The Case of the Turning Tide

Chapter 20

Nita Moline sat across the district attorney’s desk. Her gloved hands were clenched into little fists. The color which she had applied to her face no longer blended with her complexion because her complexion had suddenly gone pale, leaving the rouge on her cheeks no longer blended into a smooth luster of color, but as jagged, irregular blotches.

Duryea said, “I will repeat my statement, Miss Moline. You were in a position to benefit by Mr. Stearne’s death?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

Duryea opened the drawer of his desk, took out the thirty-eight caliber revolver which the diver had recovered from the bottom of the ocean. “I’ll show you this gun, Miss Moline, and ask you if you have ever seen it before.”

She recoiled from it, and said quickly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Duryea, but I don’t like guns.”

“Just look at it,” Duryea insisted, holding it toward her.

“What... what do you want?”

“Have you ever seen that gun before?”

“Not that I know of. I haven’t seen many guns. I don’t like them. I keep away from them.”

“And you don’t recognize this gun?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

Duryea said impressively, “This gun was recovered from the ocean by a diver. It had evidently been dropped overboard from the Gypsy Queen.”

She nodded her head silently, her eyes still fastened on the weapon.

Duryea went on, “That gun has a number stamped on it.”

Again she nodded.

“Under the law,” Duryea went on, “when a revolver is sold, the dealer must keep a record of the number and the person to whom the sale is made.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of that.”

“Oh, you have?”

“Yes.”

“Through its number, this gun has been traced.” Duryea said. “It was sold by the manufacturer to a jobber in Los Angeles. The jobber sold it to a dealer, and the dealer sold it to — guess who?”

She seemed desperate, as though trapped, but she clenched her lips tightly together, and shook her head.

“It was sold to C. Arthur Right,” Duryea said calmly.

“Arthur’s gun!” she exclaimed.

“Yes.”

“And it was dropped overboard from the yacht?”

“Apparently, but that isn’t all, Miss Moline.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“By the use of an instrument known as the comparison microscope, we can check bullets and determine definitely whether any given bullet was fired from any particular gun. We have completed experiments with this weapon, and I now have definite proof that this was the weapon which fired the bullets that killed Addison Stearne and C. Arthur Right.”

She was silent now, saying nothing.

“A reconstruction of the crime,” Duryea went on, “indicates that in place of being a double murder, the tragedy which occurred on that yacht was, in reality, a murder and suicide. Now what do you know about that?”

“Why, nothing.”

“How long were you aboard that yacht before you fainted?”

“Just a minute or two. I stood on the pier for several minutes, trying to attract the attention of someone aboard the yacht. Then I noticed that the skiff which belonged to the Gypsy Queen was tied up there at the pier. So I felt certain Mr. Stearne, knowing that I would show up early in the morning, probably before he got up, had made arrangements with some other yachtsman to take the skiff over to the float and leave it tied up so I could come aboard.

“I untied the skiff, and got in and shoved off. That took a little while, then I got aboard and called out to see if anyone was up. When I didn’t get any answer, I took the skiff back to the stern and tied it. That took a little while. I walked around the yacht, thinking that Addison and Arthur were still asleep. Then I got hungry and decided I’d go get myself a cup of coffee. I went down into the lower cabin, and — well, that was it. I saw the two bodies.”

“How long were you there?”

“In the room with the bodies?”

“Yes.”

“Just a matter of seconds. Not over a minute at the very longest.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I ran through the yacht, screaming and shouting for help, but there was no one in any of the staterooms. I went into the crew’s quarters. There was no one there. I came back, and went to the upper cabin. No one was up there. I went out to the rail, and... and then I...”

“Yes, we know definitely what happened after that,” Duryea said. “I’m trying to find out what happened before.”

“Well, that’s all that happened.”

“And you’ve told me everything now.”

“Yes. Everything.”

“There’s nothing else you know about this case?”

“No, not a thing.”

Duryea frowned. “I have a very definite impression, Miss Moline, that you’re holding something back.”

She flared into indignation, suddenly pushing back her chair. “I’m tired of trying to co-operate with you, Mr. Duryea. I’ve told you everything, and I’m not going to submit to any further questioning. I’ve gone over this time and time again. I’m not...”

The door to the reception room opened, and Miss Stevens, Duryea’s secretary, said apologetically, “Mr. Wiggins is here and says you’re expecting him.”

“Tell him to wait,” Duryea said irritably.

“But he says that he has those people with him, that you’re...”

Gramps pushed her gently to one side. “It’s all right, my dear,” he said in his shrill, piping voice. “These are the people Mr. Duryea wanted to... Come right in, folks.”

The district attorney stared in surprise while Gramps escorted a man and a woman past the secretary and into Duryea’s office.

Duryea regarded the couple with disfavor. They had a somewhat seedy look. The man seemed honest enough, but he was embarrassed and ill at ease. There was definitely something off-color about the woman, a chip-on-the-shoulder attitude of slatternly belligerency.

Gramps moved so that for a moment he stood between the couple and Nita Moline. The woman promptly pushed Gramps to one side so she could get a good view. The man also looked at Miss Moline, his face heavy, unintelligent, and without emotion.

“Well?” Duryea asked, irritated.

The man slowly nodded his head. At the same time, the woman began nodding with such vigor that her coarse, stringy bobbed hair swished back and forth.

Duryea, suddenly realizing the trick Gramps was playing on him, jumped to his feet. “All right,” he said irritably to Gramps, “that’s enough. Get out! Get these people out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” Gramps said, and to the couple he had brought in, “That’s all the district attorney wants. You may go now.”

Duryea’s irritation didn’t decrease as he realized that Gramps had counted on being abruptly ordered from the office, and was capitalizing on the situation.

Scowling blackly, Duryea watched them leave the office, motioned to Miss Stevens to close the door, and then, still irritated, turned back to Miss Moline.

The haughty shell had dropped from her. Her lips were quivering as she fought a losing battle to hold her self-control, then suddenly, with a wild, half-hysterical sob, she flung her head down on her arms.

“I’m sorry,” Duryea apologized.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have done it! I might have known that someone somewhere would have seen me. I was afraid of it when you brought that other couple in. As soon as you did that, I knew what you were after. I—”

Duryea rapidly readjusted his mental perspective. “I think,” he said, in a voice of kindly dignity, “that you’d better tell me the whole truth now, Miss Moline.”

She said, “I... when did these people see me?”

Duryea said, “Before I say anything else, Miss Moline, I’m going to give you an opportunity to make a complete statement.”

Duryea stepped to the door of his office, said to Miss Stevens, “Will you bring your book, Miss Stevens? I want you to take down a statement.”

When his secretary had settled herself with her notebook in front of her, Duryea nodded to Miss Moline. “Very well,” he said quietly, “go ahead.”

Miss Moline, avoiding his eyes, said, “I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

“About the time you first came to the yacht?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose now, Miss Moline, you tell me just exactly what did happen?”

“I was up here Saturday afternoon.”

“Saturday afternoon!” Duryea exclaimed, and then, realizing suddenly the necessity of keeping surprise from his voice, said, “Just go right ahead, Miss Moline.”

“Do you want me to tell you the whole thing?”

“Yes.”

“Well, as I told you, Addison wanted me to come on this cruise. I gathered it was an important affair, that he had something to discuss. I couldn’t get away on Saturday, just as I’ve told you. I had an appointment with my hairdresser and...”

“Yes, you’ve explained that. Go ahead and tell me the rest of it.”

“About one on Saturday Addison telephoned me.”

“Where were you?”

“At my hairdresser’s.”

“And where was Mr. Stearne?”

“At Santa Delbarra. At the yacht club, I believe.”

“What did he want?”

“He asked me how soon I could get away from the hair-dresser’s. I told him that it would be around two. He asked me to have the hairdresser hurry things up as much as possible. He said he wanted me to find out where Pearl Right was, and if she wasn’t home, to check up and find where Warren Hilbers was, and then get in touch with him and let him know.”

“He told you where to get in touch with him?”

“Yes. He said I could call him at the Santa Delbarra Yacht Club, and they’d send a messenger out to the yacht.”

“And what did you do?”

“I had the hairdresser hurry through with my appointment and went to Pearl Right’s. She wasn’t home. The maid seemed rather evasive about it.”

“You knew Warren Hilbers?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Stearne wanted you to find out if Mrs. Right was with her brother?”

“Yes.”

“And where her brother was?”

“That’s right.”

“What did you do?”

“I found Pearl wasn’t at home. I called some friends over at Catalina and found out Warren and Pearl had been over there ever since early in the morning — oh, around nine or ten o’clock.”

“Then what?”

“That yachting crowd quite frequently go over in yachts and then rent a cottage. Sometimes one yachting party will have one by itself. Sometimes two or three will get together and rent a cottage between them — a place where they can make headquarters when they’re on shore, get baths and so forth. I found out that Warren and Pearl had been seen zipping around the island, and then, later on, Warren had been seen in the boat all by himself, without anyone with him. So I thought he must have rented a cottage and Pearl was there. I asked my friends what cottage Warren usually rented, and they said one owned by a Mrs. Raleigh.”

“Did you try to call Mrs. Right at that cottage?”

“Not then. That was later — late Sunday afternoon.”

“Warren Hilbers is a yachting enthusiast?”

“Yes. He doesn’t care for cruisers. He goes in for speedboats — anything under thirty-five miles an hour he considers slow. — I think his sister likes it, too. She put up the money for his last speedboat.”

“And that was all Mr. Stearne wanted to know? Just where they were?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say why?”

“No. I thought that perhaps it was because he wanted to be certain — well, I don’t know.”

“Certain of what?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Go ahead,” Duryea said. “What did you do after you’d located them?”

“I tried to get Addison on the telephone. The yacht club said he was out, and they didn’t know just when he’d be back. Well, I knew it wasn’t going to take very long to run up to Santa Delbarra if I stepped on it, and I wanted to talk with Addison.”

“What about?”

“I wanted to find out whether there was going to be any trouble between Pearl and Arthur, because if there was, I didn’t want to be mixed up in it.”

“So you drove to Santa Delbarra?”

“Yes.”

“Now what time did you get here?”

She said, “That I don’t know, Mr. Duryea. It was right around four o’clock, perhaps a few minutes before, perhaps a few minutes afterwards.”

“Did you go aboard the yacht?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I was standing on the wharf when a person from one of the other yachts came out to untie a dinghy. I asked him if he’d drop me off at the Gypsy Queen, and he said he’d be glad to. So I jumped in, and he rowed me by the Gypsy Queen, and I went aboard.”

“And you saw both Right and Addison Stearne?”

“No. I saw Addison.”

“You didn’t see Right?”

“No.”

“Just how did that happen?” Duryea asked.

“As I got aboard the yacht, Addison was just coming out of the cabin.”

“Which cabin, the upper one or...”

“That’s right, the upper one, the pilot house.”

“What happened?”

“He seemed very much surprised when he saw me, and I think he was irritated. He motioned with his fingers on his lips for silence, and led me over toward the bow. He said, ‘I told you to telephone. I didn’t want you to come up.’ ”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him that I wanted to know where I stood and what it was all about. He said for me not to worry, to come up early Sunday morning, and everything would be all right.”

“You told him what you’d found out?”

“Yes. Everything.”

“Did he make any comments?”

“He said that under no circumstances must Arthur know I was there.”

“That impressed you as being somewhat unusual?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him that I must know what was in the wind. He was evasive. After a while he said that he thought that when Mrs. Right left the house, she might have intended to go away for good. If that were the case she’d probably left a letter for Arthur, and that she might have said some things about me in that letter. He said that everything was going to be all right, however, and if I’d just have confidence in him and come up in time to go sailing with him at three o’clock Sunday after-noon, things would all clear up. He asked me to come up early Sunday.”

“Did he give you any more details?”

“No. He seemed very nervous. He kept pushing me toward the rail of the yacht. He said it would be fatal if Arthur discovered I had been there. He said there were some things he’d have to explain to Arthur, and he’d have to do it at just the right time.”

“Then what?”

“I got into the skiff, and he rowed me to the yacht club.”

“And Arthur Right didn’t know you were there?”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “I rather think he did.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Just as I was leaving the skiff, I heard Addison swear under his breath, and then he said. ‘There’s Arthur on deck now. Don’t look back. Keep right on walking, and duck inside the clubhouse.’ ”

“You did that?”

“Yes.”

“Now, do you know whether this interview took place before four o’clock or afterwards?”

“It was right around four o’clock. I remember stopping on the road back at a service station. I noticed then that the clock showed it was about twenty-five minutes past four. I wanted my oil changed. I left that service station by twenty-five minutes to five. I’m positive of that.”

Duryea said, “You telephoned Mrs. Right on Catalina Island Sunday afternoon after you’d learned of the murder?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It suddenly occurred to me that if she’d left a statement — and if she hadn’t been intending to come back — well, the officers might have got into the house or interrogated the servants and found the statement...”

“Go on,” Duryea said as she hesitated.

“Well, there might have been something in it which would have made it look bad for Pearl. That is, something that... oh, some dirty linen that it would have been better not to have aired.”

“You mean something that would have made things embarrassing for you, don’t you?” Duryea asked.

“I didn’t think of that so much at the time. I was thinking of what a position Pearl would be in.”

“Look here,” Duryea said suddenly, “you thought perhaps she had murdered her husband, didn’t you?”

Nita Moline hesitated for just a fraction of a second, then said slowly, “No. Not that.”

“But you thought she might be accused of it?”

“I thought the officers might consider that possibility — if they got that statement.”

“And you did know that you were mentioned in that statement?”

“Well, I didn’t know — it wasn’t until later that I recalled what Addison had said. I’m sorry, Mr. Duryea, but I just can’t amplify that. Pearl was nervous and upset, and there was a lot she didn’t understand.”

“Is there anything else you have to tell me?” Duryea asked.

“That’s all.”

“Nothing about what happened Sunday morning?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Why? What happened Sunday morning?”

“After you discovered the bodies. Didn’t you remove some of the evidence?”

“Why, no. Mr. Duryea. No, honestly. It was just this thing that I’d done Saturday that weighed on my mind — this business of coming up here and being aboard the yacht and not... well, holding out the information on you.”

“I see,” Duryea said, “and now you’ve told me everything?”

“Yes, everything. Absolutely everything.”

Duryea said, “I think that’s all, Miss Moline. I’m sorry you didn’t tell me about this in the first place.”

“I... well... you can see what it meant to Mrs. Right — or what I thought it meant. I’m sorry. I just didn’t feel that I should be the one to throw the first stone.”

Duryea watched her to the door. When she had left, he said to Miss Stevens, “Get me police headquarters in Los Angeles at once. Rush the call through.”

Miss Stevens dashed from the office to put through the call. A few moments later, when Duryea had his party on the line, he said, “This is Frank Duryea, district attorney at Santa Delbarra. Miss Nita Moline resides at six-o-nine Maplehurst Apartments. I want her apartment searched. You’d better get a warrant. It’s in connection with the yacht murder case up here. I’m looking for a statement which may have been writ-ten by C. Arthur Right and which was taken from the yacht and secreted. You’ll have to work fast. Miss Moline has just left my office. It will take her a couple of hours to get to her apartment. You should be able to have a warrant and be there within an hour. That will give you an hour to search.”

Duryea hung up the phone.

Nita Moline, trim in her light gray skirt and jacket, waited just long enough after leaving the district attorney’s office to make certain she was not being followed. Then she entered a telephone booth in a drugstore. With swift efficiency, she dropped a coin, dialed long distance, and said, “Miss Smith calling from pay station six-four-one-two-five. I want to talk with Mr. Ted Shale at Richgrove nine-seven-three-two-four, with no one else if he’s out. Will you please rush the call?”

She was told to deposit eighty-five cents and to hold the line. While she waited, she took a few quick puffs on a cigarette. The slight trembling of her hand as she conveyed the match to the end of the cigarette had been her only indication of nervousness.

When she had taken the second deep drag, the operator said. “Here’s your party.”

Miss Moline dropped the cigarette to the floor of the telephone booth, placed the sole of her neat gray shoe on the end, heard Ted Shale’s voice saying, “Hello.”

Miss Moline said, “Ted, do you know who this is?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“It’s very important. I’ve been appointed administratrix with the will annexed, you know. There are some things I have to do, some very important steps to be taken in connection with the estate. I made a list of some papers I was to deliver to my attorney, Mr. Hazlit, of Hazlit & Tucker. I left these papers in a tan purse which I was wearing with another outfit. When I changed my clothes, I changed purses, but forgot to transfer some of the things. That tan purse is in the upper right-hand drawer of the little dressing table on the north side of my room. I left my key at the desk. I’m going to call them and tell them to let you have it.

“Now, like a good boy, will you run up to the Maplehurst Apartments right away? Ask for Miss Moline’s key, and go up to my apartment. Now listen, Ted, this is very important. The apartment doesn’t like to have tenants let other persons go to apartments to take things out, but it’s all right to take things in. So will you wrap up a bundle of some sort? It doesn’t make any difference what it is. Stop at a bookstore and buy the first two books you come to, or if you have a package of laundry handy, take it along. See that the package is displayed prominently. Do you get that?”

“Yes,” Shale said. “What do I do after I get your purse?”

“Hide it under your coat,” she said. “Hold it in place with your arm so you won’t drop it. Leave the apartment. Go to the office of my attorney and tell him I expect to be there later on, that you had a drink with me, and found I had inadvertently left my purse in your car, that you want to leave it there with them so I can pick it up whenever I come in. Now, have you got that straight?”

“Straight as a string,” Shale said.

“A little later on,” she said, “we could go out and have a drink and perhaps a dance or two. Would you like that?”

“Very, very much,” he told her.

Her laugh was low-throated, seductive. “So would I,” she said. “By!”

She dropped the receiver into position and carefully noted the time on her wrist watch.