Murder & the Married Virgin (16 page)

Shayne winced. “I can be wrong,” he warned.

“I’ll take a chance on you.”

“All right. Wire Craigville, Wisconsin, and have the cops meet the Flyer at eleven-forty this morning and arrest Anton Moe, brother of the late Katrin Moe.”

Inspector Quinlan’s exultant mood vanished before Shayne’s eyes and he became the cold-eyed officer of the law. He said curtly, “Say that again.”

Shayne repeated his request, slowly and doggedly.

“Arrest him for what? I thought they couldn’t locate her brother—or any relatives.”

“Just arrest him and charge him with being an escaped convict named Hodge, for one thing,” Shayne told him.

Quinlan picked up his fountain pen and slowly drew it through one cupped hand. His finely molded features were set, his eyes incredulous. “Holding out again,” he said.

“Holding out hell!” Shayne said. “I’m telling you.”

“One of the men who escaped from the pen is Katrin Moe’s brother? Are you positive?” he asked.

Shayne said wearily, “Hell, no, I’m not positive. It’s another hunch. Suit yourself about playing it.” He emptied the pint bottle and tossed it across at a waste-basket. He was getting damned tired of guessing, and he wasn’t too sure that any of his guesses were right.

Quinlan stared at him for a long moment before saying, “All right. I’ll do it on your say-so.”

Shayne didn’t say anything more. He let it lie like that. A feeling of lassitude possessed him. Always before, when it came to winding up a tough case, he was a mass of nerves. He was on edge and driven by a sharp certitude that demanded action. He felt none of this now. It didn’t help any when the inspector called over the intercommunication system and sent the telegram to Craigville. Shayne felt only a mild pity for any man who was so easily led to act on a Shayne hunch.

After Quinlan hung up the receiver Shayne arose abruptly. He didn’t want to answer any more questions. He said, “Let’s go down and see what Jordan is giving out.”

“Let’s,” said Quinlan, and they went silently down the steps.

The boudoir was a small square room in the basement. A heavy backless chair was bolted to the floor in the exact center of the room.

Neal Jordan sat on the chair with a wide leather band about each thigh to keep him from rising. He was completely naked. A single light was suspended just above his head with a cone reflector throwing the rays directly downward, making one circle of glaring radiance and leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Four men were loosely grouped around him. They were questioning him calmly and persuasively about the murder of Dan Trueman.

He didn’t answer them. He didn’t look at them. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, his forehead resting on his interlaced hands. Great beads of sweat ran together and formed rivulets running down from his magnificent body, but he remained relaxed and immobile.

Shayne looked sharply for any sign of physical weakening. There was nothing more than a healthy redness and sweat from the heat of the glaring light.

He knew that Jordan was waiting them out. There were no signs of a struggle on his body to show that he had fought with Dan Trueman, but he already knew that, having seen him stripped to the waist in the Lomax basement.

The men who were questioning him had grown hoarse and less persuasive. Inspector Quinlan drew Shayne aside and whispered worriedly, “Are you sure he’s the one? It’s a miracle if the man who killed Trueman got off without a scratch.”

Shayne said, “Your men picked him up. I gave you three to play with—the only three men in the house.”

“I don’t like it,” Quinlan said stonily. “They’re not getting anywhere with him.”

Before answering Shayne again studied the nude form in the chair. He said, “It’s pretty gentle treatment for a suspected murderer.”

“We have to be damned careful,” Quinlan complained. “A boy almost died down here a few years ago and he was later proved innocent. This generally wears them down.”

“If you can get them started talking,” said Shayne. “As long as he dumbs up like this he’s safe.” Worms began eating at the lining of his belly. He recognized the feeling. He had to get going. He couldn’t stand around and wait it out. “I’m going to try my luck,” he said, and walked inside.

Shayne shouldered one of the detectives aside and reached out to brush aside Neal’s clasped hands. He laughed and said, “You should stay at home when murders are being committed.”

Neal’s muscular body tautened. He said, “You bastard.”

Shayne laughed again. “You’re outsmarted and you might as well admit it.”

“Outsmarted hell! I’ve just been figuring this out. It’s one of your frames. You needed somebody to take the rap and you picked on me.”

Shayne laughed with genuine amusement. He jeered, “You’re perfect for it. You’ll have to admit I pick a good sucker.”

“I see it all now.” Neal was excited. “That picture you stole from my dresser. That is what you stole it for—to be sure your phony witnesses would recognize me in a line-up. You know it was too dark there last night for—” He stopped suddenly and breathed hard through set teeth as he realized what he had said.

Shayne exhaled a long sigh and turned to Quinlan. “Is that what you wanted, Inspector?”

“It’s plenty,” Quinlan said, “to hang him.”

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.