Marilyn K - The House Next Door

by Lionel White

  She meant well, but it was an unfortunate remark.

  Allie never did realize it, but if it hadn’t been for Lieutenant Clifford Giddeon every effort that she was to make in seeking a solution to the murder of Louisa Julio would have been completely futile. The odd thing was that the lieutenant himself never realized the very vital and significant part he played in the drama which was about to unfold. In fact, even when the whole thing was over and forgotten, the lieutenant still had no idea that he was, completely by caprice and accident, the direct cause of Allie’s finding the solution to the strange enigma which had engulfed the residents of Fairlawn Acres.

  At the time this happened, this completely accidental incident which in itself was without meaning, Allie was furious with the lieutenant. The very

  thing he did convinced her that the sinister man was intent only on sending her husband to the electric chair.

  Upon leaving the Swansons’, Allie simply couldn’t wait to rush across the street and pay a visit to Myrtle McNally. She knew, knew deep down inside of herself, that somehow or other the McNallys were the key to the whole thing. The McNallys knew something or had seen something that would give her the one essential clue that she needed.

  The thing which Lieutenant Giddeon did was to stand directly in front of the Swansons’ house when Allie left its front door.

  The lieutenant hadn’t even known Allie was in the house; he’d wanted to see her, having stopped across the street and discovered she wasn’t home, but he hadn’t known she was visiting the Swansons. The reason he was standing there was because, not finding Allie at home, he'd decided to take a walk around the block while he waited for her. He’d crossed the street, having seen a boat in the driveway of the house next to the Swansons’. The boat was sitting on a trailer and the lieutenant, with time to kill and being extremely interested in boats of all sorts, had crossed over to look at it. And then Allie had come out of the Swansons’ house and was walking down the path.

  He recognized her immediately.

  The sight of Allie Neilsen, almost without fail, brought a happy feeling to those persons who encountered her. Even casual strangers, seeing her for the first time, sensed a pleasant reaction.

  On this occasion, however, Lieutenant Giddeon was anything but happy; he was distinctly and definitely annoyed.

  “Mrs. Neilsen,” he said. “Well, I was looking for you.”

  Allie drew up shortly. Intent as she had been on crossing the street and talking with Myrtle McNally, the encounter with Lieutenant Giddeon served merely to disconcert her. It took her a moment to recognize him.

  “Why, Lieutenant,” she said.

  “I just left your house, Mrs. Neilsen,” the lieutenant said. “I wanted to talk with you.”

  Allie was about to say that she was busy, in a hurry; that she’d be glad to talk with him later. But something about his manner arrested her.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Neilsen, I don’t like to say this, but you’re causing a lot of trouble. This going around and seeing people and upsetting them—well, it’s making a lot of trouble. I don’t think you should do it.”

  Allie stared at him. Her cheeks suddenly flushed and she felt a sense of anger coming over her.

  “You don’t, Lieutenant?” she said. “You really don’t?”

  “No, I don’t,” Giddeon said, stolidly. “You saw Mrs. Julio and now she’s

  under the care of a nurse with a case of hysteria.”

  Allie blushed, but quickly recovered.

  “I saw the little Doyle boy,” shesaid. “Perhaps...”

  “Mrs. Neilsen,” the lieutenant said. “Letmeexplainsomethingtoyou. I’m a cop, a dumb cop. But I'm not stupid, irrespective of what you may think. I've known for a long time that the Doyle youngster was lying. But don’t you see? It doesn’t matter. Sure, he lied about where he found the hat and glasses. But the fact remains that he found them. And he found them somewhere in this immediate vicinity. I don’t want to upset you, Mrs. Neilsen, but the girl was not killed on the Kitteridge’s lawn. The body was carried there and hidden under the bush. So it doesn’t really matter where the hat was found—so long as it was found outside of Mr. Neilsen’s home. ”

  The lieutenant stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Allie just stared at him.

  “I’m not trying to frame your husband, Mrs. Neilsen,” he said. “Believe me, the police don’t work that way. But for God sakes, let us have a chance to work. Don’t interfere. If your husband is innocent, we’ll find out about it. Now I want you to go home and stay there. The only thing you can do is confuse things.”

  And so, Allie Neilsen, instead of going to the McNallys’ as she had planned, went home. Not that she had the slightest intention of ignoring the McNallys. It was only that she didn’t want the police to know that she was seeing them.

  As a result, she didn’t see Myrtle McNally that afternoon, when Myrtle was home alone. Instead she waited dark, when she was sure no one, especially the police, would be watching her. Then she left the house and crossed the yard to the McNallys’ back door.

  By this time Howard McNally was also home.

  It almost cost Allie her life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The one person involved in the Louisa Julio murder who never once gave a thought to the possible guilt or innocence of Len Neilsen was Howard McNally. Howard, during those first few days following discovery of the brutal crime, was far too occupied in considering his own status in the matter to think of anyone else.

  The thing which served most to upset Howard was the uncertainty about the case; he couldn’t tell if the police were merely holding Neilsen in order to throw the real killer off guard. He didn’t know just what his own wife, Myr-

  tie, knew or suspected about the events of that terrible night. He wasn’t sure what the Swansons might have observed. He wasn’t sure whether he had been seen or not during those last tragic moments in the girl’s life, after she had run from the kitchen of his house, frightened and hysterical, only to find death beneath the maniacal attack of a ruthless killer.

  It was this not knowing which gradually tore down the fabric of his mind and served to disintegrate his will power and self-control. Myrtle herself, with her accusing eyes and her tight-lipped, bitter mouth, which she only opened to release cynical remarks, did more than anything else to bring about his collapse. God, he hated to even think about it.

  He had only done what any normal man would have done; he’d seen a sensuous, attractive girl who had looked at him with flirtatious eyes and he had been entranced by her. He had made a pass at her—which of course he was unwilling to admit most normal men would not have done. He had, inadvertently, frightened her.

  And now this.

  It was fantastic how one thing could lead to another until suddenly...

  Howard had gone to work as usual on Monday morning, but it had been a mistake. He’d been unable to concentrate on anything; his mind kept returning to the Julio girl and the events of that Friday night. By noon time he was suffering from a raging headache and he decided to plead sickness and return home. The office was understanding about it.

  But returning home had failed to bring him peace. Myrtle was home and from the minute he walked into the house, complaining of not feeling well, she had stared at him with her accusing, unsympathetic eyes and avoided speaking except in monosyllables. It suddenly occurred to Howard that his wife not only despised him; she hated him.

  He had slept fitfully on Monday night and by Tuesday morning was feeling so bad that he called the office and explained he wouldn’t be in. But he didn’t stay around the house. He left at his usual hour and drove to the station; there he parked his car where he usually parked it. But instead of getting on the train, he went to a small restaurant and took a table well to the back. He’d purchased the morning newspapers and while he waited for the breakfast he knew he would not be able to eat, he began to read every word in them concerning the Julio case.


  Although he merely picked at the food and managed to swallow less than half the cup of coffee the waitress brought him, he managed to kill better than an hour loitering over the meal. At last he realized he wouldn’t be able to stay in the place forever and so, reluctantly, he called for his check and paid it. He left the restaurant with a lost sort of feeling; he wasn’t going to the office and he didn’t want to return home. Vaguely he thought of going to a movie and

  killing a few hours, but then he realized there would be no picture house open so early in the day.

  That’s when he decided that he'd go to a bar. The bars were always open. He had the added thought that although he had been unable to eat, he might be able to get a drink down. He ordered a whiskey sour, and after the bartender put it in front of him, he reopened the papers to finish his reading.

  The first whiskey sour went down pretty hard, but he managed it. The second one went a little easier and with the third, he almost felt human. At least the nervous jerking of his hands had stopped and there was a warm, pleasant glow in his stomach. Even his restless mind seemed to find some surcease from the thoughts which had been rampaging through it for the last few days.

  He began to think then of Myrtle and the way Myrtle had acted. She had been unfair; bitterly, stupidly unfair. After all, what did she know, really? She was guessing and she was perfectly willing to suspect him of the worst. Why she had already condemned him, condemned him without a hearing, without evidence, without anything but her rotten, suspicious mind.

  Howard began to lose his sense of fear and terror and replace it with a feeling of indignation.

  By God, here he was, forced to hang out in a damned barroom, when he should be home resting and recovering. He wasn’t well and terrible things had happened, and instead of being able to find peace and refuge in his own home, she had driven him out with her damned accusing looks and her bitter words.

  Howard ordered his fourth sour and when the bartender put it on the bar in front of him, Howard looked up.

  "Women,” he said. "Wives! Jesus Christ, why does a man ever get mixed up with them in the first place?”

  The bartender returned his look, his eyes bored.

  "I wouldn't know, buddy,” he said, “I wouldn’t know.”

  Howard nodded sagely.

  By one o'clock Howard was thoroughly drunk. He was also, conversely, famished. He staggered from the tavern and found a steak and chop house down the street. While he waited for a table, he stood at the bar and had another drink. By this time he had switched to straight Scotch.

  He had no difficulty in eating a tremendous sirloin steak and although he skipped the vegetables, he had a shot of brandy with his coffee. Then he went out and found a movie. He fell asleep almost the second he slumped into the seat, well in the back of the theater. He didn’t awaken until around six о clock.

  It took him a little while to realize where he was. Once more he had the splitting headache, but still, he didn’t feel as bad as he had that morning. It was already dark when he reached the street and he started back to where he had parked the car. He had to pass a tavern on the way and instinctively he

  turned in. He went back to the whiskey sours which had done so much for him > that morning.

  By the time Howard McNally returned home it was almost seven-thirty. He was drunk all over again. He was drunk and he was feeling very much abused. It was all Myrtle’s fault. If she had j ust been a different sort of wife—well, he wouldn’t have to be always looking around for other women. He wouldn’t have made that initial fatal pass at the Julio girl. He wouldn't be in all this trouble.

  Myrtle had just put the baby to bed and was sitting alone in the kitchen, staring at the floor, when Howard slammed in through the front door. She looked up and stared at him. There was something about the look—an expression of supreme disgust, even hatred on her face, which at once served only to infuriate him.

  Wordlessly he passed through the room. He was taking off his hat and coat when the doorbell rang. Myrtle and Howard reached the back of the house at the same time, It was Myrtle who opened the door. She recognized Allie Neilsen at once.

  Half reluctantly, she invited her in.

  The moment she entered the place, Allie could sense the tension. It was almost like a physical thing. She knew that McNally was drunk. She could tell from the sickening odor of stale whiskey which emanated from him as she was forced to pass him to enter the room. His bloodshot eyes, the manner in which he staggered as he went to the couch and half fell on it—everything indicated his condition. When he spoke, his voice was blurred and barely understandable.

  But Mrs. McNally was cold sober. Sober and obviously in a state of nervous tension, bordering on hysteria. It was very difficult for Allie to start the conversation. But she managed to explain, finally, that she was trying to trace the Julio child’s activities on the night of the murder. She wanted to find out anything she could and she felt that because the girl had been baby-sitting at the McNallys’ they might be able to help her.

  “We don’t know nothing about it—nothing,” Howard said. He glared at her and Allie was momentarily taken back by the violence of his manner. Somehow or other, this little fat man seemed sinister and dangerous in spite of his innocuous and even ridiculous appearance.

  “The girl was here while we were at the party,” Myrtle said in a flat voice. "She was here and then we came home and she left. That’s all there was to it.”

  “And no one called for her?” Allie asked.

  “No one,” Myrtle said.

  Listen,” Howard interrupted, “there is nothing you can find out here. Police already...” his voice trailed off.

  “I was wondering,” Allie said, “wondenng if perhaps, sometime during the evening, you didn’t look out from the Swansons’ and perhaps see someone around the house? Or perhaps run across and check on the baby and perhaps notice...”

  “Well,” Myrtle began, “wedid...”

  “Shut up! Shut your stupid big mouth. ” Howard lurched to his feet. “Why are you asking these questions?” he demanded, turning to glare at Allie. “What is it you want, anyway? Are you trying to make trouble for us? Is that your idea in sneaking over here? Is that...”

  “You shut up, Howard,” Myrtle suddenly interrupted. She turned back to Alhe. "Pay no attention to him,” shesaid. “He’s stupidly drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying.” She hesitated then for a second before continuing. “I’d really like to help you, Mrs. Neilsen, but there really is nothing I can say. We hardly knew the child—it was the first time she had been here.”

  Allie nodded, the feeling of helplessness and futility once more coming over her. She sat and stared straight ahead for a full minute and then looked up. It was at that moment she noticed the large goldfish bowl sitting on the mantel. There was a handprinted cardboard sign hung around the bowl with the words ‘ ‘baby’s bank’ ’ printed on it. The bowl was half filled with copper and silver coins and amongst them she could see the fragments of several pieces of paper money. Quickly she dropped her eyes.

  “When the girl left,” she said, “her mother told the police that she didn’t receive her money for baby-sitting. She didn’t leave before you returned did she?”

  Howard looked up quickly, but Myrtle spoke first.

  "She left after we returned,” she said. “You see, we didn’t have change and we intended to pay her the next day.”

  Howard’s face went very red.

  “You fool,” he yelled. “Myrtle you fool! Don’t you see she’s trying to trap us? Don’t you see...”

  “I’m not trying to trap anyone,” Allie said. “I'm only trying to find the truth—to find out what really happened. I’m...”

  "Get out of this house. Goddamn you, get out right now! ”

  Howard was screaming and he lurched across the room towards Allie. Myrtle jumped up and intercepted him, but his arm shot out with a vicious blow. It caught his wife on the side of her face and for a moment she stood mo
tionless, and then slowly sank to her knees. Howard again drew back his fist.

  But by this time Allie was already at the door. It slammed behind her a moment later.

  Even in the confusion of the moment, her mind was racing. Two things were very obvious. The McNallys were lying; they had not paid the girl but it

  wasn’t because of a lack of change. And they had returned to the house I sometime before the child had left.

  The Julio girl must have departed suddenly and unexpectedly. Otherwise why wouldn’t she have waited for her money? And why were McNally and his wife lying to her?

  Hurrying down the front lawn toward the street, Allie turned to go back to her own house. She noticed the lights on in the living room of the house which separated her home from McNallys’; the house where the new people, Thomas or Thompson or something like that, had moved in recently.

  On a sudden instinct, Allie hesitated and then went to their front door. Someone had been at the house on that Friday night. Allie had seen the lights. And if someone had been home, there was just a slender chance they may have either heard something or seen something. They were the McNallys’ closest neighbors.

  Howard McNally didn’t strike his wife a second time. Instead he stared at her for a brief moment and then turned and staggered to the front window. He was standing there, staring out, as Allie knocked on the Tomlinsons’ front door.

  He was still there five minutes later when the leather belt struck him across the side of his face.

  Myrtle McNally held the belt by the end and used it so that the belt buckle caught Howard across one corner of his mouth. The first blow sent him to his knees.

  She didn’t stop raising and lowering the belt until he had fallen prone on the floor, his arms and legs outstretched as the heavy strap fell again and again across his back.

  Myrtle McNally, the baby in her arms and tears streaking down her face, left the house while her husband still lay in a quivering heap. She was muttering under her breath as she hurried past his fallen figure.