He released the pressure on her arm immediately but he did not let go. He did not know what to think or do, and could only stare, uncomprehending, a sudden coolness spreading through his chest.
“What is it, Lin?” he said finally. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s really very simple,” said the voice he did not recognize. “If you’ll sit down a minute, I’ll tell you.”
He let go of her arm and stepped back to his cigarette. He sat down. “Yes,” he said. “I think you’d better.”
She took a chair opposite him, folded her hands and said, “I did a lot of thinking this afternoon, Jerry, and I think we’d better let well enough alone.”
“I still don’t get it. Is it anything I’ve done or—”
“Of course not! I’m talking about my costume pieces and the murder and what we’ve been doing. It was a mistake to tell you about them in the first place, and it would have been better if you’d stayed in Boston.”
“I don’t agree.”
“We don’t really know any more now than we did at the beginning,” she said, as though she had not heard. “And a man has been killed and the police are suspicious of us, and, now that the things have been stolen again, well—I’ve had enough. Let’s drop it.”
Nason listened but he still did not believe it. He felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach, and because he could not understand this change in her, he had to keep prying.
“You’re scared,” he said. “Tell me what happened. “Did someone threaten you?”
Her laugh was brittle, like her voice. “Certainly not. It isn’t anything, I tell you, I’ve had enough, that’s all. I’d rather not know anything more about it.”
“And if we drop it, what about us?”
“Us?” Her brows came up and her tone dismissed the subject. “Why, nothing. You have your work and I have mine and—”
“So we just forget the whole thing?” He hesitated when she did not reply, and, because he was so hurt and miserable, he tried once more to make her rationalize the things she had said. “What about the six emeralds in the hotel safe?”
She straightened, appraising him coolly, her face reserved, indifferent. “I don’t really care,” she said, “so long as I never see them again. I suppose you could go to the police and tell them the truth, or you could throw them in the river. Or, if you were careful, you might dispose of them some way and—”
“Nuts!” said Nason. “You talk like a child!” he said, and now the anger was rising in him and his eyes were darkly brooding. He would have said more, for there was much in his troubled mind that called for expression, had it not been for the buzzer. The sound of it stopped him, and he watched Linda hurry to open the door.
Then Raoul Julian walked in, resplendent in dinner jacket and black Homburg, his dark face smoothly handsome above the gleaming white shirt front.
Nason did not hear what Linda said or what Julian said to her. He saw the big man stare at him and tighten his mouth. He watched the black eyes narrow and grow stormy, and then Julian walked over and said, “We have a dinner date, Nason. Be a good boy and run along.”
Nason had his weight nicely balanced. He had to look up a little because Julian had three or four inches on him as well as twenty pounds, but he had a spot picked out at the angle of the jaw, and all the pent-up and frustrated emotional drive was behind his desire to swing hard. Julian did not seem to be aware of this, but Linda’s instincts were true.
She touched Nason’s arm, spoke quickly. “I think you’d better, Jerry. I’m sorry.”
That did it. That was all Nason needed. The tenseness went out of him and he stepped to the sofa to get his hat. At the door he turned. Julian’s smile was superior, but Linda’s face was pale and strangely drawn for one so young. He saw her lip quiver, and in that last instant it seemed to him that her gray eyes were moist and stricken, though he knew this could not be.
“Have a good time,” he said.
He backed through the door and closed it quietly. He did not remember riding down in the elevator, but presently he was on the street and the dusk was closing swiftly about him as he walked blindly toward his hotel.
By the time Jerry Nason got to his room it was after nine. For he had gone first to the bar and put away three drinks, which did him very little good, and then, because it was the simplest thing to do, he ate in the hotel dining-room. Now, with his suitcase open on the bed and his mind made up, he was going about his packing when someone knocked on the door.
Kate Harper came in fast. She was a little out of breath and demanded impatiently why he didn’t stop when she called to him in the lobby. He said he didn’t hear her, and she announced that she had been waiting for an hour; then, pointing at his suitcase, she said, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Packing.”
“Huh,” said Kate disdainfully. “You’re going to run out, are you? You’re going home.”
“Certainly.”
“Oh, no, you’re not!”
Nason peered at her, aware that she was annoyed with him, but not knowing why. “What is this?” he said. “What’s your trouble?”
“I’ve got no trouble,” Kate said. “You’ve got trouble. You and Linda. You think she brushed you off and your feelings are hurt and you’re going to show her she can’t do that to you. Phui!”
Nason put his hands on her shoulders, backed her to a chair, pushed her into it. Because she was so upset, he grinned at her. “You’re drunk,” he said. “I’m surprised at you.”
She ignored the insults. She shook her finger at him. “You listen to me, if you know what’s good for you,” she said. “Linda’s scared to death. She went to see Paul Sanford this afternoon. I didn’t see them leave, but I went in to straighten his office. There was a big reference book on his desk, and it was open to some drawings that looked just like the costume pieces Linda wore in that Fashion Parade ad.”
She stopped to catch her breath, and Nason sat down on the bed, his troubles forgotten.
“I read what it said about those pieces,” Kate said. “They’re called the Elcazar emeralds, and when I read about them, I was scared, too. They disappeared ten years ago, and the man who owned them was murdered. So I went to Linda, and I bullied her and guessed at some things and made her tell me the story.”
Kate kept on talking, her manner impressive, intimidating, and convincing as she related the story that Linda had finally got from Paul Sanford.
“The poor kid is scared to death,” she said, “and why wouldn’t she be? She’s got it all figured out why her mother didn’t dare wear those pieces out or let her wear them. She thinks her mother knew the truth. She thinks her father was a murderer and her mother knew it and kept his secret.”
It took Nason a while to digest the things he had heard. He paced about the room, his brows warped and mouth set, and the story was no longer fantastic or mysterious. It made sense, and he said so.
“Maybe her father was a murderer.”
“What difference does that make?” Kate shouted. “It’s not Linda’s fault, is it? And you’re not going to run out on her now.”
Nason only half heard her. “Then why didn’t she tell me? Couldn’t she trust me that much?”
“You make me sick.” Kate snorted disdainfully and crossed her legs with an impatient jerk. “Do you think she wants you to know about her father? With a thing like that on her mind, she’d do most anything to keep the secret. How could she go around with you and—”
“She goes around with Julian.”
“She’ll go round with anyone.”
“Not me.”
“No. Because she’s in love with you, you dope. Look.” Kate lowered her voice; she became pointedly patient. “If I brushed you off like that, would you run home? No. You wouldn’t like it but it wouldn’t break you up. And do you know why? Because you’re not in love with me. You’re in love with Linda and—”
“Yes, I guess I am.”
“—she’s in love with
you. You’re trying to clear up something now that she wants more than anything to forget. She simply cannot see any happiness for herself, and she made up her mind not to see you any more. Do you think it was easy for her to act the way she did this afternoon? Do you think she liked doing it? She thought if she could break off with you, you’d go home and forget her and—” Kate stopped and shook her head. “And damned if you weren’t going to do just that!” she said.
Nason ran his fingers through his hair. When he looked down at Kate Harper, her green eyes met his own, and he saw the sincerity there and was convinced. He began to take things out of his suitcase and put them in drawers, and presently there was a fine warm glow around his heart, where resentment and bitterness had been.
“Thanks, Kate,” he said. “I’d forgotten that some things are easier to discuss with a stranger than with someone you love. What do you think I should do?”
Kate leaned back and looked relieved. She shook her hair, and the ginger in it caught the lamplight. She gave him her wise, sardonic grin but her voice was cautious.
“I don’t know. Maybe all she needs is time.”
“But this other thing—” He paused, thinking of the things that had happened and what he knew about the Elcazar emeralds. “I’m in a little deep to back out now.”
“Then don’t,” Kate said. “Do what you like about that, but just understand about Linda and give her a break. She thinks she’s going to try to forget you, and she’ll be very nice to Julian, but she won’t like it.”
“I don’t like him.” Nason tossed his suitcase down and scowled. “And I don’t trust him.”
Kate did not seem to hear this. She said she knew where Linda and Julian were dining and where they would probably be later. “In case you want to get in touch with her,” she said; then glanced round as the telephone rang.
Nason excused himself and picked it up. When he said hello, Sam Duble’s voice came back to him.
“I’ve got a little news,” Duble said. “Things have been happening.”
“What kind of things?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Is it about—”
“Yeah. I’m on Eighth Avenue,” he said, and named the corner. “You’d better come right along.”
The line was dead before Nason could reply, so he hung up and reached for his coat. He told Kate Harper he had to run. He took her downstairs and put her in a cab and said he’d see her later; then he climbed into another cab and repeated the address Sam Duble had given him.
Chapter Seventeen
SAM DUBLE WAS STANDING on the curb reading the racing results in a night final with the help of a near-by street light. Nason, coming up behind him, stepped close and gave him a nudge, speaking from the corner of his mouth.
“How’d you do on the day?”
“I do okay,” said Sam, not glancing up. “On the day I win three-eighty, net.”
He folded his paper and tucked it into the pocket of his worn and shapeless coat. He pushed his hat back and looked idly up and down the Avenue while the sidewalk traffic flowed and eddied about them. Across the tops of the phalanx of cars waiting for the light to turn green, a vertical electric sign suspended from the façade of a second-rate hotel proclaimed the words: New Shelby.
“You had a good hunch on Julian,” Duble said when he was ready.
Nason had forgotten what his hunch was and could think only of an opinion that was both derogatory and libelous.
“You thought he might come from South America,” Duble said. “He did. He holds a Colombian passport. Came originally from Bogotá.”
“Ahh,” said Nason, his interest quickening.
“Thought you’d like that.” Duble rocked from heel to toe and spat in the gutter. “He’s been in this country several times, the last date of entry being four months ago. He is known here and in Miami as a playboy, usually in funds, and with no visible means of support. He likes the ladies but no one ever caught him at it, and he seems to be a fast man with a buck, whether it’s bridge or golf or just plain gambling.”
“He sells jewelry, too.”
Duble gave Nason his attention. “For a big shot named Albert Wylie,” he said. “But not so much a salesman as a bird dog, a contact man. Also he left Miami suddenly a week ago Tuesday—nine days ago. He’s been here since.”
Nason reached for his wallet and extracted a check for a hundred dollars he had made out that afternoon. “You’re good, Sam. And that kind of information costs money.”
Duble started to brush the check aside.
“I told you you could settle up when we finish.”
“I will,” Nason said, “if I’m not in jail. This hundred is just to cover running expenses, and you may need it because I want you to stick with Julian. I want to find out more about his background and what he did in Bogotá.”
Duble took the check, folded it carefully. “I’ve already got my man working on that. Maybe tomorrow we’ll have more.”
“Okay,” said Nason. “Now what about Irene Keith?”
“That’s why we’re here.” A new note crept into the detective’s voice, and his manner sobered, as though what he was about to say had additional importance. “Within fifteen minutes after you left her place, your pal, Julian, hurries down the street and goes inside.”
“Well, well,” said Nason, and now his thoughts raced on and he put things together, his excitement mounting. Julian was from Bogotá and so were the Elcazar emeralds. He left Miami suddenly a week ago Tuesday—and, thinking back, Nason remembered that Fashion Parade, with Linda’s picture, had hit the newstands on the day before, Monday—and managed to meet Linda two days later. He had made a play for her, keeping the charm turned on and calling at her apartment. He was out with her now and—
“How long did he stay?” he asked.
“Just under ten minutes,” said Duble. “And about half an hour after that, the dame shows, carrying a hatbox. She was in a hurry and luckily I was turned the right way so when she got into a cab I could follow her. She came here,” he said, and pointed at the New Shelby sign.
“When I got parked, I came back,” he said. “And I happen to know the house dick, and without giving too much away, I got him to check on her. They gave her five-o-four. She registered under her own name.”
Nason thought it over, remembering his threat to the oman, and suddenly the impatience was upon him and he wanted to get started. “Okay, Sam,” he said. “Let’s go up.”
He was off the curb when Duble grabbed him. The detective signaled him back with a jerk of his head. “It won’t do any good,” he said when Nason was beside him. “She won’t talk to you.”
“The hell she won’t!”
Duble shook his head. “She’s dead.”
He pointed along the side street beyond the hotel.
“From where we stand you can’t see them, but there are a couple of police cars just past the corner. They came a few minutes before I phoned you; so I went in and nosed around. The Keith dame drank a cyanide highball.”
Jerry Nason stood very still, unmindful of the noise and movement about him as his brain reiterated Sam Duble’s quiet words. He had no capacity at that moment to question the statement or even to wonder if he were responsible. He simply waited for the turmoil in his head to subside, feeling some strange new weariness creep along his back and thighs, not fighting it or realizing that his eyes had moved unconsciously to the fifth floor of the building across the street, as though drawn by some force he did not understand.
“When?” he heard himself say.
“They think she took it late this afternoon, but they only just found her. Some maid was checking rooms.”
“Could it have been suicide?”
“Most poisonings are.”
“This one wasn’t.”
“You’re guessing,” said Duble.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know if the cops know yet. If they do, they’re not saying.”
> Nason thought of something else and concentrated on it. There was, he saw, a job he could do—if he hurried. He had no real answer yet for what had happened to Irene Keith, but he remembered the room where he had talked with her that afternoon and knew he could not quit now.
“I want to take a look at her apartment,” he said, “before the police think of it.”
“If they haven’t already,” Duble said.
Nothing was said about Sam Duble’s joining Nason’s party. He parked the car on the darkened street a few doors from the brownstone where Irene Keith had lived, and cut the ignition. He put his hand on Nason’s arm to keep him in the seat while he examined the parked cars in the block.
“Okay,” he said when he was satisfied. “We’re ahead—so far,” he said and stepped from one side of the car while Nason stepped from the other.
“You don’t have to go,” Nason said. “Just give me your keys.”
“Nuts.”
“You’ve got a license to think about.”
“We’re wasting time,” Duble said, and started diagonally across the pavement, Nason at his side.
The downstairs door was open as it had been that afternoon, and they went up the stairs in the half-light of the hall, turning at the second-floor landing to stop in front of Irene Keith’s. door.
“This is it,” Nason said, hearing Duble’s keys jingle as he pulled them from his pocket and then reaching for the knob, not because he expected to find it unlocked, but for something to do. To his surprise it turned easily and the latch clicked. “It’s open,” he said and stepped into blackness. Duble crowding in with him.
Nason was never sure what made him stop, nor did he understand at first how he was able to see the man in the chair. The light from the downstairs hall was weak and discouraging here, and what little spilled over into the room was of little help. But there was a window directly ahead, and across a small court were another house and another window.
This window was lighted, and, silhouetted against its brightness, Nason saw the top of a chair and a head. That was all. There was no face visible, no torso; just the outline of a head to tell him that someone was waiting in that chair.
Fashioned for Murder Page 15
