Goodnight Irene

by James Scott Byrnside

  “She couldn’t have lifted that ax.”

  Rowan wafted air from the top of the glass toward his nose. “I find Bernice to be a horrible distraction. A detective must battle distractions. The first questions we ask ourselves invariably end up being the wrong ones. A different view is often required. It would probably behoove us to concentrate on Lasciva. He had read about me in the newspaper. Obviously, it was the Brent case. So, think of it, Williams. You read about a detective causing the death of two innocent people and then you hire him when your life is on the line? No, no, no. The impression I got was that Robert Lasciva had no concerns for his own safety until…”

  Walter waited a moment. “Until what?”

  “Until I told him about Irene Roberts and the nursery rhyme. It unsettled him. Or at least it wiped the insufferable grin off his face.”

  “So did that.” Walter gestured toward the disembodied head on the floor.

  Rowan rose and shut the visor. He played with the corner of his cigarette paper as he paced.

  Walter said, “How about the armor? Do you have any ideas?”

  Rowan shook his head. “In the field of battle, one wears a suit of armor for protection. This is not a field of battle and obviously it failed to protect him.”

  “Perhaps the killer forced him into the armor. But why? It wouldn’t serve any purpose.”

  “Putting on a suit of armor takes time even if one has practiced. He must have begun right after he closed the door. Whether Bernice forced him or he did it of his own volition, I do not know.”

  “Who else could have killed him? Ruth was in the library, Tellum was in the billiard room, and Daniels was with me in the hallway the entire time.”

  “Did Ruth ever leave the library?”

  “No.”

  “Which painting were you looking at with Daniels?”

  “The Forster. It’s the one nearest the library door. She couldn’t have slipped past me.”

  “She might have gone down the hallway after you and Daniels came into the billiard room.”

  “I doubt it. We were there less than a minute before I went back into the hallway to get the glass of water. I saw her in the library doorway. Her smock was still wet from washing the floor. So we must deduce that Lasciva was murdered when Daniels and I were looking at the painting and you were in the room with Tellum.”

  “He could have been killed just as Tellum was dying.”

  “So you think it was Bernice.”

  “Or the couple from upstairs.”

  “I guess Charles and Margaret had the opportunity, but I think I would have heard them coming down. Those stairs are terribly creaky. Anyway, none of this matters until we figure out how the door was locked from the inside. To lock a door from the inside, you must be inside. How do you leave a room and then put the key back in. It’s impossible.”

  Rowan patted his shoulder. “Do not fret, Williams. It could be so much worse.”

  “Tell me one way this could be worse.”

  “There were two hundred and ninety-six murders in Chicago last year. Ten of them were decapitations.”

  “I find it troubling that you know this statistic by heart.”

  “Seven bodies were found and only three heads. None of the heads belonged to the bodies.”

  Walter smiled dumbly. “I understand all the words you just used. On their own they make perfect sense. It’s just when you string them together like that…”

  “The point is, heads are found without bodies and bodies are found without heads but we have got a body and a head and by the grace of God, they match.”

  “You’re an awfully strange person, Manory.”

  Rowan pointed to the paperwork. “Anything interesting?”

  A mountain of papers lay loose near Walter’s arms, spreading in all directions. “Uhh…lots of manifests. The majority are shipments of coffin varnish. It’s good to know bodies in Chicago are buried with style. You’d think the police would catch on.” He stopped at a bound packet.

  “Something pertinent?”

  “It’s Lasciva’s will.”

  Rowan rushed to his side and pressed his fingers under the title of the first page. “Of course. Murdered bodies are often followed by the will.” He skimmed through the document, looking for the good parts.

  “Who gets what?”

  “It is standard, very simple. The estate and all holdings are to be divided evenly between Paul Daniels, Jack Tellum, Charles Lasciva, and Bernice Lasciva. The witness is Ruth Martice. It is dated July fifteenth of this year.” Rowan clucked his tongue.

  “What’s so interesting about that?”

  “Don’t you see? Robert put his nephew in his will before he had even met him. I would say this was not Robert Lasciva’s style, but none of his actions seem to have followed any logical train of thought.”

  Walter’s eyes bulged. “The note said two more would die. If Bernice is our man, Paul and Charles could be next. Let’s not forget that there are two dead bodies.”

  “Trust me, I have not forgotten. Tellum died in my arms.”

  Walter pointed to the glass. “Is it spiked?”

  “I could detect only the vaguest hint of alcohol. Otherwise there is no smell. With a name like ‘panther piss’, it should reek.”

  “Tellum was poisoned with something. Of that we can be sure.”

  Rowan shrugged. “Daniels drank from the same flask and he shows no signs of sickness.”

  “Maybe he’s just got to wait, the poor bastard.” Walter imagined the terror of having poison inside him and just waiting for it to kick in. “Every small pain in his stomach must be horrifying.”

  Rowan finally lit the cigarette he’d been playing with. “How did the note get in Tellum’s jacket?” He pulled out the two notes and laid them side by side on the desk. “It must have been planted earlier. It says that there will be no body as proof and yet, we have two bodies. Perhaps the killer planned to remove these bodies. Perhaps he still does.”

  “I have a good question.” Walter paused. “I think.”

  “Please.”

  “Why is the second note addressed to you?”

  “That is an excellent inquiry, my friend.”

  Walter smiled.

  “My job here was meant to be a secret, but the killer knew. I think Jack Tellum knew as well. He was delirious when he died, but he was trying to tell me something. Ruth stuffed her dress in his mouth. Maybe she did not want him to speak.”

  “All he managed was the word ‘choke.’”

  “He was Lasciva’s bodyguard. Why was he not constantly at his side?”

  “I hope my last word is more meaningful than ‘choke.’”

  Rowan continued his pacing and rolled another cigarette while the previous one burned in the ashtray. “If Bernice had or has a motive of money then so do Daniels and Charles. Bernice also hinted that there was something in this house. Something that Robert would not want found.”

  “We haven’t even mentioned Willie, he of the convenient bridge collapse. He could have been anywhere doing anything the whole time he was gone. Although I must say I have a good feeling about him. He seems trustworthy.”

  “No one is trustworthy,” lectured Rowan. “Not now.”

  “Don’t forget about Ruth. She was awfully angry when she left that office. I don’t mean to cast aspersions, but when I saw her face, one word popped into my head.”

  “Murder?”

  Walter tapped his nose. “That wouldn’t look good in a court of law. Bernice also seemed to imply that Ruth and Lasciva were having an affair. She called her a slut and then said something in German.”

  “Do you speak German?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  The cuckoo clock chimed, informing the men that it was eleven o’clock.

  “Okay, Williams, I shall begin my interrogations. I imagine they will have to sleep soon, so I will be finished by midnight. While I am doing that, I want you to search the rooms more
carefully.”

  “What is it I hope to find?”

  “Something poisonous and a well-hidden Bernice would be very helpful. I—”

  Walter screamed out a crazy garble of jitters. “Disgusting!”

  “What?”

  “Someone’s left a huge wad of chewed gum under the table.” He stretched it from his fingers and flicked it into the ashtray.

  Rowan stubbed his old cigarette out and lit the new one. “I fear this will be a long night.”

  “Who do you want to see first?”

  “Whom.”

  “Shouldn’t you decide?”

  “No, Williams. Whom do you want to see first?”

  “Am I doing the interviews?” He grinned.

  “Ruth. I want to see Ruth first.”

  “To which room should I send her?”

  Rowan spread out his arms. “This one.”

  Walter stopped grinning. “You’re going to interview them with a corpse on the floor?”

  “Of course I am. What better way to get honest answers?”

  “That’s twisted. I like it.” Walter poked his head out the door and looked both ways before leaving.

  How can he be so calm? His heart must be racing. His heart… I wonder if it will stand the pressure. You have to be an asset on this case, Walt. He needs your help. Remember, you’re a professional.

  By the time Walter reached the library, he had steeled himself for confrontation. He raised his hand to knock on the library door and paused.

  That’s not what someone in charge would do.

  He reached for the knob and pushed the door open.

  All the guests were in the same place as when Walter had left them. Daniels stood smoking by the books as if he were allergic to sitting. Ruth sat next to Willie, holding a ripped piece of vodka-soaked smock against the scrape on his head. Charles and Margaret held their defensive position on the opposite sofa.

  Walter began. “I’d like to express my gratitude for your cooperation. We’ve all been through a horrible experience but we’re going to make it off this ridge if we stick together and remain civilized. Now, is anyone else feeling ill? Delirium, dizziness, anything like that?”

  Willie scratched at the wound on his forehead. “Was he poisoned with the piss?”

  “The answer is no,” said Daniels.

  “We are still determining the cause of death,” said Walter.

  “I knew Mr. Tellum sounded bad. He was hacking up a lung all the way down the hall. You all heard him. I’m not crazy.”

  Paul Daniels exhaled a large cloud of smoke and kicked the phonograph. “Since you’re so clever, maybe you should go help Manory figure all this out. Hey, Williams, are you going to let all of this butler’s brain power go to waste?”

  Charles’s hands trembled. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep us in the same room together. I mean, one of you is the killer. I’m not supposed to say it, I know, but it’s true. Isn’t it true?”

  “Sure, Chuck,” said Daniels.

  “My name is Charles.”

  Ruth bit a small strip of skin from her ring finger. “What happened to Bernice?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” said Daniels.

  “Aunt Bernice?” Charles forced a laugh. “You’re right. She must have done it. An eighty-year-old woman did it. She cut off his head with an ax.”

  “I’m not saying Bernice did it,” said Ruth. “I think it would be helpful to know what happened to her.”

  “Or her body,” said Daniels.

  Walter whistled until he had everyone’s attention. “I have seen this so many times.”

  “You’ve seen what so many times?” asked Margaret.

  “Panic. I’m not belittling any of you. It’s human nature. Something happens that you cannot grasp and out of the cobwebs of the farthest corners of your imagination comes the fear of the unknown. The fear turns to panic and you turn on each other. But there’s something you’re all missing. Something I know that none of you could possibly be aware of.”

  “Oh, this should be good,” said Daniels.

  Walter pointed outside the door. “Down the hallway is the most brilliant deductive mind in the world. This is not hyperbole. There is no mystery Rowan Manory cannot solve. You are all very lucky that he is here. Right now everything seems lost and you feel helpless. By tomorrow morning, we will all know what happened.”

  The faces in the room did not seem especially comforted by Walter’s words. He did his best impersonation of Rowan’s walk and moved toward Ruth.

  “Miss Martice, Mr. Manory would like the pleasure of your company.”

  Daniels leaned forward over the back of the sofa. “Why?”

  Ruth stood. “It’s all right, Paul. I’d be happy to provide any assistance.” She took off her smock and walked out.

  Walter followed her, but stopped and twirled round at the door. “Mr. Manory is now conducting his interviews. He’ll be speaking to each of you in turn. In the meantime, I suggest you try to relax and keep your heads.”

  Daniels wore his sardonicism like a second skin. “Smooth as silk, Williams.”

  chapter 10

  suspects

  “Miss Martice, I understand this must be incredibly difficult for you.”

  Rowan had covered up Lasciva’s body with a quilt from the closet and surrounded it with a few of Lasciva’s dress shirts to soak up the gallon or so of blood that had spurted onto the oak floor. Ruth tried not to look but the seeping red patches were hypnotic. The fingers of her tiny, elfin hands were bitten to the raw, the undeveloped pink layer of flesh underneath contrasting painfully with her alabaster skin.

  “I still can’t believe it. How did this happen? Why?” She shook her head as the tears flowed freely, unencumbered by restraint. “It’s revolting.”

  “It is unfortunate that the body cannot be removed, but my options are limited. I’m afraid it is now evidence.”

  “Yes, detective.” Ruth struggled with a facial tissue, searching for a dry spot. After folding it three times, she gave up and placed it in the ashtray.

  “In our present situation, it is vital that I ask some questions that may be of a personal nature. I hope you can understand.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  Rowan momentarily fiddled with his cigarette and then lit it. “How did you come to be employed with Mr. Lasciva?”

  “I came to Mississippi last October, but it wasn’t for work.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Urbana.”

  “A fellow Illinoisan.”

  “Is that what we’re called? I’ve never been called that.” She removed her finger from her teeth and scrunched the hem of her dress. “The Red Cross set up a booth at the town fair. They showed pictures of what was happening here, and they told me about the levees breaking and all the homes being destroyed. It was heartbreaking. I volunteered.”

  “A very noble act.”

  “I had to do something. Also, I was still living with my parents. There’s a point in everyone’s life to forge out on their own. That was it for me.”

  “But eventually you—”

  “Especially for the Negroes.”

  “The Negroes?”

  “Why, yes. The government has come to the aid of white towns, but the Negroes have to fend for themselves. They have no assistance of any kind. It’s shameful and it isn’t right. I believe in justice, Mr. Manory. I’ve believed in it since I was a little girl.”

  “Yet you ended up here, above it all.”

  She hung her head. “I’m not as strong as I thought. I worked for a few months in the relief corps. Every week I would write home, saying I was fine. It wasn’t the truth, though. Everything kept getting worse and worse. This flood is a losing battle. It just keeps raining.”

  The door opened and Walter stuck his head in. “Manory—”

  “Not now, Williams.”

  “But—”

  “Walter!”

  W
alter dropped his head and shut the door.

  Rowan suppressed a frown. “I am so sorry. It keeps raining…”

  “I gave my notice when I was stationed in Clarksdale. My plan was to go back home to be with my family. I felt like I’d given all I could. That’s when I met Paul.”

  “Mr. Daniels?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why was Paul Daniels in Clarksdale?”

  “He lives there. We got to talking and he mentioned a friend who needed to hire a secretary. You must understand my situation. I was depressed and I had no money. I didn’t want to go home a failure so I took the job.”

  “Ruth, I am not judging you. I cannot imagine what you have been through.”

  “That’s good to know.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  Ruth’s answers were satisfactory to Rowan but he cautioned himself not to be taken in by her apparent honesty. If a career in detective work had taught him anything it was this one simple fact: eventually, everyone lies.

  “Were you and Mr. Lasciva having an affair?”

  The question appeared to catch her off guard. She stammered a bit before answering. “How could you tell?”

  Forty-seven percent of employers have affairs with their secretaries, according to the Alfred-Dunning study of 1925.

  “Many things, Miss Martice. The way you stood close to him, your face, your body… your anger. Also, we heard the conversation between you and Lasciva’s aunt.”

  “How embarrassing.” She shifted in her seat.

  “I told you there would be questions of a personal nature.”

  She rolled her eyes and then shut them. “I loved him and I think he loved me. One can never be sure though.”

  The thought of the diseased wretch touching her caused Rowan’s mouth to go watery, like a prelude to vomit. He swallowed, kept up his smile, and nodded.

  Ruth continued. “When I came here to work, it felt like home. Eventually, my role in the manor changed.”