straight, we’ll pay any just claim quick as any other gambler pays off, and with no more griping. We don’t have to gripe, or gyp. The percentage is working for us, and we’ve got to win.’ You’ll collect a hundred thousand in all.”

“Then I’ll give that, and fifty I have saved up, to the hospital. Altogether, now, how much does that make?”

“Little over quarter million.”

“That’s a start.”

“It assures the institution.”

“...About Hazel.”

“Just say, and I’ll attend to it.”

“I don’t know whether to keep her here, or send her back to California. You see, I’ll want her with me, and—”

“You staying here?”

“I might be getting married.”

He took her in his arms, held her close, looked at her gravely, almost reverently. Then he said: “I’m going in the army.”

“So am I.”

“Doing what?”

“Nursing I think.”

Presently he said: “Up to this minute, I been a little bit in love with Edith Cavell, as well as Sylvia Shoreham. Now I’m not. I’m all in love with you. Because listen: I want you to go in the army. I want you to be a nurse. But I don’t want you to wind up like Edith Cavell did. You hear what I’m telling you?”

“I’ll wind up as I wind up.”

“...That’s right.”

“When do you go in the army?”

“Twentieth of next month.”

“Then the day after that, I go. But — until then, can’t we be with each other? Can’t I be here with you?”

“The sun’s coming up.”

“So it is.”

“Come on, I want you to see your home.”

In the gray dawn, a car slowed down on a deserted road, and turned in at the stone posts that marked the entrance of a ranch. In it were a man and a woman, saying nothing, sitting very close.