The Merriweather File

by Lionel White

  I nodded. “I see,” I said. “Well, as you know, the police have already determined that the dead man was killed sometime between midnight and six in the morning. Probably after three o’clock, although they can’t be exact about it. At this point, Charles’s entire defense rests on his establishing an alibi for the hours between midnight and six. That’s why I had hoped—”

  She shook her head.

  “I know, Howard,” she said. “I know. I only wish that I could say that I woke up when he came in. I might lie about it, but I am afraid that I am such a poor liar—”

  “You mustn’t lie about anything,” I said. “Under no circumstances lie. I don’t know a great deal about these things, but one thing I do know. The worst possible thing a person can do in a matter of this sort is to lie. The police have ways—”

  “You mean lie detector tests—”

  “That sort of thing, yes,” I said. “But lying is out of the question. In any case,” I hesitated a moment and dropped my eyes, not wanting to look at her as I said it, “in any case, it isn’t necessary. Charles has an alibi. An airtight alibi.”

  She looked at me with suddenly wide open, startled eyes.

  “Charles has an alibi?”

  “Yes. He was with someone. With someone from twelve o’clock midnight until six in the morning.”

  “Charles was with someone? ” Her face suddenly lighted up and she sighed. “Well—then there is no problem,” she said. “I wonder why he didn’t say so? Why he didn’t tell me right off when I talked with him?”

  I could see that she wasn’t going to make it any easier for me.

  “Ann,” I said, standing up and walking over to the couch so that I could sit next to her. I took her hand in mine. “Ann, I’m afraid I have to tell you something very unpleasant. The fact is, Charles was with another woman.”

  I could feel her suddenly grow tense and her face paled. She turned to look at me, complete disbelief in her eyes.

  “What are you trying to tell me, Howard? What do you mean? Charles and another woman—”

  “I told you, Ann,” I said. “This will be unpleasant. But it’s bound to come out, has to come out if Charles is to clear himself. Charles spent the night with a woman.”

  For several moments she said nothing and just sat there

  THE MERRIWEATHER FILE

  staring at me. Then she reached forward and took the sherry and finished it.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said at last. “I simply can’t believe it. Why—”

  “I’m afraid you will have to believe it, Ann,” I said. “Charles himself told me about it. And I have talked with the girl. I saw her this morning after I saw Charles.”

  “The girl? I thought you said a woman?”

  “Well, yes, a woman. A very young woman. Her name is Grant, Virginia Grant, and she lives in Huntington. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  “We had better order another drink,” Ann said. She stood up, crossed the room and asked for room service. Her voice was steady as she asked for another round of drinks, and this time she ordered two double Scotches. When she was through, she didn’t sit down, just stood in the center of the room and looked at me.

  “Perhaps you had better tell me all about it, Howard,” she said.

  “Dear Ann,” I said. “Dear Ann, I do wish I could save you this. Wouldn’t it be better—”

  “Please tell me all about it. Everything. I want to know.”

  I shrugged.

  “As I said, Ann, Charles met a woman on Sunday night. Oh, he went to the club as he told you, and played bridge. But afterward, he drove over to a tavern in Huntington and he met this woman. They drank for a while and then he took her home. He spent the rest of the night with her. He left her place around six and came home and then he must have awakened you. I’m so sorry. I only wish—”

  “I’m sorry too,” Ann said. Her voice was a quiet monotone and there was no emotion in her face. Just a dead calm, controlled expression, almost as though she were in shock. I could wish that she had screamed or cried or anything but that dead quiet acceptance.

  “It would be better if Charles himself told you—”

  “Charles could have told me,” she said. “He didn’t. So please go on. Tell me about this woman, or girl or whatever she is. How long has it been going on. What—”

  “He’s apparently been seeing her for several months,” I said “How serious it is, I don’t know. But I do know that Charles was with her during the time this Jake Harbor was being killed. I know—”

  There was a knock at the door and I stopped talking to go over and let the bellboy in with the drinks.

  For a long time she sat there, sipping her drink and saying nothing. Her hand was steady and her face was completely blank and but for her paleness and large, staring eyes, it was impossible to tell what she must have been going through. Finally she looked up and spoke.

  “Is she pretty?”

  “Ann, please,” I began.

  “I asked you, Howard. Is she pretty? ”

  I half shook my head.

  “She’s pretty in a flashy, cheap sort of way,” I said. “But Ann, believe me, she’s nothing. Nothing at all. Just a bit of fluff. I can’t understand how Charles could ever go with a girl like that after marrying you. I can’t—”

  She turned and smiled wanly at me. Her hand went out again and she squeezed mine.

  “You are sweet, Howard,” she said. “But please don’t try to save my feelings. I’ve been through so much recently that one more thing somehow or other doesn’t matter. But I am surprised. Surprised and hurt and well, I guess just a little bit disgusted. Oh, I’ve always known that Charles had a sort of weakness for women. You remember how he always flirted a little, always wanted to be the beau of the ball. But it never in the world occurred to me—”

  She stopped and there was the faintest hint of a sob. She reached for the drink and finished ft in a gulp, choking a little as she put the glass down. Suddenly she stood up and did an odd little half dance step. Turning, she again faced me.

  “So,” she said. “So. I guess that is that. My husband has been cheating and I’m just the poor little innocent bride who never knew. Well, anyway, I have something to be thankful for. He isn’t a murderer.”

  She laughed bitterly and I stood up and went to her and took her by the arms.

  “Now Ann dear,” I said.

  She pulled away.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said, her voice tight and a little high-pitched. “Don’t worry about me. I can stand it. I guess now I can stand anything. Well, at least it explains one thing.”

  “Explains one thing?”

  She turned and stared at me, her eyes suddenly cold.

  “Yes,” she said. “It explains about the money.”

  “The money?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes. You see, I happened to look at Charles’s bankbook not long ago. He has a savings account, actually it’s a joint account, but I never use it or bother to check it. But not long ago I did run across the passbook. I looked into it for no particular reason and I was shocked to see that Charles had made two very large withdrawals lately. Not more than a month ago. One was for two thousand dollars and the other for three.”

  I looked at her in bewilderment.

  “Did you ask him about it?”

  She shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “No, I didn’t. Charles always handles all the money matters and I never interfere. He hates to be questioned about bills and money and things like that. So I didn’t say anything, but I wondered. I guess I just figured he had withdrawn the money because he wanted to buy some stock or something of the sort. I suppose now that he took it out to give to that girl.”

  “Ann, you wouldn’t happen to have that bankbook with you, would you?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “When I packed up last night, I put that, the keys to the safe de
posit box we keep, and my checkbook in my bag. I didn’t want them lying around the house with all those strange men wandering about.”

  “Would you let me see the bankbook?” I asked.

  “Certainly.”

  She went into the bedroom and a moment later returned and handed me a small black passbook on a Westbury bank. I opened the book and noted that there was a balance of fourteen hundred dollars. Then I checked the withdrawals. Charles Merriweather had drawn two thousand dollars on October twenty-eighth. And again on November fifteenth, he had drawn another three thousand. I handed her back the book.

  “Well, he probably has some very logical explanation,” I began, but she interrupted me.

  “Please stop trying to save my feelings. Let’s get back to this woman, this Grant person. I suppose she’s willing to testify that Charles spent the night with her?” I could see her shudder a little as she used the expression.

  “She’s willing to testify,” I said.

  “Well then, that should clear him,” she said. “At least with the police.”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “It gives him an alibi in any case for the time that the murder was being committed. But of course it doesn’t quite explain what the dead man’s body was doing in the trunk of his car. And that brings up another point. Lieutenant Giddeon—you remember, the officer who drove us up to Connecticut—well, he wants to talk with you. Wants to ask you some more questions.”

  “Again? Why does he want to talk to me? I’ve told him every possible thing that I—”

  “I understand, Ann. But don’t you see. This thing with Charles sort of puts a new light on things. The police are positive that the man was killed in your house sometime Monday morning. That the body was placed in the trunk of Charles’s car, which was in the garage, sometime between three and six o’clock. And so—”

  “Well, suppose he was,” Ann said. “I still can’t see—”

  “But don’t you understand,” I interrupted. “Don’t you see, Ann? If Charles was not at home during those hours, and you were home, why then—”

  This time there was no question about the sudden startled, shocked look on Ann’s face.

  “Dear God,” she said. “Dear God, you can’t mean they think that I—that I could have—”

  “Sit down, Ann,” I said. “Sit down here and listen to me. I want you to understand it from their point of view. A man is killed, shot to death. Someone takes his body and conceals it in the trunk of a car. Someone hides the murder weapon in a can in your own garage. Now you were home all during the time this happened. No one else is known to have been in the house. And so, naturally, the police—”

  “But Howard,” Ann said, turning and taking both my hands and holding them tightly. “Howard, don’t you understand? I was asleep. I had taken a couple of Nembutals and I was completely unconscious. Charles himself gave them to me before he left the house.”

  “I know, Ann,” I said. “I know, of course. But the thing is—by the way, you had better give me the name of the doctor who prescribed them. And—”

  “Dr. Carlos Makrix. In Glen Cove. He’ll tell you what those pills do to me. I really go under.”

  I noted the name and then said, “Now Ann, there is one more thing. Agreed that you were completely unconscious. Somehow that man did get into your house. Or at least into the garage. He got in and was killed. Perhaps he was killed outside, but he was killed and his body was put into the trunk of the sedan. Could the door to the garage, or the house, have been opened from outside? Could-”

  “The garage door is not locked,” Ann said. “There is a door leading from the garage to the house, and it is locked. But there is an extra key. It is kept under the floor mat, on the garage side of the door, just in case we should accidentally lock ourselves out and leave our key inside.”

  “Who knew about this extra key?”

  “Why I knew about it, and Charles, of course. I don’t think anyone else did. Possibly some friend or neighbor who may have seen either of us use it. Certainly no stranger.”

  “The thing I can’t quite understand,” I said at last, “is that assuming this man, this Jake Harbor, did some way or other manage to get into the house, and someone killed him, why the dog didn’t—”

  Ann laughed shortly.

  “The dog!” she said. “Charles was really very foolish buying him. He’s nothing but a big baby. He loves everyone. Or at least he loves men. As a matter of fact, I’m the only one he ever has barked at. He doesn’t like women.”

  I shook my head, remembering.

  “It doesn’t make sense as you say, Ann. I really think someone must have killed that man outside of the house, dragged the body into the garage and placed it in the 43

  trunk. But why they should have picked your house and your car—”

  I suddenly stopped. I was remembering. Remembering something very important. Something that made it seem a lot less of a coincidence that the killer had picked the Merriweather house.

  “Howard—what is it?”

  I looked at Ann and hesitated, but then decided there could be no point in not telling her everything.

  “This man, this Jake Harbor,” I said. “He was a friend of the Grant girl. A good friend. Possibly a former lover.”

  Ann was unable to conceal the lines of disgust around her mouth. Slowly she shook her head.

  “What sort of woman has Charles gotten himself mixed up with?” she said, almost as though she were talking to herself. “What sort of people—”

  “The thing is, Ann, we must get back to you. The police are insisting on talking with you. I didn’t want to subject you to that just yet, but we can’t stall much longer. They must see you. And they are going to want to know about that gun. That revolver of Charles’s which was used to commit the murder. Tell me, do you know when it was last used? Where it was kept? If it was taken out—”

  “I only know that Charles has a lot of guns,” Ann said. “After all, he collects them. They are in a case in the library. The case is locked, but half the time the key is left in the lock. I have no idea which gun it was—I don’t know much about guns. Charles tried to get me interested in them, and once or twice we went out in the country for some target shooting. But I didn’t like it.”

  “Could a gun have been removed from the case,” I asked, “say some time ago, and not have been missed?”

  “So far as I know, it very well could have. Charles might have noticed, but then again he might not have.”

  I stood up and stretched. I was very tired and I was getting quite hungry.

  “Well,” I said, “I think we should stop talking about everything for a while. We should go out and get something to eat and try to relax.”

  Ann shook her head.

  “I don’t want to go out, Howard,” she said. “Can’t we just send down and have room service bring up something? I’d feel a lot better not going anywhere tonight.”

  I agreed.

  “Fine, Ann,” I said. “But there is just one гроге thing. I think sometime tomorrow we will have to go in and see Lieutenant Giddeon. Before you do, we must decide just what to tell him and what not to tell him.”

  She looked at me wide-eyed.

  “What not to tell him?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s right, Ann,” I said. “He’s going to ask a million questions, want to know everything. Everything about you and about Charles and everybody that you have known and everything you have ever done.”

  “But what is there I can tell him? ” Ann asked.

  “Well,” I said. “There was that business a week or so ago. The business about someone making an attempt on your life. Remember—”

  She looked at me and there was a peculiar expression of disappointment in her face.

  “Howard,” she said. “Howard, you are beginning to doubt-”

  She didn’t have to finish. I reached for her and held her again by the arms, looking down into her eyes.

  “Ann, my dea
r,” I said. “I have never doubted anything you have ever told me. But you remember, I suggested you report the matter to the police when it happened and you were all against the idea. You didn’t want Charles to find out about it and start worrying. You—”

  “I no longer care if Charles worries,” Ann said listlessly.

  “Well, the thing is, the police may be a little annoyed that you have failed to mention it so far. That is why I sort of wonder—”

  “Would you advise that I tell them now?” Ann asked.

  “My dear,” I said, “my dear, I would advise you to tell them everything you know. Every single thing. Hold nothing at all back.”

  Suddenly she leaned close to me and she lifted her hands and took the lapels of my coat. She raised herself on her toes and for a second stared into my face and then she leaned forward and her lips kissed mine gently and firmly.

  I could feel my arms start around her and I don’t know quite what might have happened, but then in a second she had stepped away with a half sob.

  “Howard,” she said. “Oh, Howard! You are really a darling. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  It was after ten o’clock by the time I left Ann Merriweather and I was dead tired. I wanted nothing more than to go out to Long Island and find a warm bed and fall into it and sleep for about fifteen hours. But for some perverse reason, the thought of leaving New York seemed impossible. I decided to go to my office and lie down on the couch. I wanted to be up early in the morning.

  The night man let me in and took me up in the freight elevator. I opened my office and went to my desk and there were a dozen messages that Miss Taylor had left for me. Lieutenant Giddeon had called several times with the request that I call him back. There was nothing else of importance. I went over to the washstand behind the screen and brushed my teeth. I needed a shave but decided to wait until morning when I would give myself a quick once over with the electric razor.

  I was about to lie down on the couch in the outer office, when I decided to call Glitz through the answering service I knew he had.