The Chinese Doll

Chapter 11

  Boone, Ill.

  Friday, noon

Dear Louise:

I have a very nice nurse named Hazel; she’s competent, starched, and more than a little cynical. She provided me with a tilting-top table, some stationery, and loaned me her pen.

I hope the telegram didn’t frighten you. Hazel telephoned it in for me. They were very nice roses, and thank you again.

It all happened, Louise, because I didn’t have enough sense to take Dr. Saari’s advice. It’s all somewhat hectic, and rough, and more than a little puzzling. It went like this:

Liebscher rammed his thin, sharp elbow into my unprotected ribs and pointed a blunt finger through the dirty windshield.

“That’s her, chum,” he said casually.

I looked first at her attractive, long legs mounted on spiked heels and the handsome, expensive fur coat she was wearing as she moved swiftly towards our car along the snow-blown sidewalk. And then I looked up, up the legs and fur coat, into the face of the Chinese doll. The newspaper fell from my fingers.

Croyden is a murky, grey vestpocket edition of Chicago. The smoke begins at the river’s edge, belching from a score of chimneys, and sweeps west across the waterfront and up the hill to Adams Street. The air is sooty and discouraging and clings to the skin like an unhealthy blanket. My handkerchief was soiled from several swipes across my face, and my throat tasted as if the smoke had seeped into my mouth.

It didn’t seem to bother the local citizenry; they ate it and apparently liked it.

Liebscher had met me at the station in his rattling excuse for an automobile, with an excuse for Rothman’s absence, some scribbled notes in his pocket, and a hundred lousy jokes on his lips. Liebscher and Joe Miller have much in common: stale and musty corn.

Immediately upon arriving in Croyden I had paid an anonymous visit to Ashley, the attorney. Giving him a phony name and address, I pretended to consult him on a slander charge that was being threatened against me by some equally fictitious neighbors. He consumed a half hour of my time and ten dollars of my money cautiously advising me how thin a slander action was. The secretary gave me a receipt on the way out.

I left his office wondering if I had gained ten dollars’ worth of Ashley. It didn’t require the full half hour for me to realize the attorney could be guilty of anything from counterfeiting to murder-providing he had some other stronger person to lean on. Ashley was a remarkable follower, even a co-leader; I remember the afternoon when he was frightened out of his wits by my description of Evans’ death.

And the next day he was no longer afraid. Overnight his silent partner had stiffened his spine. Ashley wasn’t the man I wanted. The silent partner was the man to go after.

After leaving Ashley’s office, Liebscher had driven me south along Adams Street, pointing out various addresses he knew or frequented. Finally he turned around, heading back towards town, and parked half a block north of a small theatre.

“The gal lives in the south apartment over the theatre,” he explained. “Did I ever tell you the one about—”

I cut him off. “What gal?”

“What gal? Chum, you said pry into the lawyer’s love life; I did. The gal goes to see him. She lives there, upstairs over the movie. A Chinese gal.”

“Chinese? Are you certain?”

“I’ve seen her, haven’t I? Some relation to your dead one. She came out of the office building while you were upstairs seeing Ashley.”

“Ashley’s office building?”

“What else am I talking about?”

I didn’t know.

He had no more than shut off the motor and slumped down behind the wheel when the girl in question alighted from a streetcar and came towards us. It was then that Liebscher had pointed and said “That’s her, chum.”

I stared at her.

She was a dead ringer for Leonore; she might have been her sister. She probably was her sister. They looked to be about the same age, the same height. The eyes and hair were similar. She was as pretty as Leonore but at the same time her face suggested she knew her way around a bit more. Older sister, in all probability.

I twisted around in the seat as she went by and watched her enter a doorway leading to the apartments above the movie house. Her skirts were just trim enough to show the back of her knees.

“That reminds me,” Liebscher said, staring. “Did you hear the one about the parrot with strings tied to each leg?”

“I’m going up there,” I said to him.

“Upstairs? Suppose papa comes home?”

“You come galloping to the rescue.”

“Okay, chum. Stay alive until I get there. Don’t you want to hear about the parrot?”

“No.”

I waited perhaps two minutes longer for her to get inside and climbed the stairs. There were two apartments, the one on the north had a For Rent sign tacked to the door. I knocked on hers. I had heard no voices inside.

The Chinese girl promptly opened it. There was not so much as a flicker of recognition on her face. She was wearing a thin, white blouse and a gray skirt which fitted snugly around her hips. I decided to play dazed.

I said, “Hello, Leonore.”

Her eyes widened. There was no other visible reaction. It convinced me this was Leonore’s sister but that I had better pretend and call her Leonore. She had not answered my greeting.

“I’d like to come in and talk to you, Leonore.”

“No.”

I pretended confusion and bewilderment. “What’s the matter, Leonore? What have I done to make you act like this?”

She tumbled then and thought she understood.

“I’m not Leonore. Leonore is dead. I am her sister.”

“I know—! But I thought — I mean, of course... I’m confused... Excuse me. My name is Charles Horne. I’m from Boone.”

I watched for a reaction to that and was fully rewarded. She had heard of Mr. Horne all right; her lips and eyes said so in no uncertain terms.

“You can’t come in,” she answered tonelessly.

“Look, Le... miss: I have something for you. No, not with me, but I can get it for you.” My next statement was another trial rocket that worked. “You are... Leonore’s nearest relative. All she left were her clothes and a bracelet. I think you should have them.”

She swayed against the door with her eyes shut tight, and when she opened them again they were filled with sudden tears.

“Please,” she choked, “I...”

“I only want to talk to you for a few minutes,” I wheedled gently. “Forgive me for confusing you with Leonore. You resemble her greatly.”

I took off my hat and made a hesitant step forward. She made no move to prevent my entrance, and when I was in she softly closed the door behind me.

The apartment was in excellent taste and had obviously cost someone a lot of money. Maybe that someone got his money’s worth, I don’t know. I looked at the weeping girl and didn’t attempt a valuation.

The place was decorated in green, several shades of it. The davenport was unusual, it must have been all of seven feet in length. I envied the guy that; my feet always stuck over the end of mine. There was an ash tray at every conceivable place a man would want to sit down and all of them were spotlessly clean. Chinese prints were on the walls.

I had to begin talking sometime.

“Nice place you have here.” That was lame.

“It isn’t mine. It’s... Leonore’s.”

“May I ask your name.”

“Eleanor.”

“Call me Chuck if you like.”

“What do you want?”

She sank onto the long davenport, drying her eyes. She was pretty against the green wall. I took a chair across from her. What did I want?

What didn’t I want! I wanted everything I could possibly pump from her. I wanted the full story of all that was going on about me which I couldn’t understand. Slim chance of getting that much from Eleanor. Looking across the room at her, at her set face, her curvacious but stiffly held body, I realized it would be necessary to hand her a couple of stiff jolts to get anything from her. I wanted her confidence and why should she give that to a stranger? I thought I had a way of getting it. It might or might not be a lousy trick — but I had buried her sister, and she didn’t know where.

I’ve sunk to a new depth, Louise. Or shall we say I am once again floating at my accustomed level? I was fully prepared to trade a body for information.

What did I want?

“I’d like some information about Leonore.”

“You are a detective.” She spat that out as an accusation, not as a question.

“Yes,” I admitted cheerfully. “But that shouldn’t frighten you. It isn’t my intention to pry into your affairs. I’m interested only in Leonore.”

Lie, Mr. Horne, big fat lie.

“You are a detective,” she repeated bitterly.

“I’d particularly like to know about Leonore and Harry Evans,” I went on. She knew I was watching her but she failed to hide the tightening of her lips.

“It’s like this,” I continued in a frank, warm manner, “Evans dropped in on me in Boone and hired me for a few days. Before I could... well, you probably know he was killed?”

She nodded quickly, too quickly. Her lips said nothing; but her eyes and her actions shouted a great clamor. Her eyes were vindictive, inhumanly satisfied. Eleanor had shared Leonore’s secret. Shared her revenge.

“The cops over there,” I said, “are still hunting for a hit-and-run driver. They don’t know — yet — that that driver is... (I almost said dead and buried)... is out of their reach.”

I paused. Eleanor said, “And?”

“And I was looking for her until I met you a moment ago. After all, I was in Evans’ pay and my loyalty, if you want to call it that, was to him. At least until I found I could do no more for him. I’m well enough acquainted with Leonore to know you are telling the truth when you say you are her sister. I should have seen that right away.”

“And?” she repeated in the same old rut.

“Of course, I have no actual proof she was the driver of the car. No proof at all, nothing but little bits gathered here and there to convince me. It wouldn’t convince the police so there is no use taking it to them. There is no use going to them at all, now.”

She was going to say “And?” again but I beat her to it.

“And nothing much. My case for Evans is wound up. I had met Leonore previous to the finding of the... previous to her death. I counted myself as a sort of friend. She was nice to me.”

Eleanor glanced at me sharply, her brows drawn close. I smiled the suspicion away.

“No. Don’t take me wrong. She did me a small favor, no more. I liked her for it. I rather think she liked me in the short time we knew each other. We talked about skating, and things.” That was stretching it mighty thin but then Eleanor couldn’t know everything about her sister.

“At any rate, there the matter hangs.” I thought it about time for teasing. “I’m washed up with the Evans business. But because of our friendship I would like to do something for Leonore. I’d like to clear up in my mind the connection between her and Evans. I mean, in view of what she did.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” she countered. She seemed to take my knowledge of the hit-and-run thing calmly.

“Because I want to help her,” I emphasized. “I want this information for myself, not the police. Can’t you understand I’m doing this because I liked the girl? I’m not trying to get any money out of it.”

Eleanor leaned against the back of the davenport and folded her arms. Her head rested on the cool, green covering. She bit out five annoyed words.

“What are you talking about?”

I let her have it the hard way.

“Why — I think she was murdered. Don’t you?”

She took it the hard way. The davenport was seven feet long. I picked her up off the floor and laid her on it; there was two feet of space to spare.

Stretched out that way she didn’t seem nearly so tall as before. I took off her shoes and loosened her blouse about the neck, and then went in search of the bathroom and a wash cloth.

It was between two bedrooms and it was a shock to me. The room was entirely out of keeping with the immaculate tidiness of the rest of the apartment. His shaving supplies were scattered aimlessly over the shelf-like rear section of the sink. I looked at his safety razor, at two rusty razor blades, a partly used tube of brushless shaving cream, a bottle of lotion, a stiptic pencil, some red mouth wash, and a cellophane-wrapped toothbrush.

On a glass shelf hanging just above the bathtub was a small can of false teeth powder, a dirty hair brush and comb, an extra roll of tissue, two thin slabs that were once bars of soap, a package of bath salts for men, and a scattering of large safety pins.

The tub itself had two successive rings five and six inches high and had also been used for an ash tray. The guy smoked cork-tipped cigarettes. Dirty towels were kicked into one corner of the room and the bath mat was a crumpled mess. Another heavy deposit of cigarette ashes and a thumbed copy of a wild west magazine were on the floor near the stool.

I found a cloth in a small cabinet beneath the basin and wet it with cold water. On the way back to Eleanor I walked through to the two bedrooms and made a circling route by way of the kitchen. Only the bathroom was mussed up. Neither bed had been slept in recently and nothing in the kitchen indicated current usage.

She came out of the faint slowly but quietly. I massaged her temples with my fingertips. She liked the effect of that and lay there for several minutes without moving.

“Why did you say that?” she asked weakly. Her breasts rose and fell evenly.

“I’m sorry, Eleanor. I should have been more tactful.”

“But why did you say it?”

“Because I think it is a fact.”

“But why, why?”

“That’s what I’m hoping you will tell me. That’s why I need the information I asked you for. You know so much more about her movements, her friends, than I could ever hope to find out. You know why she drove that car.”

Eleanor opened her eyes and looked up into my face. I kept on talking.

“By that I mean you know the real reason. The coroner discovered a part of it, and told the newspaper. But you and I both know she didn’t commit suicide; you and I both know she and Evans were in love, passionately so. I found plenty of paper evidence of that. Poems he had written to her.”

“Yes — she showed me those magazines.”

“What you know and I don’t is why she drove that car — in the face of that love and that other thing.”

Eleanor closed her eyes beneath my fingers and said very, very softly, “Because he deserted her.”

“Oh, no. Evans loved her.”

Eleanor shook her head gently. “He deserted her.”

“I can’t understand that.” And I truly couldn’t. Evans wasn’t that kind of a man. “I can’t believe a man can twist off his love so suddenly. Were... were you there when he told her?”

“He didn’t tell her. He wouldn’t face her. He sent his message through someone else.”

I said “Eleanor!” so sharply she jumped.

“What’s the matter?” Her eyes were wide, frightened.

“Eleanor, how do you know he sent such a message? How do you know he refused to face her himself?”

“He sent a note. Leonore told me it was in his handwriting. She couldn’t believe it herself. He asked for the return of the bracelet.”

“Was that all?”

“No. Leonore went to see... a mutual friend. A man who knew Evans well. This man confirmed it. He said that Evans had told him about... Leonore’s condition, had asked him to break off the affair for him. The man refused. He said he told Evans he would have to stand on his own feet. Until Leonore came to him he didn’t know Evans had sent the note instead.”

“And the car?”

“Leonore had a duplicate key. After... afterwards she was frightened and went back to this friend. He put her to bed and did something with the car. Leonore didn’t stay in bed. That evening she... she...”

“Went ice skating,” I finished for her. She nodded miserably and closed her eyes. Tears crept from beneath the lids.

“And now you say...”

“And now I say I think she was murdered. Eleanor, this mutual friend can be only one of two persons. I’ve met them both. He is either Ashley, the attorney...”

I paused to watch her. She held her lips tight and kept her eyes closed. After a moment she relaxed and said “No.”

“...or he is the other gentleman who sits behind a desk in a barn. No need to mention his name.”

This time she said nothing. She had not the courage to say yes, or the desire to lie to me.

“Eleanor, can’t you see it? For some reason the big boy wanted Evans out of the way. Remember my telling you that Evans hired me as a bodyguard? He told me he expected trouble in Boone and I was to stick around to keep him out of it. In some manner he got wise to what was going on, expected the big shot to pull something pretty. Evans probably had bodyguards here in Croyden as well.

“Well, the big shot did pull a pretty one. He convinced Leonore that Evans was ditching her. That note I can’t explain. But it is the only hitch. He convinced Leonore and left the thing up to her temper. Afterwards she came to him and he put her to bed. No — I take back one thing. The note isn’t the only hitch. A doctor told me there was no trace of dope in Leonore. So why did she get out of bed and fall in the lake?”

“I think you’re wrong, wrong.”

“I don’t think so. Some of the pieces are missing, but I don’t think so. She didn’t fall in the lake. She was pushed in because she was on too hot a spot for his comfort.”

“No, no,” Eleanor objected.

“How can you say no? Doesn’t it make sense to you?”

“But he... the man... was here. With me. The papers said Leonore drowned between midnight and three o’clock. He was with me then.”

My house fell in. If that particular gentleman was in Croyden at midnight, and he could have been had he left the barn immediately after I did, he was here for the purpose of establishing an alibi. An alibi for a crime he couldn’t have committed. Oh hell, it was as mixed up as before.

“I quit, Eleanor. I can’t think straight any more. I’m going back home. I still think it was — that man. You see, he found out I had been talking with Leonore. He didn’t like it a damned bit. He was probably afraid she might have said something that I could follow up. He knows how easily I can get information out of nothing. He did something... something to cause her to fall in the lake. Leonore was the only person who could put him on a spot in regard to Evans’ death. Your evidence, my evidence, nothing but hearsay. Leonore told you this, Leonore told me that. What Leonore told you, in court, isn’t worth a damn. No one but Leonore could harm him. He hasn’t touched you, nor me, but she is dead.”

“No,” Eleanor cried bitterly, “Mr. Swisher wouldn’t do that!”

Mr. Swisher.

I got my hat and helped her off the couch. She went with me to the door.

“Eleanor,” I turned back just outside her door, “for your own safety I wouldn’t mention my visit. Not to Ashley or the big boy or anyone. Whether he was responsible or not, he didn’t like my talking to Leonore. He’ll never learn from me that I’ve been here. I suggest you keep quiet about it.”

She nodded silently. Outside in the street an auto horn beat out a shave-and-haircut tattoo.

“And one more thing. I wasn’t lying to you when I said Leonore was my friend. Did anyone tell you where she is buried?”

She shook her head, as silently.

“I ordered her funeral. I own a piece in the Boone City Cemetery. Lot 260. If you like, you can have the deed to the piece.”

“You paid for it...?”

“I did. I—” behind me the street door opened. Eleanor looked past my shoulder and her face pinched in fear.

“Quick,” I whispered. “Wipe off the tears.” She did. I listened to the footsteps coming up the stairs behind me.

“Do you folks,” I asked in a changed voice, “have the rent of this apartment? How much is it?” I pointed at the For Rent sign with a finger. She followed the finger, and fought hard to control the fear rising up in her.

“No sir,” she said gamely. “You’ll have to see the manager in the theatre, downstairs.”

“What’s it like in there?” I asked garrulously.

“I believe the door is open sir,” she told me.

I walked over to it and turned the knob. It was. I pushed it open and stepped into the empty apartment.

I said over my shoulder without turning my head, “Thanks, lady,” and partly closed the door behind me.

She waited in her door for the man coming up the steps. I walked to the center of the first empty room and stamped on the floor, testing it. Then I knuckled the plastered walls and said “ummmm” when no fine powder fell away beneath my hand.

I was well into the apartment and out of the line of sight when the newcomer reached Eleanor’s door. I heard him pat her familiarly, and they went into the apartment together, closing the door behind them. I continued my inspection of the vacant apartment without hearing a word from the other side of her door. Finally I went out and clumped down the stairs.

Liebscher met me at the street door. He was tugging at something in his pocket and the jokes were absent from his lips. When he saw me he exploded a pent-up breath.

“Brother,” he confided, “I thought you was a goner!”

Passersby turned to watch us as we sprinted for his car.