Parachute Murder

by Lebbeus Mitchell

  “It had slipped my memory in the excitement of what followed. I recall it, now that Mrs. Delano has mentioned it. I had taken my flask from my bag and was going to the wash room for some water to mix a highball when I found Mr. Morne awake and looking, I thought, rather longingly at the flask. I did invite him to join me in a drink.”

  “He accepted?”

  “He declined, remarking as though to take away any discourtesy from his refusal: ‘That’s very kind of you.’ Those are the only remarks I ever exchanged with Chadwick Morne in my life.”

  “Not quite all, Mr. Layman,” said Mrs. Delano, as she arose in the aisle, and thrust aside the hand of Edith Vane, who had left her seat and would have restrained the blind woman.

  “Indeed?” remarked Layman. “Then your memory is better than mine.”

  “Come up on the stage, Mrs. Delano,” said Kemerson.

  A detective sprang down into the aisle to guide her. As he did so, Miss Vane said something too low to be overheard to the blind woman.

  “No,” said Mrs. Delano, earnestly. “It is probably of no more consequence than the other remark, but I shall tell just what I did hear him say afterwards.”

  Miss Vane subsided into her seat while the detective took Mrs. Delano’s arm and led her to a chair which Kemerson drew up for her on the stage.

  “Now, Mrs. Delano, give me the exact words you heard Mr. Layman use, if you can recall them.”

  “Of course I can recall them. A blind woman does not have much to occupy her mind aside from what she hears. ‘It will hearten you for your little flight’ were the words I heard Mr. Layman say. The actor did not respond. I presumed that they had gone together to get water for their drinks, and I went back to sleep, to be awakened by Mr. Vanuzzi’s outcry at Mr. Morne’s disappearance from the airplane.”

  “‘It will hearten you for your little flight,’” repeated Kemerson, as though testing the words for some hidden meaning. “You remember now that you uttered those words, Mr. Layman?”

  “No, I do not recall saying that, though I did make some response, I believe, when Mr. Morne declined my invitation. I think it much more likely that I said ‘I’m sorry’ or some other conventional phrase.”

  “Still if you did say, as Mrs. Delano maintains, ‘It will hearten you for your little flight,’ what would you have meant by the words?”

  “If I did say that—“ began Layman when Mrs. Delano interrupted.

  “You did say those words.”

  “—then I simply meant that a drink put courage into one for a night flight when air accidents are more numerous than in the daytime. I was a little nervous about that trip myself.”

  “Why did you make it then?” asked the District Attorney.

  “I have made that trip by airplane several times, but always during the day before. I had an important business engagement in Chicago at noon the next day, and had been detained in New York by a conference on plans for a new school building until nine o’clock at night.”

  “Stephen Blake called on you at your home in Bayside last night,” said Kemerson. “Did you direct him how to reach the station from your house?”

  “Yes, I believe he did ask me how to get there. It was such a short distance he did not wish to call a taxi.”

  “You directed him to cut across some vacant blocks?”

  “I probably did since that is the shortest route to the station.”

  “A murderous attack was made upon him while he was crossing the vacant blocks near the station. Can you advance any explanation for that attempt upon his life?”

  “Obviously someone who knew that he was helping you run down Morne’s murderer wanted him out of the way.” Layman’s eyes crossed to Lieutenant Brewster, now handcuffed to Detective Dugan. “He was undoubtedly followed out from the city.”

  “That is quite possible,” remarked Kemerson. “I know he had been shadowed in the city.”

  A tall, heavy-set policeman who had been sitting in the back row now got up and walked towards the stage.

  “Here’s a message for you, Mr. Brixton.” He leaned over what would have been the footlights in an ordinary theatre and extended a bit of paper to the District Attorney. Mr. Brixton glanced at it, read it a second time and passed it on to Kemerson.

  “See what you can make of this, Kirk.”

  The note read:

  This man Layman is Howard Easter who borrowed the key of the vacant building in Forty-eighth Street. Chester Garman.

  Kemerson folded the note, placed it in his pocket, glanced idly at Mr. Brixton, and then turned to Layman.

  “Is there anything else that you can think of that happened on the Silver Lark that might help us in our investigation?”

  “Not that I recall at the moment. If anything should occur to me I’ll be glad to let you know.”

  “Thanks. Will you wait in the auditorium, please, while we continue our investigation?”

  Layman took a seat in the second row, about fifteen feet back from the proscenium. Kemerson questioned Mrs. Delano.

  “You had never heard Mr. Layman’s voice before you boarded the Silver Lark?”

  “No, I am sure not.”

  “Why did you happen to select the Silver Lark for your trip to Cleveland?”

  “It was really Miss Vane who selected it. I had been planning to visit Helen—my daughter—for some weeks, but I dislike traveling on trains and kept putting it off. Miss Vane suggested that we make the trip by airplane, as she wanted to attend to some business in Toledo while I was visiting my daughter. Neither of us had ever been up in an airplane, and it struck us as a kind of adventure to fly to Cleveland. I sent her downtown to make arrangements, and she selected the Silver Lark. It was to make the trip the next night—”

  “Rather short notice for an air trip, wasn’t it?”

  “Rather, but I had but little to do to get ready.”

  “How long has Miss Vane been your companion?”

  “Nearly two years.”

  “You have found her entirely satisfactory?”

  “So much so that I don’t know how I would get along without her now.”

  “How did you happen to engage her?”

  “She answered an advertisement I ran in the Times. I liked her voice and her manner and engaged her.”

  “Her references were satisfactory?”

  “She had no references—at least, I did not ask her for any. I think I am a pretty good judge of character. She pleased me at our first interview, and I have never regretted engaging her.”

  “She has a brother in New York City, I believe. Have you ever seen—I mean, heard—him?”

  “No. He is not exactly...Well, I am sure Edith will forgive my saying so in the circumstances, but he has been rather wild and caused his sister much anxiety and grief.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Delano. Oh, just a moment. It was at Miss Vane’s suggestion, I believe you told Mr. Brixton when you first called on him, that you reported what you had overheard on the Silver Lark?”

  “Oh, no. That was my own suggestion. Miss Vane did not fancy getting mixed up in the Morne murder case, but after she received a threatening telephone message, I insisted—”

  “Insisted?”

  “Yes, insisted on going to Mr. Brixton.”

  “Thank you again. Morrissey, will you help Mrs. Delano back to her seat? Miss Vane, will you please step up here? I shall not detain you long.”

  The girl arose slowly, and walked down the aisle, passing Mrs. Delano who was being guided to her seat by the detective. The girl touched the elderly woman’s shoulder, and Mrs. Delano stopped to put her arms about the girl, and whispered to her. Miss Vane then approached the stage at a brisker pace. Just before climbing the four or five steps leading to the platform she gave Arthur Layman a fleeting glance. The latter lowered his head slightly as he caught her look.

  “You transacted your business in Toledo before you returned to New York with Mrs. Delano?” Kemerson asked when the girl was seated in th
e chair Mrs. Delano had occupied.

  “Yes.”

  “Is Toledo your native city?”

  “Yes, Mr. Kemerson.”

  “Do you mind telling me the nature of the business that called you to Toledo?”

  “Not at all. My brother and I own a piece of property there which a prospective tenant wished altered. I went to see about the alterations.”

  “What is your brother’s name?”

  “Robert.”

  “Robert Vane?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Not a half-brother then. I see. What does he do in New York?”

  Miss Vane hesitated.

  “Of course, if you prefer not to tell——”

  “No, it’s not that. Only I don’t know exactly. I see him so seldom, and he has been in so many different things.

  He plays the races; has been a barker at Coney Island; played the bassoon in an orchestra; once was a waiter at a night club—anything he can find.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “About six months ago.”

  “Did you know Arthur Layman before you were fellow-passengers on the Silver Lark?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You seemed to exchange a significant glance with him as you came to the stage.”

  “I was not aware of any special significance. I had not seen him since he effected my rescue. And he was very kind to Mrs. Delano and me in Cleveland.” Kemerson was silent for a moment while he searched through some papers he took from his pocket. He selected a photograph which he extended to Miss Vane with the back towards her.

  “Can you identify this photograph?”

  Slowly she took the portrait and turned it over. Her hand trembled and she quickly lowered the photograph to her lap. Her face was drained of color.

  “Morrissey!” cried Kemerson, sharply. “Get a glass. of water for Miss Vane!”

  “Thank you, but I do not need any, Mr. Kemerson. That is a picture of Dorothy Dineen.”

  “You knew her then?”

  “I saw her portrait among the Morne case pictures in yesterday’s Star.”

  “Did it occur to you that Miss Dineen’s features are strikingly like yours?...There, Morrissey, I think you had better bring that glass of water after all.” Kemerson held the glass to her lips and the girl took a swallow. She then held the photograph up again and studied the features of Miss Dineen attentively.

  “I see what you mean,” she said at length. “There is a resemblance about the eyes.”

  “A bit stronger about the mouth, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t get that resemblance, Mr. Kemerson.” The actor took the portrait and handed it to the District Attorney who examined it critically, comparing the features with those of Miss Vane. He returned it without comment to Kemerson.

  “Is Edith Vane your real name?” asked the actor. “That is my name.”

  “Thank you. That is all. Mr. Layman, will you kindly come upon the stage again?”

  Layman was on his feet, advancing before the words were fairly out of Kemerson’s mouth. He did not glance at Miss Vane, but kept his eyes fastened on the actor’s face.

  “Mr. Layman, when did you first adopt the name of Howard Easter?”

  “I have never used the name. Never heard it before.” Kemerson faced the rear of the projection room. “Mr. Garman, will you come forward, please?”

  A shy little figure detached itself from between two burly policemen in the last row of seats near the door, and walked timorously down the aisle, tiptoeing to keep from disturbing with his squeaky shoes the quiet that reigned in the auditorium.

  “Take a good look at Mr. Layman,” said Kemerson when Garman had reached the stage. “Have you ever seen him before?”

  “Yes, sir. He came to me the day before the Japanese valet was found murdered and asked to borrow the key of the empty building in Forty-eighth Street—the one where you were locked in, Mr. Kemerson.”

  “What name did he give you?”

  “He said his name was Howard Easter.”

  “Lieutenant Brewster, will you stand up, please?” When Brewster had complied, Mr. Brixton asked Garman to compare the appearance of Brewster and Layman. “You were mistaken in your identification of Brewster. As you certain you are right in identifying Layman as Howard Easter?”

  Garman, shrinking behind the figure of the District Attorney and craning his neck to see over Mr. Brixton’s shoulder, studied the faces of the two men.

  “Dead certain, sir. It was the side view of Lieutenant Brewster’s face that fooled me before.” He pointed a finger he could not keep steady at Layman. “This is the man who borrowed the key and said his name was Howard Easter.”

  “Well, Mr. Easter,” remarked Kemerson, “that is sufficient evidence to hold you for the murder of Kiyoshi Nimura, and incidentally for the attempted murder of Stephen Blake—and quite likely of myself.”

  “A case of mistaken identity, Kemerson,” said Layman coolly. “According to the District Attorney, this real estate agent was mistaken in a previous identification—one that was probably correct, since the Lieutenant has confessed to the murder of Chadwick Morne. What more likely than that he should kill Morne’s Japanese valet, and attempt the life of the District Attorney’s special investigator, and of his assistant?”

  “If you had arrived a few minutes earlier you would know that Brewster did not murder Chadwick Morne.” Layman lost for a moment his cool composure.

  “You just said yourself that he had confessed.”

  “He confessed to shooting Morne while he was descending to earth in a parachute, but Morne was already dead. He had been poisoned with hydrocyanic acid.”

  “Already dead? Then the police have been on the wrong scent from the start!” Layman had by this time recovered himself. “And what is Lieutenant Brewster under arrest for?”

  “For a murder he did not commit—that of Morne’s Japanese valet. He will soon exchange places with you.”

  “And Giulio Vanuzzi? You’ve had him under arrest for nearly a week.”

  “We’ll find out what Vanuzzi has to say. He has had several days to think things over. Bring Vanuzzi to the stage.”

  The prisoner was led forward by one of the policemen at his side.

  “Vanuzzi,” said Kemerson, “Chinky Dodson and David Vincent are outside, waiting to tell everything they know. Before questioning them I am going to give you a chance to ‘come clean’—you know what the phrase means.”

  “What do you want to know, Mr. Kemerson?”

  “Why did you have Miss Vane kidnapped?”

  “She was trying to pin the murder of Mr. Morne on me. At one time I was mad enough to kill him—I don’t deny that. I even planned how I could do it.”

  “That was over Vida Latterby, of course?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you known Miss Vane?”

  Mrs. Delano jumped up from her seat at that question and began feeling her way up to the stage, grasping the backs of the aisle seats.

  “She never met him until that night on the Silver Lark, Mr. Kemerson,” she said. “I’ll answer for Miss Vane as I would for myself.”

  “I am sorry, Mrs. Delano, but Vanuzzi will answer my question.”

  “I first saw her about six months ago, at my night club.”

  “Did she come there alone?”

  “No.”

  “Who was with her? Anyone here in the projection room?”

  “With Mr. Layman, or Mr. Merriton, or Mr. Howard Easter or whatever his name may be.”

  “Did they come there often?”

  “Only a few times together after that. Miss Vane was in several times alone.”

  “Did you try to scrape up an acquaintance with her?”

  “Well, she’s a good looking girl.” Vanuzzi smirked. “She asked about Mr. Morne. Asked me to point him out to her. She seemed especially interested in the Japanese valet after she first saw him come to the night club with a message for M
orne. Vincent saw her talking with the valet in a Japanese restaurant one night; she handed him several bills. Vincent could not make out their denomination.”

  “When was that?” asked Mr. Brixton, leaning forward.

  “The day before Morne’s disappearance.”

  “Were you surprised when you found Miss Vane and Mr. Layman on the Silver Lark?” asked Kemerson.

  “Yes. Just at first. Then I began to watch Miss Vane. She was watching—and trying to pretend not to—every move that Morne made.”

  “What was your purpose in taking passage on the Silver Lark after Kiyoshi had told you that Morne was flying on it and intended to leap from it by parachute?”

  “That was the plan I told you about,” replied Vanuzzi with evident reluctance.

  “To kill Morne?” Kemerson was insistent.

  Vanuzzi nodded.

  “But you did not carry out that purpose?”

  “No. It was not necessary.”

  “Not necessary?” broke in the District Attorney. “What do you mean?”

  “I became convinced that he would come to his death without any help from me.”

  “What convinced you of that?” asked Kemerson.

  Vanuzzi did not reply in words. Instead he took from his pocket-book a torn piece of paper which had been carefully pasted together on a sheet of heavy paper, and handed it to the actor.

  Kemerson studied it attentively. “I see.” He folded up the paper and put it into his pocket, ignoring the hand of the District Attorney extended to receive it.

  “Miss Vane,” said Kemerson, “sit here by the table, please.”

  Her face was colorless as she stepped unsteadily to the table and sank into the chair which he pulled up for her. He took a lead pencil and an envelope from his pocket.

  “Write on the back of this envelope.”

  “What shall I write?” Miss Vane’s voice was so low that those around the table could scarcely hear her words.

  “What I shall dictate. No, with your right hand, if you please. You are not left-handed. Write this: ‘It’s in the small flask—just enough for one drink.’ Can’t you write it?”

  Miss Vane had written but three or four words when her hand faltered, the pencil slipped across the paper leaving a light, wavering line. She dropped the pencil and slumped back in her chair. Kemerson took the sheet of paper on which was written: