by Lionel White
I turned and knocked at the door and the uniformed policeman let me out.
Lieutenant Giddeon drove us back to Long Island. I knew the moment we pulled into Circle Way that Ann was bound to face a difficult ordeal. Crowds of the curious were surrounding the house and it was obvious that the police were still in the place making a detailed search of the premises. A uniformed officer was stationed at the front door and a second patrolman was busy keeping the curious moving along in front of the house.
As we came to a stop in the driveway, Lieutenant Giddeon turned to Mrs. Merriweather.
“I don’t believe my men are quite through yet,” he said, his voice a bit apologetic. “I wonder if it wouldn’t be a little more comfortable for you if you were to spend tonight with relatives or friends? Of course this thing will die down in a day or so, but in the meantime—”
“I have no relatives,” she said. “What are they doing? Why are all of these people—”
“Ann,” I said, “you have to expect this sort of thing. 1 think, well, I think it would be better if you didn’t stay alone in the house tonight. Perhaps you could take a room at a hotel.”
Lieutenant Giddeon nodded in agreement.
“It would be best,” he said.
Ann shook her head, a little dazed, and there was something pathetically helpless, almost childish, about her response. I realized that I must step in and help her.
“Why don’t you go in and pack an overnight bag,” I suggested, “and then I’ll get you a room at the Garden City Hotel for the night. You won’t have to be answering the doorbell and the phone when reporters—”
She agreed and a moment later the lieutenant directed his chauffeur to accompany her into the house. When she left the car, he turned to me.
“I’m sorry about this sort of thing.”
I sighed.
“Well at least,” I said, “it will be all straightened out in a day or so. My client has an airtight alibi and he should
be free in no time at all. I am sure you people will quickly discover some very simple and obvious explanation for this entire affair.”
He looked at me and shook his head.
“I’d better tell you something, Counselor,” he said. “It may not be quite that simple. You see, while we were in Connecticut this afternoon, there were several new developments. Among other things, we found the key to the trunk of his car. It was in his watch pocket.”
I looked at him aghast.
He waited a moment and when I failed to comment, he again spoke.
“I gather that you have known Mr. Merriweather rather well?”
I nodded, noncommittally.
“Did you know that he was previously married?”
I looked at him then, surprise all over my face.
“Previously married? You mean to tell me that Charles Merriweather—”
“We’ve been doing a little checking,” he said. “Yes, this is Merriweather’s second marriage.”
I hesitated a moment and then said: “Well, in these days, that is hardly unusual. A good many marriages end in divorce. Certainly—”
“His didn’t end in divorce,” Lieutenant Giddeon said. And then, before I could ask questions, he continued, “In fact, it ended in death. A rather odd case as it turned out. Seems that he and his first wife were in a car, returning from a trip to California. The thing happened out in Wyoming. In the Rockies. Apparently a front tire blew and the car swerved. Went over a cliff. Car was a total wreck and Merriweather’s wife was killed. Killed immediately. He was lucky. When the car went over he had enough warning to realize what was about to happen and was able to open the door at his side and leap clear!”
“What a terrible thing,” I said. “I had no idea. Why—” I stopped very suddenly. A peculiar and rather terrible idea crossed my mind. “But why should that have any bearing?” I asked. “It was an accident, a tragic accident.”
“Oh yes, an accident,” Giddeon said. “Of course. There was the usual coroner’s investigation. The usual inquiry. But as I say, it was all a little on the unusual side. Like this business. Most unusual. A man driving around with a body in his car and not knowing how it got there. The thing that makes it just a trifle more than unusual is the fact that we are almost sure the victim was slain in the Merriweather home.”
“But you don’t really know that,” I said. “You can’t be sure.”
He was about to say something, but suddenly stopped as he looked over toward the front door of the Merriweather house. Ann Merriweather was emerging, followed by the police chauffeur who was carrying a small, blue leather airplane bag which she must have packed hurriedly.
The lieutenant was kind enough to drive us to the Garden City Hotel where I was able to find a room for Ann.
We were both hungry and agreed to meet in the dining room for dinner. While I waited for her to come down
from her room, I made a couple of telephone calls. I then had time to taxi to Mineola and pick up my own car. When I returned we had dinner. I refused to let Ann discuss the case until after we had finished eating and I had ordered coffee.
We were fortunate in having a table off by itself where our conversation could not be overheard. I told Ann about the police finding the key to the trunk in her husband’s pocket. The news upset her and I hesitated to go on, but finally decided I had to.
“Ann,” I said, “I want to ask you something. Do you know that Charles was previously married?”
She stared at me for a moment, her face not changing expression.
“Yes, I know.”
“Lieutenant Giddeon seemed to feel that it has some significance,” I said. I was treading on dangerous ground, but I felt that it was important to learn anything I could.
She shook her head.
“Significance? Why? a lot of men are married more than once. In any case, I didn’t meet Charles until his first wife had been dead for two or three years. I never knew her. Charles has told me about her, however. It was a rather unhappy marriage. One of those wartime things and it didn’t turn out too well. There were no children. Charles has always wanted a child and it seems that his first wife was unable—” Her voice trailed off.
“You know what happened?” I asked.
“What happened?”
“Yes. How the marriage ended?”
She nodded.
“Of course. She was killed in an auto accident. But why are you bringing this up,” she asked, “and why should the police be interested?”
I decided to change the subject. I was suddenly remembering about that attempt on Ann Merriweather’s life, less than two weeks ago. I didn’t like the direction my thoughts were beginning to take.
“Let’s not discuss Charles, or this terrible murder or anything about what has happened for the rest of the evening. What would you like to do? Go to a movie? Or just stay here and talk?”
Quickly she reached across the table and pressed mv hand.
“Howard,” she said, “Howard, you really are a dear. I think you’re more upset than I am. But all right. W’e’ll forget everything, tonight. Everything. Now what shall we do? A movie seems like such a waste of time and anyway, there are so few good ones. And we can’t just sit here for the rest of the evening drinking coffee. The waiters probably wouldn’t like it.”
I smiled back at her. I was happy that she was making an effort to take things in her stride. I was desperately afraid that she wouldn’t be having a great many more hours in the near future when her mind would be at ease, even temporarily.
But she looked up at me suddenly, her eyes wide.
“Howard,” she said in a surprised voice. “Why Howard, of all the silly things. W’e have forgotten about the dog.”
“The dog?”
“Our new boxer,” she said. “I completely forgot about him. He was chained out in the back of the house and, as far as I know, he must still be there. I don’t think he’s even been fed all day. I’ll have to go and do something about him.”
“I think it would be best if you put him in a kennel for the next few days,” I said. “But why don’t you let me see to it? You should be getting some rest and anyway, I don’t think it is a good idea for you to go back to that house tonight.”
She shook her head, beginning to gather up her gloves and belongings.
“No,” she said, “no. I want to do it.” She sighed. “Good Lord, how could I ever have forgotten about him. I guess with all of the excitement and everything, it just never crossed my mind.”
“But Ann,” I said. “The police have probably fed him and I can stop by as soon as I get home and see to things. I am sure he’ll be all right.”
But again she shook her head.
“No—no, I must do it,” she said. “But you can be kind enough to give me some taxi service.” She smiled and I smiled back at her and then waved to the waiter to bring the check.
“As you wish,” I said. “We’ll see to him together, but then I am going to bring you back here to the hotel and I want you to get right to bed. You are going to need all of the rest you can get, my dear.”
I glanced at my wrist watch as we left the dining room 7*
and saw that it was just ten-thirty. Outside the wind had sprung up and was blowing a near gale. There wasn’t a star in the sky and the air had that peculiar heavy feeling one always senses before a violent storm. It wasn’t quite cold enough for snow, but I knew we could expect a storm any moment. I felt Ann shudder slightly as I helped her into the car and I realized how tired she was. I was even more sorry that she had insisted on returning to her house.
By the time we had reached Fairlawn Acres, the storm had struck and the rain was coming down in solid sheets. Even with the windshield wipers working at full speed, it was almost impossible to see. Most of the houses were already dark. Fairlawn is a community of commuters and on weekday nights its residents get to bed early. I had a little trouble finding Circle Way in the blackness of the rain-filled night, in spite of having lived in the neighborhood as long as I had. The streets are curved, some of them making complete circles, and after dark it is impossible to read the street signs. The similarity in construction of the houses themselves adds to the confusion, and it is very easy to make a wrong turn.
Ann had fallen into a light doze and was motionless beside me. I strained to see where I was going, but somehow or other managed to make a wrong turn. It is possible that I actually passed the Merriweather home without realizing it as I was looking for a place which would be lighted and with cars in front of it. But when I finally got my bearings and did find the proper street, the Merriweather house was completely dark.
The police must have finished up whatever it was they
had been doing and departed, and the storm must have driven away the curious. There was the dark silhouette of a car next to the curb and half blocking the driveway. I pulled in front of it and stopped my own car opposite the path leading to the front door. The houses on each side were darkened, but I could see light escaping from around the drawn curtains of the split level directly across the street and there was the sound of a television or radio which was playing far too loudly.
Ann roused herself and I suggested that she stay in the car and that I would go in and take care of the dog. She insisted, however, on accompanying me. We were soaked by the time we had run up the pathway and opened the front door. There was the crash of thunder as I managed to push Ann into the house ahead of me; a sudden flash of lightning.
The sounds of the storm were deafening, even after 1 had closed the door and found the wall switch. I had expected to be greeted by a growl or bark but there was no sign of the boxer. He was some watchdog.
Ann shook herself a little and wiped the water from her face. She turned to me, shivering slightly.
“The house feels so strange,” she said. “It is almost as though—”
She stopped suddenly, turning to the door leading from the game room to the playroom. We both heard it, a sort of soft, rustling sound.
“They’ve put him in the playroom,” Ann said. “I’m glad they had enough sense not to leave him chained outside in this weather. I’ll tell you what, Howard, you go 80
into the kitchen and see if you can find us something to drink. I think there is a bottle of brandy in the cabinet next to the stove. I feel chilled and a small glass would be good. While you’re getting it, I’ll see to the dog.”
I nodded and turned to the door leading into the kitchen.
“Find his collar and leash,” I told her. “When we leave I’ll take him home with me and in the morning I’ll arrange to have him boarded in a kennel. I’ll call Dr. Stevenson about it.”
I opened the kitchen door and turned on the light. The brandy was where Ann said it was and I found glasses in the cupboard and pulled the cork and began to pour.
There was another crash of thunder and the house seemed to shake on its foundations. I was replacing the brandy bottle when I heard the scream.
It penetrated the room above the fury of the storm and for a brief moment I froze, almost dropping the brandy bottle. And then, with the realization that the sound had come from somewhere within the house itself, I felt my face blanch and my hand begin to shake.
I turned and rushed for the living room. The door opposite, the one giving entrance into the playroom, was a wide dark hole in the opposite wall and even as I rushed headlong across the room toward it, there was the sound of a crash. It took me only seconds to cross that room and find the light switch.
She was lying just inside the door, sprawled out on the floor, half under a coffee table. I was dimly conscious of the blood seeping from just under her hairline as I leaned down over her.
In the frenzy of those next twenty or thirty seconds, as I lifted Ann’s head and stared into her pale face, I don’t know what horrible thoughts crossed my mind. I do remember being vaguely conscious of the sound of a car’s engine whining outside, and then the further sound of an automobile racing off from in front of the house.
Her eyes opened wide and frightened as I leaned over her and she moaned softly. I could feel her body move as she struggled to rise.
“Ann—Ann, for God’s sake!” I said. “What happened? What was it? Are you all right? ”
Something soft and warm suddenly brushed against the back of my neck as I leaned over her. I half dropped her as I quickly turned.
The boxer was standing next to me nuzzling my neck.
Ann waited until she was on the couch before she was able to speak.
“Someone,” she said, breathlessly. “Someone was in here. I came in and was just about to turn on the light when I sensed it. I reached out and felt something soft.”
“The dog?”
“It wasn’t the dog,” Ann said. “No, it wasn’t the dog. It was a person. Whatever I touched was on a level with my chest. It was then I screamed. I don’t know quite what happened next. I think whoever it was pushed me because I remember falling. I hit the coffee table as I went down.”
I looked up from her and I saw that the door leading into the garage was wide open. Quickly I crossed and closed it.
“I am going to call the police,” I said.
While we waited for the police to arrive, I went into the garage and looked around. The outside overhead doors were open and I closed them. I noticed that there was a bowl of water and a dish half filled with dog food in one corner of the garage, and I realized that the boxer had been left there for the night. But someone had entered the garage after striking down Ann in the playroom. Entered the garage and left it to race off in the car which had been parked outside.
Charles Merriweather had certainly made a very poor selection when he had chosen the boxer as a watchdog.
I bathed the wound on Ann’s forehead and fortunately it seemed superficial. She was badly shaken up, but otherwise unhurt. I forced her to drink the brandy I had poured for her and before she had finished it, there was the sound of a siren and a moment later the police
arrived.
It was a prowl car which had been cruising in the neighborhood and had received a radio message from headquarters after my own phone call. I told the officer, a Sergeant MacNulty, what had happened.
He seemed very skeptical, even after I had explained about hearing the sound of a car racing away.
“You sure, Miss,” he asked Ann, “that you just didn’t come in here in the dark and fall over that table? I can’t see why anyone would want to be breaking in here. There isn’t any sign of a broken lock or window or anything like that. You know if anyone had a key to the house?”
It was true that there was no evidence of a forced entry and nothing seemed to be missing, but I believed completely Ann’s version of what had happened.
*3
Later on, as I sat with Ann in the living room the sergeant called headquarters from the telephone in the kitchen. When he returned, he said:
“The dog was left in the garage after the boys got through here this evening. I can’t understand how anyone could have been in the house, attacked you and then run out past him. Now are you sure—”
“Of course I’m sure,” Ann replied. “There was someone in that room when I opened the door. Someone who either pushed me so that I fell, or struck me, and then turned and ran out through the garage.”
The sergeant continued to look skeptical.
“And just what would they have been doing here, do you suppose? ”
Ann shrugged helplessly.
“Listen, Officer,” I said. “Mrs. Merriweather has just suffered a considerable shock. It is pointless to ask any more questions of her tonight. If she says someone was in that room and that someone pushed or struck her, then that is what happened. Perhaps whoever it was was looking for something, perhaps—”
“Looking for what?”
“How would I know what,” I said, my voice filled with anger. “Maybe they were looking for the same thing the police have been looking for all day. In any case, I’m taking Mrs. Merriweather back to the hotel. And I would suggest that the police leave someone on guard here.”
