The Kissed Corpse

by Brett Halliday

  “If you believe that,” Laura interrupted him icily, “You’re a bigger fool than I thought, Jerry Burke.”

  Unexpectedly, he chuckled. “You don’t bluff worth a damn, do you? I was just trying to satisfy Asa’s suspicions.”

  My face got red when Laura turned and glared at me.

  Burke was sauntering over to Myra, who was still reclining on the lounge.

  “I still want to ask you that one question, Mrs. Young. I’m quite sure I know who killed both your husband and Mr. Dwight, but you can help me prove it. Where did Leslie keep that box of curios he brought back from Mexico?”

  “In the bedroo.…” Her head jerked up suddenly. “What box do you mean?”

  Burke shrugged. “I think the one in the bedroom will do.”

  He turned away from the widow and went through a side door. We could hear him rummaging around, and he returned presently with a small box of polished ebony which he carried to the center table and turned upside down, spilling out a conglomeration of curious trifles which Young had brought back from the tropics.

  Pawing through them, Burke nodded with satisfaction. “It isn’t here. That silver cross found on Dwight’s body wasn’t merely a duplicate of the one Young had … it was Young’s. Do you suppose Laura Yates stole it the same time she stole the pistol, Mrs. Young?”

  “She didn’t have to steal it. He gave it to her! That’s how she got it. I remember now. Of course that was the same cross.”

  “I’m sorry,” Burke said gently, “but I’m afraid that won’t do, Mrs. Young. You see, there’s that shot you spoke of hearing … just before we dashed up and found Dwight dead.”

  He paused and there was intense silence in the room. Into that silence, he said softly: “I’m exceedingly curious about that shot you heard, Mrs. Young. Please try to remember exactly how it sounded … where it seemed to come from. It’s very important, I assure you.”

  Myra Young sat rigid, staring at him. A queer pallor spread over her face as she made herself answer him:

  “I’ve told you all I can remember. It was just a … a shot.”

  Burke nodded cheerfully. “Don’t wear yourself out trying to remember. I think I know exactly what you heard. A sound which you heard above the radio, yet was heard by none of the rest of us in the room … nor, in fact, by any of the five living persons who were upstairs at the time. A ghostly sound, wasn’t it? The echo, shall we say, of the bullet fired by you into Dwight’s head a few minutes previously—while you were in his room pretending to hold a conversation with him.”

  It took me some seconds to realize what Burke was saying. The others were struck as dumb as I by Burke’s surprising accusation, for the only sound in the room was Myra Young’s horrified, “No, no!”

  Burke said: “I’m sorry, Mrs. Young, but that’s the way it has to be. None of the rest of us heard a shot because there wasn’t any shot at the time you pretended to hear it. It made a perfect alibi for you. When we rushed upstairs and found him shot through the head no one suspected you could possibly have fired the shot. Clever. The perfect alibi. Just too damned clever, Mrs. Young.”

  “No, no, no!” Her voice rose to a scream. “I didn’t. I don’t know.…”

  “Yes you do. And I should have known. Leaving the silver cross lying on his body was another clever touch. The silver cross that your husband brought back from Yucatan. Again … it was too clever. It marks you without question as the one who put that same mark on your husband’s cheek after shooting him through the head.”

  Myra Young’s face was horribly contorted. “I had an alibi for that. You heard what Mr. Dwight said.…”

  “And you killed Dwight to preserve that alibi,” Burke broke in grimly. “You traded him your body for his alibi, and then repented the bargain. You killed him to avoid final payment … and so he couldn’t retaliate by telling us the truth … that he watched you through his telescope when you slipped down the hill to murder Leslie.”

  Myra lifted her head and laughed shrilly. It was an awful sound. She jerked the torn edges of her dress apart to expose the three scatches on her belly.

  “And I suppose you accuse me of doing this, too. And hitting myself on the head. You might as well. It’s just as sensible.…”

  “I do accuse you of exactly that.” Burke’s big hand caught her wrist, dragged her hand up close to look at her fingers while she writhed ineffectually.

  “How else did you get these particles of skin and blood under your fingernails? It was a last desperate expedient to throw suspicion on someone else when Laura’s telephone message warned you I was close to the truth.”

  He dropped her hand and she cowered away from him like a whipped animal.

  He turned to Jelcoe and said conversationally: “Here’s something in your line, Chief. Take a look over there near where she was lying and see if you can’t find a place where she bumped her own head on something.”

  Jelcoe let go of Desta’s arm and moved toward the mantel, talking to himself in a strange gibberish.

  Laura came over to me and put her hand on my arm just as Jelcoe dropped to his knees on the hearth and peered up at the under-side of the projecting concrete mantel:

  “Here it is, all right enough. Here’s where she banged her head up against the edge. There’s a couple of hairs and.…”

  “All right.” Myra Young swayed to her feet. “I killed him. I killed them both. I loved Les too much to stand it when he slipped away to kiss another woman. I … I … Oh God, I I-I-loved him.” Sobbing, she fell forward on her face.

  23

  It was all over and an atmosphere of peaceful tranquillity hung over my living room. Burke was sprawled out in a comfortable chair, with his pipe emitting clouds of noxious smoke, and Laura Yates and I had companionable cigarettes going. There was an open brandy bottle on the table; Nip and Tuck lay quietly in their corner; and newsboys on the streets were selling Extras of the Free Press carrying the story of Myra Young’s arrest for double murder.

  “When did you first really begin to suspect Myra?” I asked Burke.

  He emptied his lungs of smoke and looked apologetic. “Not until this morning. Not until I finally thought to ask Hardiman the name of the sleeping potion he administered to Dwight, and learned from Doctor Thompson that the dose would have had almost immediate effect. I then realized that Mrs. Young must have lied about Dwight talking to her when she went into his room.”

  “Which ruined a perfect alibi,” Laura put in from across the table.

  Burke nodded. “I immediately reasoned there had to be some reason for that lie. When I looked at it from that angle, it all clicked into place perfectly.” He shrugged and took a sip of brandy.

  “Wait a minute,” I protested. “It’s all pretty foggy to me. If she killed him when she went up and pretended to ask him about Hardiman … why did Hardiman tell the story of hearing the fatal shot fired while he was in the other room just a few minutes before we came in?”

  “That,” Burke admitted, “was one of the queer detours a case like this sometimes takes. Unwittingly, by changing his story to fit what we believed, Hardiman was actually substantiating Myra Young’s carefully built-up alibi.”

  “Then … Hardiman told the truth in the first place?”

  “Exactly. He left Dwight to let the drug take effect, and Myra slipped in and shot him while Hardiman was gone. Returning, Hardiman found him slumped down on the couch and naturally supposed he had just passed out. He went in and got what he wanted from the safe, totally unaware that Dwight had been murdered. His look of surprise when he looked down at the death-wound was genuine.”

  “Then why did he change his story?”

  “He was confused and frightened. He had no time to think it over and he was in a tough spot. He knew we thought his first story was a lie, and he tried to think up something that would appear to fit what we believed to be the truth. That’s the explanation he gave me at headquarters when we released him … and it sounds logical.”
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br />   Laura nodded. “A man is likely to say anything to avoid being charged with murder when he is innocent.”

  “You’re not going to press any charges against Hardiman?” I asked Burke.

  “He has suffered sufficiently for an indiscretion. He wasn’t actually going to sell out his country. Senor Rodriguez assured me that Hardiman gave him to understand yesterday afternoon that he would suffer personal disgrace for that one indiscretion of his youthful days rather than force the issue as Dwight demanded.” Burke was silently thoughtful for a moment, then he said: “If we all had to pay for the folly of youthful days, we’d have to build more jails and penitentiaries to hold us. Hardiman has paid in full for whatever breach he made.”

  “Look here,” I said, “did you know Myra was the murderess when we made our wild dash out to the canyon?”

  “Of course. Everything fitted perfectly once I realized that Hardiman had changed his story to fit our ideas.”

  “Then why,” I asked irritably, “did you try to kill us getting out there?”

  “Because I was afraid Myra might kill Laura if she went snooping around after reading that note I sent to you, and I knew Laura would go snooping.” He gave one of his rare chuckles.

  I stared at him and made a funny noise in my throat.

  “What did you think?” Burke asked with twinkling eyes. “That Laura was guilty and I was afraid she’d put Myra out of the way if she got there first?”

  I took a drink and didn’t answer, but my face must have given me away, for Laura laughed delightedly and patted my arm. “What a shock you must have gotten when you dashed in heroically and saw me leaning over Myra with a pistol in my hand.”

  “I don’t mind saying I was plenty confounded,” Burke admitted. “I began wondering if all my theorizing was wrong when it looked as though any one of you three wenches might have carved Myra up.”

  I changed the subject hastily. “What about just one shot having been fired from the pistol that killed two men?”

  “Myra reloaded it after killing Leslie.” Jerry was relaxed and talkative after the strain was over. I had a queer feeling that he felt the need to justify himself, to justify the system which he represented and which was going to demand the death penalty against a woman who had killed because she loved too well.

  “If she had kept a tight hold on her nerve,” he said moodily, “she might have gotten away with the first murder. I didn’t actually suspect her when I first put the pressure on. But I felt something strange about her reactions, a shade too much defiance.”

  Laura and I remained quiet while Jerry Burke groped for words to express what he hadn’t allowed himself to think while the chase was on.

  “She loved Leslie deeply and sincerely. I knew it from the times I had seen them together. That’s why I couldn’t quite stomach Dwight’s alibi, which was a complete tissue of lies. I knew her for the sort of woman who might openly take a lover in defiance of her husband but I couldn’t see her sneaking around behind Leslie’s back and signaling a man like Dwight to come visiting by way of the back door.”

  “If I hadn’t kissed Leslie.…” Laura began in a low stricken tone, but Burke silenced her with a shake of his head.

  “It went back beyond the kiss … beyond you. Leslie Young was a born philanderer. Their marriage was a tragic mistake from the beginning … culminating in tragedy.”

  I changed the subject again by asking: “How did Myra happen to think of using Dwight to alibi her?”

  “Her signed statement explains that. He had been watching her through his telescope that afternoon and he saw her slip away and follow Leslie down into the canyon. When he heard about the murder he realized he had a hold on her and he hurried over to threaten her with exposure unless she … er … agreed to his proposal. She defied him to do his worst, but when it looked as though we might pin the murder on her she decided to use him for an alibi and then get rid of him.”

  “He deserved what he got,” Laura flared angrily.

  Burke nodded, that drawn look of conflict on his face again. “Which makes it … not so nice to carry around the thought that she might be free if I hadn’t.…” He broke off, poured himself a drink and put it down straight.

  “She’ll plead the unwritten law,” said Laura in a cool voice which concealed her real feelings. “With me for the ‘other woman’ at whom the finger of scorn can be pointed no jury of Texas gentlemen will convict her.”

  “Probably not.” Jerry shook himself as though to shed the depressing train of thought and got up.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “There’s still that anonymous telephone call warning Young to stay away from Dwight’s.”

  “Oh, that?” Burke smiled. “There wasn’t any telephoned warning. Myra threw that in for good measure to make her husband’s death appear to be tied up more definitely with the note from Michaela and the secret negotiations between Dwight and the Mexicans. Just as she marked the cross on his cheek, and later left the silver cross on Dwight’s body after shooting him. Simply to becloud the issue and make things seem what they weren’t … in which she succeeded admirably.”

  He yawned and picked up his hat. “Being a salaried slave of the taxpayers instead of an indolent fictioner, I’ll have to run along. Think you can make a yarn out of it, Asa?”

  “I’m going to give it a whirl.”

  “Good luck. What’ll the title be?”

  “There’s only one appropriate title,” I told him. “The Kissed Corpse.”

  Burke chuckled and glanced at Laura, then went out.

  “So, it was you who slugged me?” I asked accusingly, taking a shot at random.

  “Of course … that is, I had a Free Press reporter do it for me. I had to have that telegram for my exclusive.”

  I took a sip of brandy and didn’t look at her. After a little time of silence she asked, low-voiced:

  “You hate me, don’t you?”

  “No,” I told her honestly, “but somehow I wish I did. It would simplify matters.”

  I didn’t know whether she would understand what I meant or not, but I guess she did … for she refilled both our glasses and didn’t say anything.

  About the Author

  Brett Halliday (1904–1977) was the primary pseudonym of American author Davis Dresser. Halliday is best known for creating the Mike Shayne Mysteries. The novels, which follow the exploits of fictional PI Mike Shayne, have inspired several feature films, a radio series, and a television series.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1939 by Carlyle House, Publishers

  Cover design by Andy Ross

  ISBN: 978-1-5040-1934-7

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